How long had it been since Thien Anh enjoyed a moment of peace like this?
He sat on the sofa, eyes fixed on the television screen flickering with distorted news broadcasts. Outside, the world was crumbling, but within this bunker, the hum of the ventilation fan and the dim amber light created an illusion of safety. Long ago, he thought happiness was simply lying back to watch TV without the fear of a blade held to his throat.
Now, he had his TV, but the blade of fate still dangled by a thread above his head.
"Woof!"
Ki's sharp bark tore through the silence. Thien Anh flinched, his hand reflexively snatching the handgun from the coffee table.
"What is it?" he asked, his voice a low rasp.
Ki didn't bark again. He lunged toward the main door, hackles raised, snout twitching as he sampled the air. Then, he turned back to Thien Anh, his dark eyes shimmering with high-alert suspicion.
Thien Anh understood instantly. An uninvited guest. He cut the lights. The room was plunged into a thick, suffocating darkness. Thien Anh slid across the floor like a prowling cat toward the door, peering through the peephole. The corridor was empty. Not a soul in sight. Yet Ki continued to growl deep in his throat, and Moc—coiled atop a ceiling beam—began to hiss softly.
An ability-user? Or cloaking technology? Thien Anh didn't waste time guessing. He signaled Ki to retreat and leap onto the sofa. Meanwhile, he grabbed a pitcher of water from the table and dashed it across the floor right at the entrance. Water pooled over the cold ceramic tiles.
Then, he scaled a tall wardrobe that reached the ceiling, his shotgun already chambered.
"Click." The sound of the lock turning was dry and brittle. It was faint, but in the absolute silence, it echoed like a gunshot. The door creaked open. No one entered. Only a gust of biting cold air swept into the room.
But Thien Anh saw it. On the puddle he had just poured, a footprint pressed down, then vanished, followed by another. The water's surface rippled. An intruder was moving in—invisible and lethal.
The phantom was heading toward the sofa, where Ki lay, feigning sleep.
"Die."
Thien Anh whispered, his finger tightening on the trigger.
"BOOM!" The deafening blast roared within the confined space. Muzzle flash tore through the night. The buckshot fanned out, creating a net of lead and fire that swept the empty air.
"Ugh!" A muffled groan erupted from the void. Fresh blood sprayed, staining the puddle on the floor crimson. Slowly, a human form materialized from the transparency. A man dressed in skin-tight black tactical gear, still clutching a poisoned dagger, slumped to the ground, convulsing before going still. Two lead pellets had shredded his skull.
Thien Anh jumped down, his face a mask of cold indifference. He used the toe of his boot to flip the corpse over. "Just as I thought." An assassin from the Organization. The mission had failed, so they sent someone to "dispose of the waste." And he was that waste.
He searched the body, finding only an encrypted phone and a ring of keys. After fifteen minutes of hacking, he received a single, cryptic message: Clean up everything. Leave no trace.
"Ki, take out the trash."
Thien Anh jerked his chin toward the corpse. Ki understood, grabbing the assassin's collar in his jaws and dragging him toward the back room, where a hatch led to the sewers.
...
Thien Anh lit a cigarette, taking a long drag to steady his pounding heart. He turned the TV back on.
"...Global state of emergency... Radiation leaks... Unknown viruses spreading from destroyed laboratories..."
The broadcast was cut short by the screech of static. Thien Anh narrowed his eyes. Viruses. Famine. Chaos. The script from five hundred years ago was repeating itself. Human society was about to regress into the Stone Age, where the only law was the law of the jungle: the strong feast, the weak fall.
He needed food—lots of it. He crushed the cigarette out and turned to his two 'friends.' "I have to head out. Stay put and be good."
Ki and Moc watched him, their eyes filled with concern. Moc slithered down, coiling tightly around his wrist as if trying to hold him back.
"Ki, you stay and guard the base. Moc, you're coming with me."
Ki wagged his tail, letting out a bark of agreement. He understood his mission: Protect the sanctuary.
...
Thien Anh drove an old pickup truck, weaving through streets littered with car wrecks and masonry. Destination: Lang Ha Mart.
When he arrived, the scene before him was nothing short of a war zone. The supermarket's glass storefront was shattered. Screams, the sound of smashing property, and hysterical weeping rose in a chaotic din. A frenzied crowd surged inside, looting everything from bags of rice to bottles of fish sauce. Humanity had vanished, leaving only naked survival instinct.
A man wielding a baseball bat bludgeoned an elderly manager over the head when the old man tried to intervene. Blood sprayed as the old man collapsed, only for the crowd to trample over him as they pushed forward.
Thien Anh frowned. He was no saint, but the sight still made his stomach churn. He moved to step out of the truck, his submachine gun hidden beneath his coat. But then, he paused.
He spotted a gang of about twenty thugs, heavily tattooed and brandishing machetes and iron pipes, suppressing the crowd. They weren't looting small-time. They had blocked the exits, forcing others to hand over their stolen goods before loading them onto a truck parked outside.
"Smart," Thien Anh muttered, his lips curling into a cynical half-smile. "Capitalizing on the chaos. Using others' sweat to fill their own pockets."
But the intelligence of these men was merely the low cunning of hyenas. And hyenas were always prime prey for a lion. Thien Anh leaned back against his seat, his murky eyes watching the truck as it slowly filled with supplies.
He would wait. Wait for them to finish the job. Then, he would... "receive the shipment."