The survivors obeyed, herding the panicked gang members like cornered beasts. The few who tried to stand ground fell to Anya's flames, their shrieks muffled by the roar of burning wood and plastic.
When it was over, the base reeked of ash and blood. The gang was gone, those not dead had fled into the streets, leaving their spoils behind.
The survivors slumped against the walls, their breaths ragged but alive.
Anya extinguished the last of her flames with a sharp exhale, the glow fading from her skin. She felt hollowed, her energy spent, but the fire had done its work.
Yichen stepped into the center of the room, surveying the wreckage with cold satisfaction.
"This will do..." he said.
Anya looked around, chest heaving, and finally allowed herself a small, weary smile. "Yeah. It will."
The base was theirs. For now.
But in Zone Three, nothing stayed unchallenged for long. Word would spread. Blood always drew predators.
And Anya knew deep down they had only won the first battle.
