During the two hours before their departure, the soldiers took time to eat, rest, and double-check their gear. Each of them meticulously cleaned their weapons, ensuring they wouldn't face any malfunctions during the upcoming operation. Andrew approached Jun-hyuk, asking him to assist the police officer in maintaining security at the building while they were gone. Jun-hyuk agreed without hesitation.
Andrew then reclaimed his silenced Glock, knowing it would be crucial for the mission's stealth component. In exchange, he handed Jun-hyuk a different sidearm to keep him armed. As the countdown to departure neared its end, Andrew sat down to eat , then started cleaning his own weapons and load fresh ammunition into his magazines, preparing himself for what was ahead.
When the time came, everyone gathered outside. The soldiers stood ready, geared up and focused, but they weren't alone. Their families walked with them, their expressions painted with quiet worry and unspoken fears. The soldiers offered reassuring nods and small, confident smiles, silently promising they would return. Their loved ones responded with tearful eyes, lingering touches, and the silent plea to come back safe.
Lined up near the dark grey van they prepared for the mission , the group stood in tense silence. Andrew looked them over, scanning their equipement . "Everybody ready?" he asked. In response, he received a series of firm nods and determined expressions. "Alright," he said, his voice steady, "everyone in. It's time to move."
With that, seven soldiers climbed into the back of the van, their gear clinking quietly as they settled in. One soldier took the driver's seat, while Andrew slid into the passenger seat beside him, eyes focused ahead.
As they departed, Andrew unfolded the map, the resort clearly circled in red. He studied it closely, fully aware of the risks ahead—infested towns, blocked roads, and the possibility of another ambush . After tracing several potential routes with his finger, he leaned toward the driver. "We'll avoid the main roads," he said, "too much risk. Take the side routes—we're bypassing the towns entirely."
....
By sticking to the side roads, they successfully avoided major complications, encountering only a few stray walkers that wandered out of the woods. While it kept them safe, the detour cost them time—their progress was slower without the direct routes. Eventually in the late evening , following the markings on the map, they pulled over at a quiet stretch of road beside the dense forest. If the map was accurate, the resort's perimeter fence lay approximately five hundred meters ahead, hidden beyond the trees. The final leg of their approach would be on foot, under the cover of the forest's shadows.
Stepping out of the van, the soldiers quickly fanned out, weapons raised, scanning their surroundings for any immediate threats. After a brief sweep, one of them reported, "Area clear."
"Good," Andrew replied, nodding. He gathered everyone in close and unfolded the map.
"We'll cut through the forest to reach the resort's perimeter fence. Our infiltration point is on the far side, away from the main hotel building. That lowers the chances of running into patrols, but stay sharp—we might still encounter walkers in the woods."
He paused, letting the team absorb the plan, then continued. "We'll split into two squads. Corporal Whitaker, you'll lead Squad Two: Tanner, Mason, Diego, and Caleb. Squad One is with me—Kyle, Ramirez, and Dawson."
He gave everyone a firm look. "Move quiet, stay alert, and watch each other's backs ."
Then Andrew drew the Glock from his holster, holding it up for the others to see. "Who here's a good shot with a pistol?" he asked.
Mason casually raised his hand with a smirk. "If it's got iron sights and fits in one hand, I can hit a coin from twenty yards, no sweat."
The others just nodded in quiet agreement, none of them contesting the claim.
Andrew stepped over and handed him the silenced Glock. "Use it wisely. We'll need to stay quiet and undetected for as long as possible—at least until we take out their leader. That's the priority."
With the squads established and everyone prepared, they grabbed two small retractable ladders from the van and began their quiet approach through the forest. Andrew took the lead, MP5 raised, eyes scanning the terrain as he moved cautiously between the trees. The others followed in a loose but controlled formation—spread out enough to avoid being easley noticed , but still close enough to assist each other if a walker attacked.
The forest was eerily silent, save for the faint rustle of leaves beneath their boots. No walkers, no sound—only tension. After several minutes of steady progress, they reached the edge of the resort's property.
There, looming before them, was a eight feet wrought iron fence. Near the top, a grim sight greeted them—a body hung awkwardly, swaying gently in the breeze. One foot was caught between two iron bars, the other dangled limply in the air. A dark smear of dried blood ran down its back, the torn flesh where a bullet had exited hinting at how it died. Whoever it was had tried to escape… and had been shot before they could make it over.
Seeing the body, everyone tensed up, weapons instinctively raised.
"Shit…" Kyle muttered under his breath, eyes fixed on the corpse. "Ths doesn't look good !"
"Looks like someone shot him mid-climb," whispered Dawson. "Cold way to go."
"And those bastards left his body hanging here ," added Ramirez, his voice low, almost angry.
Andrew, crouched near the fence, held up a hand, signaling silence. Just as he did, the body twitched—first a subtle jerk of the shoulder, then a slow, lifeless turn of the head. It was still moving.
Without hesitation, Andrew stepped forward. In one smooth motion, he drew his combat knife and drove it through the walker's skull with a sickening crunch, pinning it against the iron bars. The body sagged immediately, finally still.
He wiped the blade clean on the corpse's shirt, his expression grim. "No noise ," he said, voice low but firm. "We move in quiet, avoid getting detected ."
Turning his attention to the other side of the fence, Andrew scanned the open golf course. It was empty—no guards, no patrols in sight. The fading light cast long shadows across the trimmed grass; night was closing in fast.
"Bring the ladders," he ordered quietly.
The two soldiers carrying them moved swiftly but silently. Andrew took the first ladder, unfolded it, and leaned it carefully against the wrought iron fence. Climbing up, he reached the top and balanced there, eyes still sweeping the grounds beyond.
"Hand me the second," he said, voice low but firm.
They passed it up to him. With practiced ease, Andrew set it on the other side, angling it down toward the soft grass. A second later, he descended quietly into the resort grounds.
Moments later, one by one, the rest of the soldiers followed Andrew over the fence in near silence. When the last soldier reached the ground on the far side, he turned back, carefully unhooked the first ladder, and pulled it over to their side. Working quickly, they folded both ladders and stashed them behind a nearby bush, covering them with some branches and some leaf's.
Staying low in a crouch, Andrew scanned the area around them. In the distance, the lights from the hotel can be seen . Fortunately, the raiders didn't seem disciplined enough to establish proper patrols across the resort grounds. Using the darkness to their advantage, the group began moving toward the hotel, staying close to the bushes and low terrain for cover, each step measured and silent as they closed in.
Their path brought them first to the golf club building, its silhouette barely visible under the dim moonlight. Several golf carts sat parked out front . The building itself was dark—no lights, no movement.
Andrew raised a clenched fist, signaling the group to stop. Weapons raised, they fanned out and cautiously approached, checking corners, peering through windows, and clearing the area in silence. After a tense few minutes, it was confirmed—no raiders posted here.
With a subtle nod from Andrew, the group regrouped and pressed on, slipping deeper into the resort grounds .
Using the decorative hedges and stone garden paths that connected the golf club to the hotel grounds, the group advanced with practiced discipline. Andrew led the way, crouched low, his MP5 raised and eyes scanning ahead, moving silently between thick shrubs and ornamental trees , with the he others following.
The hedges were dense and well-maintained, their leafy bulk providing excellent concealment. Crickets chirped in the background, and the occasional wind stirred the branches above, masking the soft rustle of boots on gravel. Garden dividers and low stone walls gave them short pauses to reassess, keeping their approach measured and deliberate.
In the distance, they could see the dimly lit patio behind the hotel, two silhouettes visible—two raiders talking to each other and smoking, their voices low, casual, unaware of the threat quietly encroaching through the darkness.
They moved undetected, the night and the neatly trimmed hedges shielding their approach. Reaching the pool area, Andrew crouched low and whispered to Whitaker, "Take your squad to the right. I'll take the left. Mason—get ready to move on my signal."
A silent nod passed between them before the two squads split off, fanning out into the shadows. Though the resort was dimly lit, their eyes had already adjusted to the darkness; they could make out each other's outlines as they maneuvered through the landscaped grounds.
Andrew crept forward, using a wide, raised stone planter for cover. He was now just over ten feet from the patio. One raider leaned lazily against the railing, a faint red glow at the tip of his cigarette. The other stood with his back turned, casually chatting—unaware they were seconds from death.
Andrew raised a clenched fist—halt.
Mason slid quietly behind a thick bush beside a poolside towel cabinet, steadying his aim with the silenced Glock.
Whitaker and Tanner took up positions along the edge, eyes scanning the perimeter for any signs of movement.
Andrew gave the signal.
Pft-pft-pft.
A short, suppressed burst from the MP5 dropped the first raider mid-sentence.
Thwip.
Mason's shot followed instantly, hitting the second in the side of the head.
Both bodies crumpled without a sound—fast, efficient, unnoticed.
The two bodies were quickly dragged into the shadows, hidden behind the hedge lining the pool. Leaving no trace.
Andrew led his squad to the left side of the glass-paneled patio doors, flattening against the stone wall. Whitaker mirrored the move with her squad to the right, both teams watching the entry with practiced stillness.
Andrew peeked through the glass.
Inside was a ransacked bar—overturned stools, shattered glass glinting under the overhead lights, and shelves half-empty with liquor bottles either missing or broken. The lights were still on, casting harsh reflections across the wreckage. Inside were five more raiders , all of them to drunk to notice anything.
He nodded once.
Andrew raised his weapon and with five precise shots , the raiders were eliminated before they could even realize what was happening . Then the two squads moved in swiftly and silently, clearing the room corner by corner. Andrew swept left, Kyle and Dawson covering the rear. Whitaker took the right, her squad falling in behind.
The room was clear.
Moving in a low crouch, Andrew led the group out of the ransacked bar and into the wide, marbled hallway of the first floor. The hotel's former elegance was still visible beneath the chaos—shattered vases, overturned furniture, dried blood smeared on the walls. The lighting here was sporadic, some fixtures flickering, others dead, leaving stretches of the hallway cast in shadow.
They cleared the main lounge first—a once-grand space with plush chairs, a dusty fireplace, and broken glass from the massive window wall overlooking the pool. A pair of dead bodies lay slumped in the corner, cold and unmoving .
Andrew signaled to split briefly—his squad moving toward the main lobby, Whitaker's squad covering the opposite hall leading toward guest rooms and the side exit.
Reaching a darkened archway, Andrew peeked into the lobby and held up a fist.
Through the broken glass of the revolving door and large windows, three raiders were visible outside the hotel, lingering near the valet stand. They smoked, talked, rifles slung casually over their shoulders, occasionally laughing about something crude. One appeared to be working on gutting a vending machine they'd dragged outside.
Andrew leaned back from the view and whispered to Ramirez, "Three posted at the front. We leave them. Too exposed to engage here."
Ramirez nodded, understanding. They regrouped at the base of the emergency stairwell, where Whitaker's team waited. She signaled clear, and together they ascended—moving up one floor to where the screams had been heard earlier.
The emergency stairwell door opened onto a quieter, darker corridor. This level bore fewer signs of conflict, the rich carpet still relatively intact, though stained in places. A large gold-framed sign still hung on the wall:
"Level 2 – Executive Suites, Spa Access, Private Conference Rooms"
The group emerged two at a time, weapons raised, every movement quiet. Andrew was the first into the open, immediately gesturing toward a corner security mirror—checking the length of the hallway.
They moved slowly, passing a locked spa room, a couple of unlit offices, and what looked like a conference breakout lounge, all dark and empty. A soft moan came from one room, but when they investigated, it was just a wounded civilian sleeping fitfully behind a barricaded door—too risky to stop and check further.
After roughly thirty meters of silent movement, they reached a corner that opened up into a wider section of the floor, ending at a pair of tall frosted-glass double doors with a soft light glowing from within.
Andrew signaled everyone down, crouching behind a half-wall planter and stone bench likely once meant to offer seating and decor outside the VIP rooms.
From here, they saw them—four armed guards in front of the doors. The glowing light inside and muffled shouting left little doubt: this was where the screams had come from.
The hallway was long and straight—bad for a firefight, good for visibility. But along its edges were shadows, wall sconces, decorative pillars, a tipped-over room service cart, and a glass display cabinet knocked askew.
From this distance, the voices of the guards drifted clearly:
"...Just standing here while they get their rocks off," one griped.
"Shut up. If the boss hears you—"
"He's too busy beating the crap out of someone to care."
"Next time, I'm going in first. Don't care what that bastard says."
Andrew's expression hardened.
He turned, making hand signals. Mason, silencer ready, would cover the ones on the
right. Andrew taking the left. On his mark, they'd move in, fast and quiet.
The cries inside the room sharpened—a scream, then a man's voice snarling something followed by a cruel slap.