The air inside the convenience store reeked of smoke and gunpowder. Shelves were torn apart, the floor littered with shattered bottles, spilled snacks, and empty shells. Six bodies lay scattered across the aisles — silent proof of how fast everything had spiraled. The MC stood crouched behind a fallen metal rack, his chest rising and falling heavily. Every breath burned, every muscle screamed. His body ached from the pain that had followed him since he woke up in this strange world. But adrenaline… adrenaline drowned out the rest.
A fresh burst of gunfire split the silence. Three attackers, new ones, stepped into the ruined store. Their weapons weren't like the others. These were heavy — rotary machine guns that whirred before spitting bullets fast enough to chew through walls.
He didn't need to test them. He dove behind a counter as bullets tore into the aisle he had just been in. Glass and splinters rained over him. The thunder of rotating barrels filled the air, steady and mechanical, like death itself had a rhythm.
He pressed his back to the wall and waited for the storm to slow. His breathing steadied — sharp inhale, slow exhale. He needed to think. He had already taken down six men. But this was different. His body wasn't going to last forever.
A weak voice broke the chaos. Somewhere near the back, the leader — the same man who had been barking orders earlier — lay slumped behind a shelf. His rifle was broken beside him, blood soaking through his pant leg. He was clutching his thigh, cursing under his breath.
The MC moved quietly, crouching low as the machine guns continued to roar in the front of the store. The closer he got, the more he saw the leader's face — pain mixed with rage. The man spotted him and froze, eyes wide.
"You…" the leader rasped. "You're still alive?!"
The MC didn't answer. His expression stayed blank, unreadable. He crouched beside the wounded man, eyes scanning for anything useful.
"You think you can just walk away after what you did?" the leader spat, his tone trembling
Then the MC said "Why are you guys after me?"
between pain and disbelief, the leader spat out
"You don't even remember, do you? You don't even know who you—"
The MC's hand shot forward, gripping the man's collar and slamming him against the shelf. The leader groaned, half choking, half laughing. "You're dead already," he wheezed. "You just don't know it yet."
The MC's silence said everything. He wasn't in the mood for riddles. His eyes shifted to the leader's sidearm. Smooth motion — he unhooked it, checked the chamber, pocketed spare mags. Then he noticed a small blade strapped to the man's boot, grabbed that too, along with a spare communicator and a smoke grenade clipped to his vest.
The leader's eyes widened. "You… you won't get far…"
The MC stood, gaze cold. For a moment, their eyes met — a quiet warning — then he brought the butt of the pistol down, knocking the man out cold.
The sound of gunfire drew closer again. He ducked behind a display case, pressing low as the machine guns shredded through another section of the store. Plastic signs flew, the refrigerator doors cracked, and the floor shook with every burst.
Then, as suddenly as it started… it stopped.
A strange silence settled in, broken only by the soft hum of broken lights. The MC tilted his head slightly. Something had changed.
And then — (The sound of bullet).
A single clean gunshot echoed through the air, cutting through everything. One of the attackers jerked back, a small dark hole blooming in his neck. He collapsed instantly. Another crack followed — another fell.
The MC froze, his instincts flaring. That wasn't random. Those shots were precise — professional. A sniper.
The remaining attackers panicked, shouting orders, pointing rifles toward every shadow. The rotary guns spun wildly, tearing holes in empty aisles. Then another shot came — crack — and the last man dropped.
Silence again. But this time, it was absolute.
The MC stayed low. Whoever that sniper was, they weren't part of the original group. He didn't know whether they were friend or foe.
Slowly, he shifted his gaze toward the stainless steel refrigerator beside him. It had somehow survived the chaos — not even a single bullet mark.(A/N Plot Amour!)
And in its glass reflection, faint but clear, he saw a figure. Far in the distance, across rooftops, a silhouette with a long rifle stood watching. The figure didn't move for a long moment. Then, as if acknowledging him, they straightened and turned away, vanishing from sight.
The MC exhaled.
He didn't know who that sniper was, but right now, he wasn't planning to stay and find out. A faint wail reached his ears — sirens. Police.
He glanced at the unconscious leader, then at the destruction around him. No time to waste. He slung the pistol into his waistband, grabbed a handful of ammo from a fallen bag, and made his way toward the back exit. His limp had returned, but his movements were still sharp — efficient.
As he pushed through the back door, the faint flash of blue-and-red lights painted the broken windows from the street outside. Squad cars screeched to a halt near the store entrance. Officers stepped out cautiously, guns drawn, unaware that their suspect had already slipped through the shadows and into the next street.
Behind him, smoke still rose from the wrecked convenience store. The chaos was over.
.
.
.
For now.