After feeling the impact of the handgun for himself, Ethan now had a much clearer understanding of its actual threat level.

He didn't waste another second.

Gripping the barbell bar tight, he lunged forward. The gang leader barely had time to blink before the steel rod punched clean through his skull. His eyes went wide, then blank, as blood sprayed in a sharp arc behind him.

The rest of the gang froze in horror.

Then panic hit.

They scattered in all directions, scrambling over each other to escape. After watching Ethan catch bullets with his bare hands and now kill their leader in a single strike, whatever courage they had left evaporated.

"Don't let a single one get away," Ethan said coldly. "Kill them all."

"Got it," Chris growled, already moving.

The others nodded and took off after the fleeing men.

But the gang quickly realized they'd trapped themselves. Every exit in the Walmart had been barricaded with shelves and pallets—by their own hands. What had once been a fortress was now a cage.

Some of them cursed. Others screamed. A few even tried to climb the shelves in desperation.

It didn't matter.

Chris and the others tore through them like wolves in a pen. One by one, the gang members fell—skulls crushed, ribs shattered, blood pooling across the tile floor.

When only a dozen or so were left, and it was clear there was no way out, the survivors dropped to their knees.

"Please! Don't kill us! It was all our boss's idea!"

"Yeah, we just followed orders! We didn't do anything ourselves!"

They groveled, hands raised, voices trembling. Betting everything on the hope that these young men still had some shred of mercy left.

They bet wrong.

Maybe Henry, once upon a time, might've hesitated. But not now. Not after everything Ethan had taught them. Not after what they'd seen these men do.

And especially not after what they'd done to those women.

This wasn't a gray area. This was the line—and they'd crossed it.

No one said a word. No one argued. The barbell bars came down, one after another, until the begging stopped.

When it was over, more than sixty bodies lay scattered across the store.

The team regrouped around Ethan, who was standing off to the side, turning the gang leader's pistol over in his hands, studying it with quiet fascination.

It was the first time he'd ever held a gun.

There was something about it—sleek, cold, dangerous. Every man, it seemed, had a thing for firearms. Ethan was no exception.

Unfortunately, the gun was empty. No spare ammo on the body, either. Who knew where the guy had even gotten it?

"Ethan," Chris asked, eyeing the weapon, "how dangerous is that thing to us, really?"

The others looked over too, curiosity written all over their faces.

Truth be told, they all suspected they could probably take a hit or two. But the fear was still there—deep, instinctive. That primal dread when a black barrel was pointed at your face.

Ethan smiled faintly. "From what I just felt? Here's the breakdown. Enhanced and Awakened have similar physical durability at the same Tier. The difference is, Awakened have powers. So let's use Enhanced as the baseline."

He held up the pistol. "This kind of standard handgun? Still a real threat to Tier 1 and Tier 2 Enhanced. A shot to the chest or head could be fatal. But for Tier 3 and up? Not so much. You might take a hit, maybe get bruised or bleed a little, but it won't stop you."

He paused, then added, "Unless it hits your eye. That's still a weak spot."

"And Tier 4?" Sean asked.

Ethan shrugged. "Tier 4 Enhanced can pretty much ignore it. Worst case, it breaks the skin. Won't even reach the muscle."

As he spoke, he opened his palm.

There, in the center, was a small dent—raw and red, but shallow. The mark left from when he'd caught the bullet head-on.

Seeing the shallow dent in Ethan's palm, the others finally let out a collective breath. So that was it? A handgun wasn't as terrifying as they'd imagined.

But Ethan's expression turned serious in an instant.

"Don't get cocky," he said, voice sharp. "This was just a regular handgun. The military's got way nastier toys. Remember those M4 carbines the soldiers were carrying earlier? If they opened fire on us, we'd be Swiss cheese in seconds. And that heavy-caliber machine gun they rolled out? It scared off a Tier 5 zombie. A Tier 5."

He let that sink in before continuing.

"So don't underestimate firearms. Not yet. We're not at the level where we can go toe-to-toe with hot weapons."

"Got it," the others said, nodding quickly.

Just then, a rustle came from behind them.

The women—the ones who'd been brutalized—had somehow managed to get to their feet. They didn't say thank you. Didn't cry. Didn't even look relieved. They just stared at the group with blank, hollow eyes, like they were still waiting for the next round of pain.

Ethan and the others frowned.

It wasn't hard to guess what was going through their minds. These women had probably been passed from one group of scum to another. To them, Ethan's crew might've just looked like the next set of monsters.

"Put your clothes on," Ethan said, his voice calm but firm.

The women slowly raised their heads, glanced at the men, then silently reached for the tattered rags on the floor and began pulling them over their bruised bodies.

Ethan's jaw tightened.

"Go to the clothing section," he snapped. "Pick something clean. Something decent."

That got a reaction.

The women paused, blinking in surprise. A few even exchanged glances.

Guess they thought we were into something else, Ethan thought grimly.

Without a word, the group of women turned and headed toward the clothing aisles.

"Let's go," Ethan said. "Time to stock up."

"Yeah."

Each of them grabbed a shopping cart and headed toward the dry goods section.

They focused on long-lasting staples—canned food, pasta, flour, rice, cooking oil. The luxury home had a full kitchen, so they could cook real meals. But they also loaded up on quick eats like instant noodles, crackers, energy bars, and jerky—stuff they could carry on zombie runs.

This place really was a proper mega-store. If you could think of it, it was probably on a shelf somewhere.

Still, they prioritized food. The house already had plenty of daily essentials.

Before long, all six carts were piled high.

Then they each grabbed a large mountaineering backpack—the kind built for serious capacity—and stuffed those full too.

They had to move fast. FEMA or the National Guard would definitely be sweeping through here soon. With so many mouths to feed in the Safe Zone, supply runs were inevitable. And this Walmart was only six miles away. It was practically guaranteed to be one of their first stops.

If they didn't take what they needed now, they might come back to find the place stripped bare.

Once everything was packed, they started heading back.

That's when the women returned.

Now fully dressed.

And when Ethan and the others saw them, they all paused for a beat.

Damn.

No wonder those bastards had targeted them. These women weren't just attractive—they were stunning. And now, in clean clothes, it was even more obvious.

Uh… seriously? Stockings and uniforms?

Clearly, they'd misunderstood Ethan's earlier instructions.

Ethan took a deep breath, then exhaled slowly.

"We're leaving now," he said, voice cold. "You can stay here and hide, or you can pick up one of those machetes and start killing zombies. Just remember—this is the apocalypse. If you don't want to be victims again, you'll have to get strong. No one's coming to save you."

He turned and started pushing his cart toward the exit. The others followed without a word.

"Wait!"

A voice called out behind them.

One of the women had finally spoken.

"You're not… you don't want…?"

"You're overthinking it," Ethan said, not turning around. "Yeah, the world's gone to hell. A lot of people have lost their humanity. But not all of us. You got lucky today. You ran into a group that still has a line they won't cross."

He paused, then added, "You're free now. What happens next? That's on you. Whether you end up in the same hell again… or not… depends on what you do from here."

...

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