Hugo's boots pounded against the dusty tile floor as he sprinted through the abandoned bank, his crowbar gripped tightly in his hand. Riley's scream had been sharp—cutting through the silence like a bde. He had no time to think, no time to hesitate.

  His free hand instinctively went to his hip, pulling out the pistol he had taken from the Encve. He didn’t know if he’d need it yet, but something in his gut told him this wasn’t just another stray zombie. Whatever was waiting ahead, he’d be ready.

  He rounded the corner into a wide, open space filled with overturned desks and shattered monitors. The bank had been ransacked long ago, but that wasn’t what caught his attention.

  It was Riley.

  She was on her knees, a thick arm wrapped around her throat in a tight chokehold, her captor’s grip unrelenting as she struggled for breath. His bicep flexed, cutting off her air just enough to keep her weak but conscious. Five men stood in a loose semi-circle around her. They were rough-looking, filthy, with torn clothes and the hardened eyes of men who had long since stopped giving a damn. One of them—a nky guy with greasy hair and a patchy beard—held a revolver zily at his side. The others clutched knives, a rusted baseball bat, and a length of chain.

  Hugo came to an abrupt stop, heart hammering, his pistol already raised and aimed at the man with the revolver. The moment he stepped into the room, his instincts took over—five men, one gun, all focused on Riley. His eyes locked onto the leader, his finger resting lightly on the trigger.

  The man with the revolver grinned, unfazed. "Well, look at that. I was starting to think she was bluffing. Didn’t think she actually had someone watching her back."

  Riley let out a choked breath, her gre fierce despite the position she was in. "Took your time, asshole."

  Hugo’s grip tightened on his gun. He forced himself to keep his voice steady. "Let her go."

  The leader—Hugo assumed it was the one with the gun, since he was the only one acting like he had a real advantage—ughed. "Let her go? Just like that? And here I thought you'd be smart."

  One of the other men, a stocky guy with a jagged scar running down his cheek, scoffed. "Not how this works, buddy. This is our turf. You and your girl walked in here thinking you could loot from us? That’s not how this goes. We were just about to check that vault. And now we got an extra bonus—a couple of thieves dumb enough to walk into our hands."

  Hugo didn’t move. His eyes flicked to Riley, scanning her for injuries. She was breathing hard, but she wasn’t bleeding—yet. His mind worked quickly, assessing the odds. Five of them, one gun. That meant the real threat was that revolver. The rest? They could be handled.

  But not while Riley was held down.

  The leader smirked, tilting his head. "So, here’s how this is gonna go. You’re gonna put that gun down, empty out whatever you got in that bag, and maybe—just maybe—we’ll let her go without cutting off something important."

  Hugo remained still. "No."

  The leader's smirk faltered slightly, as if he hadn’t expected resistance. He lifted the revolver a little higher. "Maybe you didn’t hear me. I got the gun. You got the girl. Bad trade for you."

  "You got five bullets?" Hugo asked ftly. "Because I got twenty-five."

  The leader hesitated.

  Hugo took a step forward, keeping his gun steady. "You got one revolver with maybe five shots. I’ve got a full magazine and the nerve to use it. You fire first, I guarantee I fire next. And I don’t waste bullets." He let his words sink in, his gaze cold and unwavering. "So, tell me—how many of you are willing to die over this? Because I only need to drop one of you to make the rest rethink their odds."

  The room was silent for a long moment. The men exchanged gnces, some of them shifting uncomfortably. Hugo could see it—the uncertainty creeping in.

  The one with the chain sneered. "This guy's full of shit. Just take his stuff."

  Hugo’s eyes locked onto the leader. "You pull that trigger, I don’t stop. I don’t hesitate. And I promise you—before I go down, I put a bullet in your skull. So go ahead. Waste your shot. See how it pys out."

  The tension was thick now. Even Riley, who had been holding herself tense, gnced up at Hugo with something like cautious curiosity.

  The leader’s fingers twitched around the gun. He was weighing his options, realizing that Hugo wasn’t bluffing.

  One of the others—a younger guy with a twitchy hand gripping a knife—spoke up. "Man, maybe we don’t—"

  "Shut up," the leader snapped, never taking his eyes off Hugo. But Hugo saw it—the hesitation, the tiny crack in his confidence.

  He pressed forward. "You want my supplies? Fine. Trade me. Her for the bag."

  Scar-cheek scoffed. "Why the hell would we do that? We take your shit, then kill you. Easy."

  Hugo didn’t blink. "You try to take it, and I make sure at least two of you die before I go down. Maybe more. Maybe I get lucky and take all of you with me. You willing to bet on that?"

  Silence again.

  The leader let out a slow breath, lowering the gun just slightly. "Tch. You’re a pain in the ass."

  Hugo took another step forward, slow and deliberate. "Let her go."

  The leader gnced at Riley, then at his men. The one holding her looked uncertain now, his grip loosening just slightly.

  "Fine," the leader said, spitting on the ground. "Drop the bag first."

  Hugo stayed still. "She walks free first. Then you get the bag."

  The leader's jaw tightened, but then he nodded to the guy holding Riley. "Let her up."

  The man hesitated, then released Riley, stepping back. She staggered to her feet, rolling her shoulders and backing away toward Hugo. He kept his pistol aimed, not trusting any of them.

  "Bag. Now," the leader demanded.

  Hugo slowly slid the pack off his shoulder and tossed it a few feet in front of him. The leader nodded to one of his guys, who edged forward and snatched it up.

  "Alright," the leader said, smirking. "Now, nice and easy, let her go."

  The man holding Riley hesitated before finally loosening his grip. Riley stumbled forward, breathing heavily, her eyes darting to Hugo. She took slow, measured steps toward him, her posture tense.

  Hugo kept his gun trained on the leader, his muscles coiled, ready for the double-cross he knew was coming.

  Then, just as Riley was almost within reach, the leader shifted his stance, raising the revolver in a quick motion. But instead of aiming at Hugo—he aimed at Riley.

  The gunshot cracked through the air like a whip.

  Riley’s expression twisted in shock, her eyes wide as she stumbled forward, her legs giving out beneath her. She colpsed onto the cold tile, gasping as blood seeped through her shirt.

  Hugo’s vision turned red.

  "You son of a—!" He fired without thinking, the deafening roar of his pistol drowning out the chaos as the room erupted into a fight.

  The leader ducked just in time, Hugo’s bullet missing by inches and shattering a monitor behind him. The man with the chain lunged forward, swinging for Hugo’s head, but Hugo twisted out of the way, raising his pistol and firing twice. The first shot tore through the man’s shoulder, sending him staggering back with a scream. The second went wide as one of the others crashed into Hugo, smming him against a desk.

  Pain jolted through his ribs, but he gritted his teeth, jamming the barrel of his gun into the attacker’s gut. He pulled the trigger. The man crumpled with a choked gasp, blood pooling beneath him.

  Another came at him—a wiry guy with a knife. Hugo barely managed to sidestep, catching a ssh across his forearm. He growled in pain but swung his pistol like a club, bashing the man across the temple. The attacker dropped, stunned, but not out.

  The leader had regained his footing, raising his revolver again. Hugo saw it just in time and dove behind a desk as a bullet ripped through the air, sending splinters flying.

  Riley groaned behind him, still on the ground, clutching her stomach. He needed to end this.

  Hugo rolled out from cover, raising his pistol. Another shot rang out—the leader fired first. The bullet grazed Hugo’s shoulder, white-hot pain ripping through him. But he didn’t stop. He squeezed the trigger twice more. One shot hit the leader’s thigh, sending him colpsing to one knee. The second buried itself in his chest.

  The man let out a strangled gasp, blinking in shock before slumping forward, dead.

  Scar-cheek, still clutching his wounded arm, looked between Hugo and the lifeless leader, his face twisting with rage. He grabbed the bat from one of his fallen allies and charged. Hugo barely had time to raise his pistol again before the bat connected with his ribs. The impact stole his breath, sending him crashing against a desk. His pistol cttered to the floor.

  The man swung again, aiming for Hugo’s skull. Hugo barely managed to roll aside, the bat smming into the wooden surface instead. With a grunt, Hugo grabbed his crowbar from his belt and swung upward, catching Scar-cheek in the jaw. Teeth and blood sprayed from the impact, and the man stumbled back.

  With a furious snarl, Hugo drove the crowbar into his attacker’s knee. The sickening crunch of bone filled the room, and Scar-cheek howled in agony, colpsing onto his back.

  The st remaining man, the one with the knife, still dazed from Hugo’s earlier blow, struggled to his feet. He looked at the bodies of his comrades, then at Hugo, who stood, breathing heavily, blood dripping from his wounds, crowbar in one hand, pistol in the other.

  The man made the right choice. He turned and bolted toward the exit.

  Hugo let him go. He had bigger priorities.

  He turned back to Riley, dropping to his knees beside her. "Hey! Stay with me."

  Her breathing was shallow, her skin pale, but her eyes flickered open, hazy with pain. She tried to force a smirk, but it barely formed. "That sucked."

  Hugo pressed his hands against the wound, trying to slow the bleeding. "You’ll be fine. Just hold on."

  She swallowed hard, her fingers twitching against the cold tile. "Hugo... don’t lie to me."

  He shook his head, jaw tightening. "I’ll get you out of here."

  Hugo’s breath hitched. He could feel the warmth of her blood soaking through his fingers, slipping between them like sand. It wouldn’t stop. No matter how much pressure he applied, no matter how much he willed it to.

  Her eyes grew gssy, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven motions. She gave him the faintest smile. "Guess you’re stuck with Salem now."

  "Don’t—"

  "It’s okay," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath. "It’s... okay."

  Then her body went still.

  Hugo didn’t move. Couldn’t. His hands remained pressed against the wound long after her breathing stopped, long after the warmth left her skin. His mind refused to accept it.

  Minutes passed. Or maybe hours.

  The silence of the bank pressed in around him. The bodies of the dead littered the floor, but none of them mattered. Not anymore.

  Eventually, he sat back, staring at her lifeless face. His fingers trembled as he reached up and closed her eyes.

  He should’ve done better. He should’ve been faster. He should’ve...

  A cold, numb emptiness settled in his chest.

  Slowly, he pushed himself to his feet, bloodied and exhausted. His eyes swept the ruined bank one st time.

  This wasn’t how it was supposed to be.

  He took in a deep breath, exhaled slowly. Then, with no hesitation, he raised his pistol to his own temple.

  A single gunshot rang through the empty building.

  And the world went dark.