Chapter 114 Fire in the hole
A tense silence permeated the space as a few wary glances exchanged between those present. Without warning, Owen's voice cut through the air, edged with cold severity. "Where's Steven? We're here to negotiate!" he bellowed.
Henry approached, hefting a crowbar with a casual menace. The scene was an echo of his military days, stirring a forgotten ferocity within him. It was as if he had been thrust two decades back in time, the old combat instincts flaring up, making his blood sing with long-dormant anticipation.
Facing the building managers with unwavering resolve, he intoned, "Our boss is waiting for you upstairs. Didn't all twenty-nine of you come together?"
Chase, keeping his demeanor composed and polite, adjusted his glasses and offered a thin, calculated smile. "After much discussion, we concluded it would be imprudent for all of us to go. We selected five representatives."
The underlying fear that Steven might ambush them and wipe out their leadership fueled their cautious approach. Hence, after considerable deliberation, the five most competent individuals were chosen to represent the group in the upcoming negotiations with Steven.
Henry, adhering to Steven's instructions, allowed a slight frown to crease his brow. "Then please come in. But today, only the five of you. No one else," he declared firmly. "And for everyone's safety, if any of you are armed, it's best to disarm. If you're caught with weapons, well, things won't go well for you."
His words sent ripples of anxiety through the gathered group, starkly visible in their changing expressions. Caitlin's eyebrows shot up in anger. "A body search? What the hell is Steven trying to pull? Is this really his attitude?" she snapped.
Samuel burst into derisive laughter, brandishing a machete with a snarl. "That shameless bastard thinks now’s the time for demands? You really ain't afraid of dying, huh?" he jeered, the blade glinting menacingly.
Owen smirked, his voice dripping with disdain. "Is Steven blind? Can't he see the situation? With just a few dozen of you, we could drown you in our spit!"
Ignoring their bravado, Henry nonchalantly pulled out his phone, maintaining a line of communication with Steven, updating him on the unfolding confrontation. Steven's laughter echoed through the phone. "I’ve got it. Just hang tight."
Determined to quash their arrogance, Steven approached the window and pushed it open, letting the icy wind whip through the air. Below, a throng of people mingled—building managers, their hangers-on, and curious onlookers, all gathered in anticipation. The air buzzed with excitement and nervous chatter, many dreaming of a future filled with free provisions from Steven’s presumed beneficence.
Suddenly, a faint whistle cut through the din. Heads turned skyward in confusion, eyes squinting at the falling object. "What's that?" murmured a voice, dismissing it as a trivial rock.
Moments later, the grenade hit the ground. The detonation ripped through the air, flames erupting skyward. Seven or eight people near the blast point were violently hurled aside, limbs and blood scattering among the falling snowflakes. The deafening explosion unleashed a wave of terror, screams of panic fracturing the cold air. In this environment, the wounded were as good as dead.
The sudden blast had shocked everyone to their core. For most, encountering a grenade was an outside realm of their imagination—even amidst the chaos of the apocalypse, such violence was unthinkable.
The scene devolved into pandemonium. Though the crowd was vast, it was a disorganized mass, more a haphazard assembly than a cohesive force. In an instant, people were toppled, screaming, and scattering in desperate attempts to flee. Samuel and the other building managers turned ashen with fear. Despite their posturing, they were ordinary men, albeit bolder and more ruthless, and even they were petrified by the explosion.
"Don't panic, don't panic!" The building managers in the crowd tried in vain to quell the hysteria, shouting commands into the hurricane of chaos. But this was no military outfit with regimented discipline; it was a panicked horde. Even their most trusted allies were crumpling, shielding their heads on the ground or huddling in corners, terror-stricken.
Breaking the fraught silence, a mocking voice drifted from Henry's phone. "Do you still think numbers mean strength?" Steven taunted.
The brutal reality dawned on Samuel and the others—they weren’t just facing a man; they were confronting an enigma. Steven had thrown the grenade himself. The incredulity of it paralyzed them. Where did he get a grenade? Such questions whirled through their minds.
Henry and Dennis, who had been steely until now, shared a moment of stunned realization before relief washed over them hearing Steven's voice. Regaining some composure, Henry coughed and addressed the sullen group. "Any objections now?" he asked, his voice laced with newfound confidence.
Samuel and his companions were too rattled to respond. They exchanged glances, the stark truth sinking in—Steven was a force beyond their comprehension. Carrying guns was one thing, but now he had paraded a sniper rifle and tossed grenades? How could they, armed with mere sticks and machetes, even think of contending?
TTheir earlier bravado had evaporated, leaving grim faces in its wake. Samuel, gritting his teeth, spoke with a forced calm. "We're here to negotiate; there's no need for this!"
Steven’s voice crackled with derision through the phone. "Do you need over a thousand people to negotiate? They’re a nuisance; I’m just doing you a favor by clearing them away."
On the 13th floor, Steven checked his watch. "It’s almost 2:30. You have five minutes. If you're not here by then, negotiations are off the table. We’ll fight instead."
Fight? This wasn't a battle; it was setting up a massacre. Sweat beaded on Samuel and the others' brows. Caitlin’s legs trembled, lips bitten to stifle her pain and humiliation—she had wet herself at the grenade’s explosion, a fact she was determined to keep hidden, especially as a female building manager.
Determination etched onto her face, she spoke up. "We’re here for sincere cooperation. We’re coming now."
Chase, panicking, hurried over to Henry. "Which floor is Steven on?" he asked urgently.
Henry couldn't help but let a smirk play on his lips. "The 13th floor."
Given their physical state, climbing those floors wouldn't be an easy feat. Yet, they dared not delay. Defeat was not an option. Hastily discarding their weapons, they rushed for the stairwell, determined to meet Steven’s deadline and avoid the looming threat of outright conflict.
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