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Nabuktu is a state and city located in the southwestern part of the Jamria Federation.

One peculiar thing is that the name of the state and the city is the same. To draw a parallel with South Korea, it’s like having a city called ‘Gangwon City’ within ‘Gangwon Special Self-Governing Province.’

The case of Nabuktu using the same name for both the state and the city is one of the few peculiarities found in the Mauritania Continent.

Even though the Mauritania Continent has a unique naming convention, ‘Nabuktu Province, Nabuktu City’ sounds a bit odd right from the get-go.

The birth of such a city is entirely rooted in the history of the Jamria Federation.

Like many countries on the Mauritania Continent, the Jamria Federation was born out of annexation and war.

A federation formed around large tribes absorbed smaller tribes by force, unifying them into what became the ‘Jamria Federation.’

‘Nabuktu’ was also a region absorbed into the federation amidst conflicts stained with blood.

The conflict between the ruling and the ruled has been a flow of history experienced by countless empires.

It was only natural for the indigenous people of Nabuktu to rise against the government of the Jamria Federation.

And just as every empire and ruling ethnicity did, the federation government defined this as rebellion and moved to suppress it—and they succeeded.

The suppression was successful, but integration failed.

The fury of the native people, forcibly merged from their homeland, was an emotion that could not be easily quashed with weapons.

The first violent suppression sparked a second uprising, and the second suppression turned the uprising into a civil war. This was the prologue to the blood-soaked modern history of the Jamria Federation.

There was no need to explain how incompetent and downright awful the federation government had been during this process.

All one had to do was look at where the three major warlord forces represented by Asen, Sanya, and Hassan were based to find the answer.

Decades-long civil strife between the central and southern regions turned the entire territory into ruins. Once the powerful nations like the Kien Empire and the Kingdom of Abas began to intervene, the civil war plunged into an unending quagmire of bloodshed.

At this point, the Jamria Federation government felt the need to put an end to the civil war.

The southern rebels felt the same.

Though everyone had their guns pointed at each other, they could feel deeply that it was time to lower the weapons.

In the end, the Jamria Federation government enacted a special measure.

The declaration of special administrative districts in the southern cities, linking Nabuktu, Yon Kenema, and Gorahoon. A massive project to rebuild the devastated territory. Granting a certain level of autonomy and regional revitalization projects, and so on.

The blueprints presented by the federation government did not completely end the civil war, but they had their own effectiveness.

The southern region, which was granted a high level of autonomy, was rapidly reconstructed around major cities, and at its center was Nabuktu.

Thus, Nabuktu is not just a city with a special name.

It is the hometown safeguarded by the subdued ethnic group through blood and tears.

It stands as a symbol of the conflicts that permeate the modern history of the Jamria Federation.

Is it because of this?

A single tree that appeared in Nabuktu boasted a magnificent and colossal presence.

As if it symbolizes the blood-stained conflict.

As if it absorbed all the blood and tears the city held.

—

Episode 17 – The Tree that Drinks Blood

The tree ate a person, yet the city was utterly calm.

Some might be shocked, wondering how such a shocking incident could happen while the city remains intact, but to me, it seemed entirely natural.

No matter how massive a tree might be, a city representing a region is far larger and broader. The incident didn’t occur throughout the entire city; it was a small area within it.

And Nabuktu is a megacity home to 24 million people. In terms of area, it was slightly larger than Andong City, and it had a population double that of Seoul in an area roughly equivalent to the largest city in South Korea.

Of course, those 24 million residents were not crammed together.

Income, occupation, religion, tribal origins, etc. The neighborhoods are divided based on unspoken criteria, and people live among neighbors who match their own codes.

The area where the incident occurred was the most underdeveloped slum among them.

The Jamria Federation’s population consists of dozens of tribes. Among them are the most marginalized and despised tribes, the impoverished belonging to the lowest social strata, and refugees with no ties to Nabuktu.

The locals living in the slums generally belonged to such groups.

Just by looking at this, one could roughly imagine the tragedies that might be unfolding in that slum. I knew it not through knowledge, but through experience. I deduced it not by speculation, but through information.

A sandstorm singing the wrath of the Earth God swept across the desert. In a slum nourished by human flesh and blood, armed government soldiers and people climbing over barricades greeted us.

—

“…What is that?”

Camila, who got out of the vehicle, turned her head at the thunderous cries of the crowd.

A massive barricade made of sand, gravel, and discarded concrete rose up. When a pole poked up and struck the barricade, soldiers dodged it and swung club-like weapons at those climbing over the barricades.

“Are they seriously trying to keep those people from coming out?”

“Seems like it.”

I had already heard from the embassy about the government erecting barriers and sealing off the slum. But I didn’t realize it was this serious.

Cautiously taking out the camera, Camila cleverly covered the window with her coat.

It was typical for foreigners to get arrested for filming such scenes. Diplomats were no exception. I avoided scrutiny and captured the landscape of the situation.

“Waaah!”

“Step back! Get back!”

“Clear this out, you bastards!”

At the boundary between the slum and the city, a standoff between soldiers and residents was well underway.

The inhabitants of the slum were largely of younger age, and a small-scale protest appeared to be forming, centered on the spirited youth.

“Clear out! Clear out! Clear out!”

“Open the gate!”

The residents who gathered around the barricade raised their voices, protesting and pointing at the soldiers.

Some individuals were clearing the debris blocking the slum’s entrance, while a long pole swung towards the soldiers on the barricade.

A soldier’s baton flew towards the youths clearing the debris. The soldiers, who were indiscriminately beating their peers, fled to avoid a pole swung by someone from below.

A military officer raised his voice through a megaphone.

I could hardly understand the language, but it probably demanded them to stop the protest and go home.

To the soldiers’ friendly plea, the residents responded with a fervent cheer.

The cries only grew louder, and somewhere stones, junk, and rubbish began to fly in their direction.

The agitated atmosphere resembled a pressure cooker that was about to explode at any moment.

Which meant the residents were utterly enraged.

“……”

Despite a broadcasting vehicle clearly parked nearby, the government soldiers paid no heed.

Whether a journalist or a foreigner, the government soldiers were preoccupied with throwing people around and preventing their escape.

The federal soldiers dispatched from the center were no minor force either.

They acted like bystanders. No matter what unfolded, they behaved as if it had nothing to do with them, and the federal troops did not blink an eye.

Federal soldiers perched in the back of a truck simply stared at the protesters. The federal officers hardly seemed interested at all.

One officer lingering at the road’s edge was seen blocking his ears to the noise while chatting on the phone and laughing, while residents outside the slum, pretending to watch, stared blankly at the intertwined residents and government soldiers.

Whether it was judged as an issue not falling within their jurisdiction or whether they feared a subtle power struggle between local and central governments, I didn’t know.

But whatever the reason, it was clear that the on-site federal troops had no intention of intervening in this situation.

Our predicament wasn’t much different.

It was simply impossible for a foreigner to interfere in another country’s protest.

And this made my companions uneasy.

“Let’s go. There’s nothing good to be gained by staying here.”

Leading the hesitant trio, I moved to a different location.

The reactions varied. Francesca turned away with a bitter expression, while Lucia couldn’t take her eyes off the tragedy unfolding by the barricade. Only Camila, accustomed to such scenes, managed to keep her composure. Though her complexion was far from bright.

The sun had already begun to slope toward the west. It was apparent that if the sun set, it would disrupt our work, so we had to hurry to our destination.

“Let’s go. Hurry.”

“……”

“We have to get rid of that tree first. Only then can we stop seeing this mess.”

Lucia, who had been standing still like a nail, finally moved her legs, which had been reluctant to budge.

As she passed by me, she muttered in a somewhat weak voice.

“…That’s right. The tree is the source of all this.”

I decided to keep my mouth shut.

The sound of military truck engines and annoying horns echoed from the main road. The vehicles stirred the dust as they sped along.

Occasionally, someone would hang onto a vehicle or try to break through the open barricade, but regrettably, no one succeeded.

Gazing at the slowly closing barricade, I shifted my gaze from the rearview mirror. After gathering the pictures to report to the embassy, I shifted gears and pressed the accelerator.

The convoy traversed the slums of Nabuktu.

Toward that gigantic tree in the distance.

—

The city, home to 24 million residents, boasted a considerable scale. However, not everyone could enjoy comfort, so the wealthiest people in Nabuktu resided in the new downtown to the west.

The place where the incident occurred was in the old downtown to the east. More specifically, it was the most impoverished slum within the old downtown.

The contrast between the east and west, the old and new downtown, towering skyscrapers beyond the low shantytowns felt like seeing both sides of a coin.

As soon as the paved asphalt ended, the vibrant city vanished. The road, covered in fine sand, gradually became earthen, and the air was thick with deep sorrow and lethargy.

As the vehicle moved through the slum, Camila’s attention was caught by the sight of people.

“…There are still residents here?”

She surveyed the streets with an incredulous look.

Many residents still lived in the slum’s interior. There were merchants bargaining with customers across stalls, and children toted old balls around.

Francesca, who was peering out the window, had a puzzled expression. She subtly turned her head, throwing a glance at me.

“Didn’t they say they evacuated?”

“They did.”

To my knowledge, the residents inside the slum had been evacuated. Specifically, there was news from the embassy stating that the governor had ordered the evacuations.

However, it was also stated that the embassy didn’t know exactly how many residents and which areas had been evacuated.

It was merely the federal official’s claim that an evacuation plan at the provincial government level had been set up, hence our activities shouldn’t face any problems.

“Evacuation, my foot.”

Immediately after crossing the government-erected barricade, we realized just how severe the incompetence of the Jamria Federation government was.

Even deeply entering the slum didn’t change the situation. In fact, the deeper we went, the worse it became. There were several times more people living in the slum’s interior than near the barricades or outskirts.

If we had simply driven through at high speed, it might have been different. But due to traffic congestion, that became impossible as well.

Now the vehicles were moving at a crawl. When the car in front of me moved slightly, I pressed the accelerator a bit to inch forward.

“A worm would be faster than this.”

Francesca, sitting in the back seat, frowned slightly, showing signs of frustration.

“Suddenly there’s a strange smell coming from somewhere… What is that?”

“If it’s the smell from the slum, there could be several things. Excrement, public urination, food waste, corpses….”

“Guess we should use some herbal fragrance.”

She pulled out a bottle that looked like a perfume bottle from her leather pocket. It was a potion that extracted ingredients from plants to eliminate odors.

Thanks to its ability to wipe out the stench from smokers’ hands and mouths, it was a potion that the military had purchased in bulk. Nothing works better for evading detection from military dogs and beastmen.

As she sprayed the potion everywhere, Lucia, who had appeared stealthily between the driver’s and passenger’s seats, tapped me on the shoulder.

“Wouldn’t it be better to just get out and walk? If we delay, it could become problematic.”

“That’s not an option.”

No matter how skilled my companions were at taking care of themselves, this was an area recognized as unsafe. And in a wartorn country, ‘unsafe’ means a neighborhood where armed robbery, murder, and looting happen nonstop.

There was a reason the federal troops were here to protect us.

Of course, believing that the military’s presence guarantees 100% safety is a big mistake. Mexico and Ecuador didn’t fail to combat cartels because they lacked armies.

If that’s the case for Central and South America, how much more dangerous would it be in Mauritania, which is at the level of Africa and the Middle East?

Perhaps due to the escort composed of government military technicals and trucks, the residents of the slum did not approach us despite seeing our vehicles stopped on the road.

But the problem wasn’t with the residents but with the stagnant road.

The road piercing through the old downtown was chaotic with people and cars. Animals, pedestrians, carts, trucks, military vehicles, and more.

The federal troops attempted to enforce traffic control, but they couldn’t stop the bustling creatures and objects. Despite the armed soldiers’ appearance, the slum residents remained engrossed in their tasks without a hint of worry.

I was scanning for any suspicious figures when I grabbed the radio. I was curious about when we could move.

When I inquired, the federal commander politely requested us to “please wait for just five minutes.” I believed those words and waited patiently, but ten minutes had nearly elapsed before the vehicles began to move.

And around the twelfth minute, Lucia snatched the radio. She suggested a bit angrily that we might as well just walk. The federal commander adamantly refused, claiming that it absolutely couldn’t be done.

Stuck in this limbo, I wondered what on earth these idiots were doing in front that they couldn’t properly manage traffic control?

My blood began to boil. There was nothing we could do in a congested road. Even if I wanted to get out, we were blocked by the federal troops, cult members, and officials of Al-Yabd.

Ultimately, we had no choice but to sit trapped in our vehicle while gazing blankly out the window.

“I’ve heard from the Ivory Tower that there are quite a number of magic stone mines in this area. But the conditions don’t seem great.”

“The benefits don’t go to everyone, after all.”

“Furthermore, there are so many people. It seems to be getting busier the further we go inside.”

“It looks overall like their nutrition is poor… I’m genuinely concerned about the children’s health.”

“Someone is watching us from the rooftop?”

“Don’t mind it, Camila. People around here often go up on roofs.”

As we watched the eastern slums of Nabuktu, we exchanged various conversations. Perhaps it was a case of occupational hazard; everyone was focused on different aspects.

There was no hint of anxiety about evacuation among the residents going about their daily lives.

Although some shows of concern could be seen, there was no one preparing to evacuate anywhere in sight.

The scene of the slum that had supposedly undergone a “provincial evacuation plan” stood in stark contrast to what the federal government had claimed.

Lucia’s face was painted with worry.

“What’s the federal government saying?”

“The usual nonsense. They say they can’t do anything and recommend talking to the provincial government.”

“…I see.”

Immediately after encountering the protesters, I called a federal government official to demand answers.

I asked if they knew how severe the situation was, how could they say there had been an evacuation when people were living inside?

In response, the federal government official flatly denied any knowledge.

“It’s hard to hear news from Nabuktu in the capital. They keep repeating how serious the situation is, suggesting that protests might break out, but they’ve drawn the line saying the federal government can’t intervene in local government issues.”

“So, evacuation is not possible? The military sent from the center is here.”

“Nabuktu is a special administrative region, so the activities of the federal army are limited there.”

According to the laws of the Jamria Federation, the federal government cannot interfere in the administration of local governments.

Furthermore, the south has been a region battling over independence due to civil war from the start.

The rebellious nature of the ruling ethnic group towards the central government is difficult to suppress even with force, so the southern autonomous regions, including Nabuktu, hardly followed orders from the federal government—unless it was under martial law or wartime.

At the beginning of the crisis, the state government initiated its own investigation for precisely these reasons.

Thus, the federal government shifted all responsibility onto the Nabuktu state government. It was said that issues of the autonomous regions should be resolved by the local government taking responsibility.

On the other hand, the state government argued that this crisis was a problem for both them and the federal government, with shared accountability.

The southern commander was appointed by the president, and with federal troops dispatched, they now couldn’t do anything without consulting the federal government.

In other words, the governor of Nabuktu and the president of the Jamria Federation are squabbling with each other.

They’re subtly gauging who will resolve the crisis first and who will take the blame if they fail.

The losing side would probably end up in a coffin and face public interrogation while the winning side would eliminate their rival and enter the presidential palace. The federal president and the governor of Nabuktu belong to different political parties and are both contenders for the presidency.

By the way, the current president is in the midst of amending the constitution, claiming that he will run for a fifth term. According to the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, news of the constitutional amendment has been circulating in the parliament for a few days now.

“Ha…”

Of course, whether a dictator continues to serve or falls from grace doesn’t benefit or harm me in any way.

Yet, I’m caught in a tricky situation due to the heinous antics of two greedy pigs.

Coincidentally, there was someone almost pig-like sitting next to me. I turned the steering wheel and casually remarked.

“Camila, can’t you do something about it?”

“What can I do? Is there something I can do?”

“Of course, you’re British, after all.”

I flashed a smile at Camila.

By just that, she seemed to instantly comprehend what I was hinting at.

“Do you want me to storm the presidential palace? To overthrow the president?”

“I’d really appreciate that.”

Camila crossed her arms and pouted with a sullen expression.

Her demeanor was less about being grumpy and more about sulking.

Under normal circumstances, she would have exploded in anger by now, but it seemed she too had grown disillusioned with the inefficacy of the federal government. Exhausted to the core, Camila nodded dismissively.

“How exactly would you have me do it? Do you have any good plans? I’m worried it might turn into an Iran or Iraq situation if we just flip everything upside down.”

“….”

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

“No, it’s just that it’s been a while since sunset, but for you to say such a thing is a bit….”

Isn’t that a shameless remark? I hesitated to reply, my voice trailing off.

For reference, Iran was overthrown by a coup instigated by Britain, and Iraq was invaded by a coalition to oust Hussein.

Both countries fell into a state of near-collapse as a result. Camila’s comparison was incredibly inappropriate. Why, among many countries, did she have to pick Iran and Iraq?

Flames sparked in her eyes. Camila glared fiercely, her fists clenched.

What is this? Is she suggesting I should “taste” her anger?

“Do you want to get hit?”

“It was just a joke….”

“Watch out, you might actually get punched.”

Though this warning had a threatening tone, threats know who to scare, after all. Camila could threaten all she wanted, but it meant nothing to me.

“How do you plan to hit me? Are you going to smack me like some Indian servant? Or like a black slave—”

“Shut up!”

Just as I was teasing her, I got punched right on top of my head. Bang! A beautiful white fist hit me, causing a sharp pain as if my skull were splitting.

Cowardly, Camila threw the punch with her middle finger slightly bent.

At this point, it felt like a declaration to go all the way.

I took it as a declaration of war.

“Ah… I just want this to end quickly so I can rest. All I want is to enjoy a Whipping cream cake without any worries….”

“Do you want to be whipped?”

“…Please, be quiet. Before you really make me do it.”

“You’re saying that like a seasoned pro… You wouldn’t really do that, would you? Like some slave driver tying a cotton field slave to a wooden fence and whipping them, what a horrific thing to say….”

Both of us were clearly not being serious, so the conversation ended in silly banter. Though the Saint and the Alchemist sitting behind us acted as if they were witnessing something strange.

At any rate, the tense atmosphere started to lift. One by one, the companions who had been staring out with worried faces began to perk up. Thank goodness.

If the road could just clear up a bit, that would be perfect.

Leaning back against the steering wheel, I let out a faint groan.

“Hmm….”

Just then, a sharp sound pierced through from somewhere. A siren.

A police car.

“Oh!”

“What is it?”

“The police are here. It seems they’ve come to clear the road.”

The federal soldiers, who had been stuck and unable to move on the jammed road, urgently called the state government for help. Moments later, a police car appeared in the distance, spewing black smoke as it came rushing towards us.

A police officer leaning against the window shouted something, leading the federal army commander to walk over. The two civil servants gestured wildly at each other across the police car’s window.

After a brief discussion, when the police officer gave a thumbs up—

Just like the parting of the Red Sea, the once clogged road flowed freely.

“Wow… What did I just see?”

“Moses really has nothing on this.”

Camila and I, with our faces pressed against the windshield, couldn’t help but admire the scene.

The unpaved road, previously blocked for over thirty minutes, had suddenly transformed into a ten-lane highway, which was totally understandable.

At that moment, the voice of the federal army commander came crackling through the radio.

He started with a note on how he had requested assistance right when the road was initially blocked, but since the police arrived late, it took a bit longer.

We had entered the slum, and a major clash erupted between the demonstrators trying to break out and the military police stopping them.

It was reported that nearly a hundred casualties resulted from the clash.

While locals were rushing to send police officers in response to the federal army’s assistance request, it was by no means easy to navigate through the chaos of the demonstrators and military police in conflict.

Only one police car managed to get through, and that took an extra thirty minutes because it had to detour to avoid the demonstrators.

He had expressed his frustration, but to show his apology, he got the promise of traffic control and a guide to our destination. That was the end of the federal army commander’s explanation.

…Wait a moment. So all that chatter earlier was just a squabble?

This jerk, seriously?

As if the urgency wasn’t enough already, what kind of nonsense is this?

“Calm down.”

As I simmered inwardly, Lucia gently tapped my shoulder to comfort me. I took a deep breath to settle my boiling anger and shifted gears.

Under police escort, the federal army’s technical vehicle and trucks began to move quickly. Even though the pipes produced smoke and the engine wailed due to fake fuel, nothing could stop the rushing police car.

With a bright siren blaring, the police car surged through the road. Following this bulldozer-like march were countless vehicles in a frenzy.

The line that had been creeping along like a slug just minutes ago now moved at a speed that made one wonder if it was real.

-Clunk! Clunk! Clunk!

The pace was so fast that heavy screams erupted from the truck barreling down the unpaved road.

The rusted suspension creaked as it begged for release, while the federal soldiers in the cargo screamed for their lives. When their backs left the seat, two seconds later, they found themselves crashing to the floor along with their gear.

Camila, gripping the overhead handle, squealed and suddenly snapped to attention, warning, “In front! Watch out for the pothole!”

Francesca brushed her disheveled hair aside, but as the truck swerved to dodge the pothole, her effort was in vain, leaving her hair in a mess again.

By the way, Lucia kept her eyes tightly shut, mumbling away to herself. Listening closely, I realized it was a prayer.

The speedometer showed 90 kilometers per hour. Not on a highway, but 90 kilometers per hour in the city!

I glanced at the speedometer, astonished.

“Wow—this is the fastest I’ve ever driven! It feels like the first time since Syria! Remember that time in Damascus when I accidentally hit someone and the executive director cursed me out—”

“Why would you hit someone!?”

“All of a sudden, they jumped out into the road! What was I supposed to do?”

Experiencing a high-speed chase in a slum where millions live was an extraordinary experience that one could only taste here. As cars faltered, the gaps between them began to widen, yet the police car showed no signs of slowing down.

Had they taken something?

In my day of driving Toyotas around the Middle East, I maintained safe distances, and I was confident as I kept my vehicle steady.

Meanwhile, the vehicles carrying the Holy See and the priests of Al-Yabd were gradually falling behind. Surprisingly, the federal army vehicles were pulling much ahead of the Holy See and Al-Yabd.

Even slugs have their moments, it seems. They might not get things done, but they sure can drive well.

Put all that aside and just get to work, you idiots.

-Cruuunch!

-The tires roared as they crushed the sand and gravel beneath. I focused hard on the police car ahead.

The alley was narrowing with each passing moment. The echoes of dying soldiers in the trailing federal army truck resonated as the police car accelerated even more.

“Ugh, Aahk! Gyaah!”

Camila was dangling from her grip on the overhead handle. As her body rocked in rhythm with the vibrating seat, she desperately reached for a map and shouted, “Th-There, w-we’re…! Th-Three, three, three k—”

“What? I can’t hear you!”

“D-Destination! Th-Three… three… 3 km!”

She was saying there were only 3 km left to arrive.

The car continued its perilous race through the cramped streets. It was less driving and more like a circus act. It felt like we were all riding in a coffin by this point.

Well, at least we hadn’t killed anyone yet.

In the midst of this mad dash through the slum, I noticed something was amiss while I nervously scanned my surroundings.

“Isn’t something weird?”

I gradually slowed down and cautiously spoke up.

“Are you saying the Colonel almost killed us?”

“No, not that.”

My finger pointed straight ahead.

There, kicking up a storm of dust, was the police car racing ahead.

Camila, clutching the overhead handle and clearly feeling ill, began to gag. She looked almost pale.

She grumbled about her stomach being queasy from the high speed, and half-heartedly raised her face, asking, “Why is the police car like that?”

“Why do they keep accelerating, even now?”

“Isn’t that strange? Maybe they’re just insane….”

As I kept my gaze fixed ahead, I turned my head towards the passenger seat.

“Did they just speed up out of crazy zeal, thinking they’d lose it if they didn’t?”

“There’s got to be a reason.”

“It’s not a main road or anything, and they’re speeding through a narrow alley at 80 km/h?”

Passing through the eastern slum of Nabuktu at 80 km/h is not impossible. We were still alive and well, after all.

However, if one were to think about it logically…

Even a crazed driver wouldn’t race through such a narrow space.

Urgent circumstances could be a reason to speed up. I get it. Understandable, completely.

Racing through the treacherous narrow alley? That makes sense. If they’re police and know the area well, it could be done.

But here’s the deal.

Logically speaking.

No matter how urgent, how well-versed they were in the area, and however skilled they could be.

No matter how late they claimed to be as an apology.

“Didn’t that police officer come here to guide us?”

Isn’t it nonsensical for someone claiming to be a guide to recklessly speed through the alley?

Why would they choose a narrow lane over a perfectly fine road?

“Why not take the main road instead? If stragglers lose their way, they won’t have someone to help them.”

“….”

“Isn’t that odd?”

The high-speed vehicle began to slow down gradually. The harsh sounds of friction faded away, replaced by soft gravel sounds, and the tires came to a stop.

As we halted, the truck behind us also came to a stop.

“….”

A silence fell like a blanket over us.

Everything around turned quiet.

The federal soldiers were groaning in pain, but apart from the sounds from the truck, nothing else was heard.

With the once-thundering procession through the alley now long scattered and disbanded, only three vehicles remained.

The federal army truck.

Our vehicle.

And the police car that had led us here.

I carefully extended my hand to grab the radio. Pressing the button yielded no response. The radio was dead.

Turning off the crackling radio, I exited the driver’s seat. The others quietly opened their doors and stepped out as well.

The police car that had been racing like a maddened beast stood still as if it were put under a spell.

As though the play had ended.

Cautiously, I approached the police car with my hands resting on my hips. I bent down to peek inside the driver’s seat.

The police officer sat still.

His hands were resting on the steering wheel, maintaining a confident posture. He even looked like he was smiling in our direction.

Nothing seemed out of place.

Except for the fact that… plants were growing from his eye sockets.

“Oh.”

The smiling face abruptly twisted. I turned my head and glanced down. A grotesque creature, reminiscent of flower petals, was writhing from his eyelids, moving almost like it was rolling its own eyes.

The gentle swaying of the petals stilled, and aligning with the slightly askew direction, the head that had been fixed here slowly turned around.

A smile bloomed.

A bright, flowery grin spread like a full bloom.

The world tilted as if it were about to collapse. Someone tugged me from behind.

My gun, loosed from my waist, clattered to the ground.

In the blurred edges of my vision, there were flashes of Camila and Francesca transforming into flames in the distance.

Like a vapor trail crossing the moon, a small fist emerged from the diagonal line, holding a white light.

“Bow down!”

It punctured the creature’s face.

Tearing through the plant and shattering its bones, the soft fist crashed down on the monster’s face.

 

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