Chapter 458: Rifle Symphony Massacre

I watched from the shadowed ridge above the camp—jetpack humming low on my back, silent and ready. Below, the scene unfolded like a slow-motion nightmare in the flickering firelight.

Megan—still bound in rough rope around her wrists and ankles—sat slumped against a crate, tears cutting clean tracks through the dirt on her face. She looked Broken. But her eyes still burned with that stubborn cop fire.

Hailey knelt beside Paul—her father—trying to press a damp cloth to his fevered forehead. Paul’s leg was a ruin: torn away below the knee by a mountain lion, the stump wrapped in filthy bandages that had long since soaked through with pus and blood.

Infection had set in deep—fever burning him up, skin hot and yellow-tinged, breaths shallow and labored. Hailey’s hands shook as she wiped his brow, but her eyes kept darting to Megan—fear and fury warring on her young face.

Three men—rough, hollow-eyed survivors who’d been with the group since the early days—had circled closer to Megan. Their clothes were ragged, faces unshaven, eyes gleaming with the kind of hunger that only comes from months of deprivation.

The tallest one—scar across his cheek, voice like gravel—squatted in front of her, grinning with yellowed teeth.

"Oh... I didn’t expect Officer Megan to be such a whore," he drawled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair from her tear-streaked face. She jerked away—ropes biting into her wrists. "Look at you... tied up like a present. Been a long time since any of us had pussy. Real pussy. Not just our hands and memories."

Another man—shorter, balding, licking cracked lips—laughed low and dirty.

"Yeah... why don’t we take turns? Heh. It’ll be fun. Been dreaming about bending you over since you first barked orders at us, Officer. Bet that tight cop cunt feels even better than it looks."

The third one—younger, twitchy—already palming himself through his torn jeans.

"Fuck yeah. I wanna know how it feels to take a police officer’s pussy. Bet you’re real tight when you’re scared."

The women in the camp—mothers clutching children close—looked away. Some whispered furiously to their husbands, but no one moved to stop it. Survival had eroded everything else. Law. Shame. Solidarity. All gone.

Megan’s voice cracked—sharp, furious, terrified.

"Don’t... even think about it," she snarled, straining against the ropes. "I’m a police officer. You touch me—you touch any of us—and I swear to God—"

The scarred one laughed—loud, mocking.

"Officer Megan... there is no police officer anymore. No law. No badges. Just survival. And right now... survival means we take what we want."

He reached for her—fingers aiming for the torn edge of her shirt.

Hailey surged to her feet—small, fierce—planting herself between Megan and the men.

"Stop!" she yelled, voice shaking but loud. "You can’t do this! Have you forgotten? She’s the one who’s been protecting us! Giving us food when we had nothing! Risking her life every time she went out scavenging! And you—you’re just gonna... gonna—"

The scarred man’s eyes slid to Hailey—slow, lecherous. His grin widened.

"Oh... who’s this girl? Hailey, right? She looks nice... real nice. Young. Fresh. Bet she’s tighter than the cop."

He licked his lips—openly now—stepping toward her.

Hailey faltered—eyes wide—but didn’t back down.

Paul—voice weak, fever-cracked—called from the mat.

"Hailey... come back... please... don’t..."

Hailey glanced at her father—then back at the men—hesitation cracking her resolve.

Megan’s voice broke—low, desperate.

"Hailey... get away. Please. I’ll... I’ll commit suicide before I let anything happen to me. Or to you. Just... run."

One of the mothers nearby—clutching two small children—whispered harshly.

"Quiet! Don’t look, babies. They’re just... playing. It’s nothing."

A little boy—maybe six—tilted his head.

"Mom... what is that uncle doing to the lady?"

The mother pulled him closer—voice tight.

"It’s nothing. They’re just... playing. Go back to sleep."

The scarred man laughed again—reaching for Hailey’s arm.

That was enough.

I watched from the ridge for only a few more seconds—long enough to see the two women tighten the ropes around Hailey’s wrists, dragging her back while she kicked and screamed.

"Let me go! What are you guys doing?!" Hailey’s voice cracked with fury and terror, her small body thrashing uselessly. "She’s hurt! She’s bleeding—let me help her!"

Megan—ropes biting deep into her wrists and ankles—slumped against the tree trunk. Her torn shirt hung open, black bra exposed, chest heaving with sobs. Blood trickled from the back of her head where she’d slammed it against the bark—once, twice—hard enough to split skin. Her eyes were empty now, despair swallowing the last of her fight.

The scarred man’s friend—the balding one who’d laughed about "taking turns"—squatted in front of her again, grinning with cracked lips.

"Stop her," he barked at the woman holding Hailey. "I don’t wanna fuck a dead bitch. She’s still breathing—let’s keep her that way."

The other man—twitchy, already palming himself—laughed low and dirty.

"Yeah... let’s see how tight that cop cunt really is. Been too long since I had anything warm."

Megan’s voice broke—raw, defeated.

"Don’t... even think about it..." she whispered. "I’m a police officer... you touch me... and I swear..."

The balding man laughed louder.

"Officer? There ain’t no police no more, sweetheart. No law. No badges. Just hungry men... and you."

Hailey screamed again—kicking, twisting.

"Stop! You can’t do this! She’s the only reason any of us are still alive! She gave us her rations! She went out every day—risked her life—while you all hid! And now you’re gonna—gonna—"

Paul—feverish, half-conscious—tried to crawl forward on his one good arm.

"Hailey... come back... please... don’t... don’t make them hurt you too..."

Hailey glanced at her father—tears streaming—then back at Megan.

"I’m not leaving her!" she yelled. "You’re monsters! All of you!"

One of the mothers nearby—clutching two small children—whispered frantically.

"Quiet! Don’t look... they’re just... playing. It’s nothing."

The little boy—six or seven—tilted his head, confused.

"Mom... why is the lady crying? And why is that uncle touching her funny?"

The mother pulled him tighter—voice shaking.

"It’s nothing. Just... grown-up games. Go back to sleep."

I’d heard enough.

The magical tool unfolded in my palm — sleek, black, merciless — transforming into a fully automatic rifle with unlimited ammunition. No recoil. No overheating. Just pure, endless death.

BRRRRRT—!

Three rapid bursts tore through the scarred man’s back. His body jerked violently as bullets punched through flesh and bone. Blood exploded out of his chest in bright red sprays, splattering Hailey’s face and shirt. He staggered forward one step, eyes wide with shock, then collapsed face-first into the sand with a wet thud, blood pouring from six gaping holes in his torso.

The balding one spun around — mouth opening to scream.

Too late.