The scavengers upstairs engaged in a firefight with the players were still unaware that the penned-up sheep had been released.
"Damn it, have we figured out who hit us? How many people are there?"
Oster was still in the dark, ready to admit it was the Sixth Street Gang or any other faction, even if it was the Trauma Team.
The problem was that this group wore ordinary clothes, their affiliation unknown, and they struck without a word, fiercely attacking, tossing bullets and grenades like they were free.
Mainly because they've made enemies with so many people, anyone has a reason to target scavengers, but they survive by being ruthless and broke; anyone who can't make it might turn into a scavenger or their channel, there's no end to killing them.
A fellow nearby was just as confused, "I have no idea."
"Don't you think you should ask?"
Feeling bullets whizzing over his head, he grimaced, saying:
