Life had taken him to many different places, but Alan never thought he'd find himself making decisions that would affect so many others.
Every action had a reaction, and he knew that was true—his own choices had led to unexpected changes in the course of critical events.
His need to protect what was his and remain safe from FEDRA's grip was not just a matter of timing—it was a necessity.
He knew perfectly well that the chances of being attacked by infected were lower on an island. And if he managed to take control of a few ships, that chance would drop to zero.
Perhaps others had accomplished more than he had, but this already felt like the absolute limit of what was possible. There was nothing more he aspired to gain—he only needed to protect his refuge and make it self-sufficient enough to need nothing from the outside.
But now, there was something even more important he had to do—put an end to certain people who weren't part of his evacuation plans.
"None of these people would survive such a difficult flight, and we don't have the equipment we need where we're headed." Alan looked at the patients on their stretchers. They were all in comas.
The medicine wasn't limitless, and with all factors considered, even the doctors didn't know if these people could hold on long enough for new infection containment bases to be established.
Many would die before humanity saw a new dawn.
He felt there was dignity in being the one to give these people peace. He knew, from the doctor's own words, that many of them would die anyway. So necessity had forced Alan's group to leave them behind.
If the bombs fell, Alan knew that even if he left them alive, they wouldn't survive the fire the military would rain down across the land. If the flames didn't kill them, then the smoke would slowly suffocate every last one of them.
This was the only way they could rest.
"By my hand, it will be…" Alan murmured as he approached an elderly woman, sitting beside her. He pulled out a pistol with a silencer and was about to fire when, suddenly, someone entered the room.
"Don't do it."
Alan looked up in surprise—it was Natalia, carrying a medical case.
"You should be in a helicopter by now. What are you doing here?" Alan asked, genuinely confused.
"They're my patients. I should be the one…" Natalia didn't want Alan to carry the burden of responsibility alone. After all, part of it was hers—for being unable to save them.
Doctors, regardless of gender, fight against death on a battlefield where the odds are always against them. And Natalia knew that this time, she had lost a major battle.
"Then let's finish it quickly. A shot to the head, and they'll finally rest." Alan would carry this pain—these people would live on within him from this day forward.
"Don't be a barbarian. I've prepared an injection that will do the job."
Death, when it comes in sleep, is said to be the most peaceful of all—one where there is no pain, and you can drift away in dreams without fear or awareness.
"It's the same."
Sometimes, when you're asleep, you forget you're alive or even dreaming. In that state, if someone ends your life with a shot to the head, you wouldn't feel a thing.
Bang!
In the depths of his heart, Alan hoped he had made the right decision. He couldn't take responsibility for these people—not really. Not now, knowing the challenges they would soon face.
Through tears, Natalia also pulled the trigger on her air pistol. The impact was strong enough to pierce the brain, ensuring that the comatose patients never woke up.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Alan's eyes dulled. His emotions retreated to the deepest corners of his being, and a sensitivity he thought he lacked began to emerge.
Alan felt strange. A sense of unease and pain spread through his chest, tightening into a suffocating knot.
Each shot was a life, and in total, over a hundred people had been freed. That word—freed—might sound hypocritical when referring to killing, but leaving them here would have only prolonged their suffering.
Alan had mercy. At least he didn't run from his responsibilities like others might have—and that gave him some small comfort.
When it was over, Alan's trembling hand released the trigger. With blurred vision, he noticed a pack of cigarettes on a white table. Without thinking, he took one—but in the end, dropped it to the floor.
Cough… "They say smoking calms the nerves, but I think that's nonsense." Alan pocketed the cigarette pack and left the room.
Some time later, two soldiers entered with gas cans and began soaking the entire place in fuel. Once everyone was outside, a furious blaze consumed the building.
Stuart looked at Alan and asked, "Are we leaving?"
"Yes, let's get out of here." Alan nodded, making it clear he didn't want anyone to know what had happened.
Without further delay, they all boarded the helicopter and left the site behind.
Natalia looked at Alan, but said nothing. She closed her eyes, overwhelmed by a sorrow she might never be able to lift from her chest.
Alan was different. He had felt dead inside for a long time.