The sudden sound of a loud creak interrupted her thoughts. The car, which had been thrown into the building, crashed down from the upper floor, landing with a sickening thud on the walkway below. Jackie's heart skipped a beat as her mind snapped into focus. Commander LaCroix was right there when the car went through.
She snatched up her gun and sprinted toward the building, ignoring the sting in her leg. Up the stairs she went, two at a time, the thought of LaCroix's fate pushing her forward faster than reason could catch up.
"Is the commander okay?!" she shouted, reaching the top of the stairs. But before she could move any further, two officers stepped in her way, their expressions unreadable.
A thick silence hung between them before one of the men spoke, his voice heavy. "Ms. O'Hara... Commander LaCroix has been killed in action."
Jackie's stomach dropped, her chest tightening with an emotion she couldn't place. But the words didn't sink in before she snapped back. "Let me through."
The officers exchanged uneasy glances, but they didn't move. One of them opened his mouth, but she didn't let him finish.
"I said, let me through!" she shouted, her voice rising in command, the desperation underneath barely contained.
The officers hesitated, glancing at each other for a moment before stepping aside. Jackie barely registered their presence as she stepped through. Her eyes immediately found Commander LaCroix's body lying on the floor, surrounded by rubble, his coat draped over his face. Without a word, she knelt beside him, her fingers gently brushing the edge of the coat.
"I wouldn't if I were you, Ms. O'Hara," one of the officers warned quietly, his voice heavy with an unspoken understanding of the grisly scene.
But Jackie wasn't listening. With grim determination, she lifted the coat just enough to see beneath. The sight that met her eyes was enough to make her recoil, and she dropped the coat with a sharp gasp, stepping away. Her stomach churned, and before she could react further, she hurled into one of the potted plants nearby, her breath coming in shallow gasps.
The muffled voice of a man suddenly traveled through the halls, cutting through her moment of shock. "Let me out of here! Aaaaah! You bastards, I'll kill you all!"
Jackie wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, straightening up. "Who is that?" she asked, trying to regain her composure.
"That must be the first Dread Hunter we detained," the officer who had stayed behind replied. "Looks like he woke up before the others."
Her body still trembling from the sight of LaCroix, Jackie made her way toward the source of the shouting.
When she reached the room, she threw open the door to find the Dread Hunter struggling against his restraints. "Who the hell are you?" he spat as the door swung wide.
Jackie didn't answer. She aimed her gun at him, her finger pulling the trigger. But instead of the sharp crack of a bullet, all she heard was the ominous click of an empty chamber.
"Ahahaha! You all out of ammo, little lady?" the Dread Hunter cackled, his head thrown back in manic laughter.
Again, Jackie didn't answer. With a flick of her wrist, her sword materialized once more—glimmering faintly in the dim light. This time, she held it differently. With care. With intent. She whispered a quiet prayer beneath her breath.
"Now I lay the anguished to sleep."
Before the Dread Hunter could process what she said, her blade slipped through his skull like paper, ending him without another word.
When she stepped out of the room, the sword still in hand, silence met her. Every officer watched her, bloodied and bruised, some barely standing. They had given everything in a war they were never meant to fight.
Jackie surveyed them all. "So these are the Auclair Police Officers that Commander LaCroix seemed so proud of," she murmured. Then, louder, "I see why. You performed exceptionally. All of you. Now, tend to your wounded and wait outside. I'll finish the rest."
The men exchanged glances, but none questioned her. With somber hands, they lifted their fallen commander and comrades, carrying them outside.
As the doors closed behind them, Jackie took a breath. She hadn't heard much of LaCroix's final words, but what she did hear in their time together was enough to know: he had built a strong and loyal force in Auclair.
AFTER FINISHING OFF THE LAST OF THE DREAD HUNTERS, JACKIE GATHERED THESURVIVING officers—thirty in all.
"By my estimate," she began, "we're down about five."
The weight of that number lingered in the silence.
"I've already called in medical support. If you're injured or too exhausted to continue, stay here. Get your wounds treated. Secure the perimeter and look after one another."
She paused, scanning their faces—some smeared with ash and blood, others barely standing but still upright.
"The rest of you are coming with me. We'll head west to reinforce your department across the parish."
No one questioned her. Orders were orders—but more than that, they trusted her.
In the end, less than half of the officers were fit to move. Those who could still fight formed up behind Jackie, while the others remained behind to follow through on her command.
JACKIE AND THE OFFICERS MADE THEIR WAY TO THE TROLLEY STATION, WHERE THEY FOUND Newbie sitting just outside the locked entrance. The station had been shut down due to the emergency, but that didn't stop them from getting in.
One of the officers, familiar with the controls, stepped forward and took the wheel. Soon, the trolley was rumbling to life, set on a westward course.
Inside, the atmosphere was heavy. Every soul aboard sat in silence, worn and slouched—too tired to speak, barely holding on.
"I see you brought him along," Newbie said, eyeing Fortier's limp, unconscious body in the back of the trolley.
"We have to keep an eye on him until all this is over," Jackie replied. "We don't want him to escape his punishment, do we?"
Newbie glanced at her, his expression unreadable. Without saying another word, he leaned his head back against the seat and, almost instantly, drifted off to sleep.