The breath Casia exhaled rose in clouds, but the cold storage wasn't especially cold. He pulled back the white cloth, and as expected, beneath lay pale corpses. Time had passed, and even though the cold had kept them preserved, their skin retained an unnatural bluish tint beneath the white, a hidden discomfort.
"What is it?" Kara asked from behind, noticing Casia frozen in the storage room. She stepped closer.
All the corpses were female, marked by violence. The stains and scratches appeared even more gruesome under the cold light. Arranged neatly on the iron tables, a total of over ten bodies lay exposed before them.
At the far corner, one body showed freshness—skin still tinged with color, limbs soft in the light—indicating she had died recently.
Casia had no interest in examining the female corpses up close. In the Saint Dorag Military Academy, he had taken a course in Professional Anatomy, learning the most vulnerable and fatal parts of the human body through vivid full-color images. He had seen lifelike depictions of females of all ages.
"That's her!" Kara's tone held surprise, but nothing more.
"The girl who insisted on going alone," Casia said with a tinge of regret. "Her route mirrored ours." He reflected that, like him, she had wanted to set out solo but had compromised to find allies.
Life's value is not just spoken—it is acted upon.
Had Kara refused to team up, Casia might have pursued the first two who left alone. Without companions, tasks become more difficult—a lesson he learned vividly on the Reconstructed Manoma Route, where gunfire still echoed like thunder in his memory. It wasn't the killing that shocked him, but the feeling of pushing his limits and the fear he could not ignore.
The girl's fatal injuries were deep purple ligature marks on her neck, abrasions from resistance, a large bruise on her left shoulder, and a heavy blow to the heart. Their surgical enhancements meant the drugs hadn't fully subdued her, so she fought back—perhaps dropping the half-glass shard behind the plant, which later saved Casia and Kara.
"At least she's dead. She doesn't have to endure these beasts' insults," Kara thought, angered by the hunting team's cruelty despite any disdain for the girl's independent decisions.
"Back to work. Only three of them are in the station. Time's tight—we need to interrogate the man you caught," Kara said, covering the corpses again.
Returning to Casia's room, the lean man had not regained consciousness. Casia knew he hadn't struck too hard. Kara grabbed a kettle, splashed water over the man, then kicked him off the bed. Without a word, she beat him relentlessly. Begging was useless; pleas became insults, then endless moans of pain.
Finally, Kara paused. Casia knew her anger was boiling; he merely observed silently.
"I have questions," she said, breathing evenly despite the exertion. "Answer truthfully, or we continue."
The lean man's face was bloodied, lips split, a tooth missing; speech was labored, but pain and Kara's teasing left him compliant. Casia noted his nature—soft under pressure. Kara's revolver, recognized by the man, made him even more cautious. Yet she fed him a few bullets as predetermined.
The room smelled of blood; grape juice aroma couldn't mask it.
"Now you have a reason to fight," Kara said, excitement burning in her eyes. "The access cards for the steam vehicles are with the three hunting team captains. To make our journey easier, we need those vehicles. And entering the Grun Oasis, we'll need disguise."
"So, what's your choice? If you want to continue on foot, I won't stop you. But with all these supplies, two people can't carry everything. I'm not stingy," Kara added, studying Casia's silence.
"Even with the cards, departing now risks encountering the returning hunting team. In the desert, our numbers aren't favorable. Even trusting our strength, bullets don't discriminate…" Casia began. Kara interrupted.
"Enough. Time's short. Let's set up the area quickly." She grabbed her backpack and equipment.
Casia followed, recalling the station's layout and the impressive weapons in the storage room—double-barreled shotguns with dark barrels and gray hardwood grips, powerful at close range with a wide attack radius. Perfect for clustered enemies.
He checked his mechanical watch: 3 a.m. Sunlight would return in roughly an hour and a half. Desert sunlight was blinding—like facing spotlights over miles of open sand, capable of engulfing a person completely. Catching sunrise perfectly could be ideal; Casia mentally sketched a plan.
They headed to the storage room to stock ammunition. Kara used platinum-grade powder; Casia preserved his rare blue-silver bullets. Preparation was key—they needed absolute victory and to remain unscathed, or greater dangers could emerge.
At this time each day, the sky brightened with white hues, shifting subtly as time passed.
By nearly 5 a.m., in the silent early morning, dozens of off-road vehicles raised long plumes of dust and steam, their white exhaust piercing the calm under the blue-gray sky.