West Noi Ha – The Royal Hotel.
Once the most opulent landmark in the city, this five-star hotel had now been repurposed as the headquarters for the Skull Syndicate.
Inside the sprawling Presidential Suite, the air was thick with the acrid stench of cigarettes and heavy liquor. The boss—a middle-aged man with a shaven head and a skull-and-crossbones tattoo inked across the back of his neck—sat in a red velvet armchair. This was Hung "The Skull," the man who held the power of life and death in this district.
"SLAM!"
Hung struck the table with such force that the subordinates standing before him flinched in unison.
"Idiots! Feeding you lot is a waste of good rations!" he roared, his voice gravelly and raw. "I give you women to relieve your stress, not for you to slaughter them!"
One subordinate spoke up timidly: "Boss… those girls are fragile. A few rounds and they pass out. We… we just got carried away…"
"Carried away, my ass!"
Hung bolted upright, delivering a stinging backhand across the man's face. CRACK! The subordinate staggered, nearly collapsing.
"In this age, manpower is gold. If you kill them all, who's going to do the work? Who washes, who cooks, who sews? Or were you planning on picking up a needle and thread yourself?"
He glared at the group with predatory intensity:
"From now on, anyone who tortures the 'merchandise' to death or leaves them crippled gets their hands chopped off and tossed to the monsters. When you're bored of them, send them down to the penal labor camps. Am I clear?"
"Clear… crystal clear, Boss!" the thugs shouted in chorus, cold sweat drenching their backs.
Hung sat back down, lit a cigar, and took a long, slow drag before exhaling a plume of blue smoke.
"One more thing. Anyone caught snorting 'snow' gets a bullet in the brain. If you're high in this world, a monster will be chewing your head off in your sleep before you even know it. Those four idiots at the North Gate were devoured by mutant leopards yesterday precisely because they were tripping on junk!"
The subordinates bowed their heads. Without drugs, life in this hellscape was pure psychological torture. But compared to being flayed alive by beasts, withdrawal symptoms were a luxury.
"Tonight, assemble Teams 1 and 2. We're hunting those leopards to avenge our men. And we need fresh meat. The food vault is running low."
Hung issued the command with icy detachment. His eyes flickered with the ruthless spark of an alpha beast. In this chaotic world, only iron discipline and sheer cruelty ensured survival.
...
Thien Anh's Bunker. 5:00 AM.
Without the need for an alarm, Thien Anh's biological clock triggered his awakening. There was no sunlight in the bunker, only the dim flicker of flashlights, yet the routine was as precise as a military operation.
"Rise and shine."
Thien Anh clapped twice. Thien Lang and Thien Thanh opened their eyes instantly. There was no grogginess, no lingering lethargy. The instinct for survival was etched into the very marrow of this family.
The morning drills began.
Thien Anh performed high-intensity Calisthenics: one-armed push-ups, pull-ups, and hanging leg raises. Sweat drenched his scarred torso, every muscle fiber rippling and taut like braided steel cables.
Thien Lang trained for speed and reflexes. He zig-zagged through an obstacle course Thien Anh had constructed, practicing lunges and shredding sandbags. A heavy thud-thud echoed every time his paw struck the targets.
Meanwhile, Thien Thanh—the diminutive assassin—had her own specialized regimen. She slithered along the ceiling beams, practicing high-altitude drops, coiling around the necks of wooden practice dummies and constricting.
CRACK!
The neck of a solid hardwood mannequin was snapped clean through by Thien Thanh's grip.
"Excellent," Thien Anh nodded in approval. "Your constriction force is now enough to snap a steel pipe."
Thien Thanh released the dummy, her forked tongue flicking with a sense of immense self-satisfaction: "Hee hee. Child's play."
After her mutation, Thien Thanh was not only faster, but her scales were tougher than Kevlar plating. Blades couldn't cut her; fire couldn't scorch her. Coupled with her lethal venom, she had become the ultimate instrument of assassination.
...
A simple breakfast of dried meat and filtered water followed. Then, the "study hour."
Thien Anh sat at his desk, faced with a stack of thick volumes: Clinical Medicine, Mechanical Engineering, Criminal Psychology, Linguistics...
He devoured the information. To him, knowledge wasn't for show. Knowledge was a weapon. Knowing another language was another opportunity for communication. Knowing an acupressure point was another way to kill—or to save.
Thien Lang and Thien Thanh lay nearby, watching... National Geographic videos on an old tablet pre-loaded with thousands of hours of content.
"Look at that," Thien Lang pointed a claw at the screen where a wolf pack was hunting. "Their pincer maneuver is decent. But they're so... slow."
Thien Thanh puffed out her cheeks: "They're nothing compared to serpents. One bite and it's over. Why bother running around and getting exhausted?"
Thien Anh listened to their tactical debates with a suppressed smile. He didn't intervene. Allowing them to learn and develop their own strategic thinking was a vital part of their training.
Noon arrived.
"Thien Lang, light the fire."
"Yes, Master."
Thien Lang struck his claws against a flint stone. SPARK! A shower of embers hit the tinder, igniting a small flame. He skillfully used his paws to nudge firewood into the stove—a modified wood-burner designed to conserve electricity.
Thien Anh took the lead in cooking, while Thien Thanh acted as the... official taster.
"Too salty, brother! Add some water!" Thien Thanh hissed, flicking her tongue in complaint.
"I'm on it, you picky lady."
The small bunker was filled with laughter and the rich aroma of food. It was a scene of bizarre domesticity deep beneath the cold earth, while outside, the world shrieked in agony.
But this peace was merely the eye of the storm.
Their food supplies were dwindling at an alarming rate. Thien Lang's stomach was a bottomless void. Despite gorging themselves less than a month ago, he was already feeling the gnaw of hunger again.
Thien Anh looked at the increasingly empty storage racks, his blade-like brows furrowing.
"We're almost out of supplies. Prepare yourselves. We're heading out."