Location: Gun’s Quarters – Top of the Sawmill Time: 08:00 AM

  The sun now invades the room with an aggressive glare. Gun has his face buried in Freya’s shoulder, eyes closed, soaking in the warmth of her skin. For a brief moment, the tyrant of Region 97 looks like a man at peace.

  — "You are my greatest treasure, Freya," he whispers, his voice heavy with a dark sincerity. — "Everything I destroyed was to build a place where you could shine."

  Freya doesn’t answer. She stares at the ceiling, feeling the weight of his body, when the silence is shattered by frantic pounding on the metal door. The sound echoes like gunshots inside the room.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  — "LORD GUN!" — the soldier’s voice outside is on the edge of hysteria, sharp and trembling.

  Gun tenses instantly. The calm vanishes from his face, replaced by a glacial irritation. He doesn’t get up immediately; he simply turns his head toward the door, eyes flashing.

  — "Damn it..." — Gun growls, his voice rolling like low thunder. — "Can't you see I’m busy? If this isn't the end of the world, I’ll personally make sure yours ends today."

  There was a second of silence on the other side, followed by a sob of terror from the soldier.

  — "It’s urgent, sir!" — the man cried out, his voice cracking. — "The cells... the cells are open! Solomon, the others... the Heretics have escaped!"

  The Monster’s Transformation

  The effect of the words was physical. Gun froze for a millisecond, as if his brain refused to process the betrayal. Then, he lunged from the bed with predatory agility.

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  Freya sat up quickly, covering herself with the silk sheet, watching the man she loved and feared transform. Gun didn’t utter a single curse. He walked to the nightstand and grabbed the black leather mask. As he put it on and zipped the mouth shut, he ceased to be the man who spoke of heirs and became the Executioner of Oregon once again.

  He grabbed his Magnum, checked the cylinder with a dry metallic click, and marched to the door. He threw it open with such violence that the soldier who had been knocking fell backward, crawling across the wooden floor.

  — "Repeat it," Gun ordered, his voice now muffled and mechanical through the leather of the mask.

  — "They’re all out, sir..." — the guard stammered, staring into the barrel of Gun’s weapon. — "The scout... Henry... he’s not at his post. The keys are gone."

  Gun walked to his office balcony, which overlooked the Sawmill courtyard. Below, chaos was beginning to take hold. Soldiers ran back and forth, shouting confused orders.

  Gun looked at the stand where the main radio sat. The wire was cut. He looked at the armory. The door was wide open.

  — "Henry..." — Gun whispered the name, not with anger, but with a profound disappointment that quickly curdled into a volcanic hate. — "You didn't just run. You spat on my throne."

  He turned to the soldier still on the floor. Without a hint of hesitation, Gun leveled the Magnum and fired.

  BOOM!

  The guard’s body was hurled backward, blood staining the light wood of the hallway. Freya let out a muffled scream inside the room. Gun didn’t look back. He walked to the railing and fired three times into the sky, the sound of the high-caliber rounds instantly silencing the courtyard below.

  — "EXECUTIONERS!" — Gun’s voice, amplified by hate, descended upon the base like a death sentence. — "The banquet is over! The scout has betrayed us! I want Henry Henrikson’s head on a spike before noon! Whoever brings me his body gets his weight in oil! Whoever fails... will take his place in the cells!"

  Below, the 250 remaining soldiers roared in response, driven by fear and greed. Armored jeep engines began to growl, spewing black smoke into the morning sky.

  Gun went back into the room and looked at Freya. She was pale, eyes wide. He walked to her, gripped her chin firmly, and kissed her forehead through the leather of the mask.

  — "The heir will have to wait, my queen," he said, his voice vibrating with a divine fury.

  The Regrouping in the Forest

  Miles away, in the dense woods surrounding the highway, the silence of nature is interrupted by the snapping of dry branches.

  Henry stops in a clearing. He removes his blue wooden mask for a moment to wipe the sweat. Behind him, the group is complete: Solomon, Kane, Kol, Vane, Elena, Mika, Leo, Tara, and Beck.

  A figure emerges from the ferns. It’s Steve "Pyro." He carries two gallons of fuel. He smiles seeing the group gathered and masked.

  — "Henry!" — says Kane, adjusting the circular saws on his wrists. — "The Chemult radio is going crazy. Gun just gave the hunting order. He put a price on your head."

  Henry puts the mask back on. The gaze through the wooden slit is cold and determined. He looks at Solomon, who leans his tactical cane on the ground.

  — "Let him come," Henry says. — "He thinks we are running. But we’ve only changed the battlefield. I stole the rocket launchers! If we cut off Route 97 at the canyon, his convoy gets trapped. That’s where the 'God' will find out he is made of flesh."

  Henry clinks one brass knuckle against the other, producing a metallic ring.

  — "Heretics!" — Henry exclaims. — "Today we don't just fight to survive. We fight so that Gun's gunpowder is never heard again."

  End of Chapter