From Titan Corporation to the Empire of Man

Chapter 704 "Look! Another group of playthings have taken the bait!"

Not long after.
Toronto, Canada's largest city, at night.

In the past, Toronto was always a dazzling and bustling city at night. The city lights were reflected on the surface of Lake Ontario, the lake breeze blew through the towering glass curtain wall buildings, and neon lights flashed on the streets. The city's hustle and bustle seemed to never stop.

The relatively famous CN Tower was once a landmark here, standing majestically and overlooking the prosperity of the entire city.

However, at this moment, the former prosperity has turned into a hell.

The National Television Tower still pierces the sky, but under the dark night sky, its outline, reddened by firelight, reflects the shadows, like a giant tombstone, coldly witnessing the decline of this land.

Many neighborhoods were engulfed in flames, with high-rise buildings consumed by the fire. The evening wind carried acrid smoke and dust that raged through the night, and burnt plastic and charred steel bars mixed in the air, creating a pungent smell.

In the early 21st century, Toronto had relatively clean streets, and no one relieved themselves on the beach or by the lake. But now it is littered with charred corpses, broken vehicle wreckage, and filth everywhere.

Gunshots and artillery fire rose and fell from different directions, the explosions like roars tearing the sky apart, mingling with human screams and the howls of the infected, weaving together a cruel symphony of the apocalypse.

On the streets, the Blood Cross infected are wreaking havoc and committing massacres.

They are not simply monsters, but humans completely warped by the plague, still retaining the skill to wield weapons, but having utterly lost their humanity.

Their mouths and fingertips were covered in blood. Some of the infected dragged torn human corpses, raising the severed limbs high as if to show off, and roaring wildly in the firelight.

Some of the Blood Crosses forcefully pinned the fallen survivors to the ground, tearing open their throats with their teeth, causing blood to gush out. But in their eyes, this was merely the beginning of a "feast."

Some of the blood crosses directly display bestial "indulgence" on the streets, regardless of whether the object is alive or dead. Their madness and blasphemy have no bottom line, like madmen who find pleasure only in desecrating life.

Those survivors who did not die immediately were driven away and mocked like playthings.

Their cries and pleas echoed through the streets, but no one could offer them help.

Every street in the city is like an execution ground, with bloodstains and flames covering the former prosperity.

After all, in this vast metropolis with nearly seven million inhabitants, not everyone has perished; even in the depths of hell, some are still "clinging to life."

Some survivors huddled in shopping malls, subway stations, or converted office buildings, trying to rely on the thick reinforced concrete walls to resist the invasion of the Blood Cross.

They built makeshift barriers out of planks and metal, and piled sandbags in the windows and doorways, attempting to create a temporary shelter that could accommodate dozens or even hundreds of people.

Especially in the city's intricate underground subway system, there are still remnants of military and police survivors stationed there.

They were highly trained and used the terrain to create a series of hidden "underground fortresses".

The heavy iron gates, narrow tunnels, and enclosed spaces formed the last barrier against the Blood Cross.

But such perseverance is ultimately bittersweet.

As time went on, resources became increasingly scarce, food and drinking water reserves dwindled daily, and fuel and medicine became so scarce that they were almost exhausted.

In the subway station, children huddled in their mothers' arms, their eyes vacant, as if they no longer knew how to cry, while the adults were constantly discussing plans for the next round of supplies retrieval.

Those teams that went out often never returned.

They had to traverse streets occupied by the Blood Cross to collect supplies from large supermarkets, gas stations, gun shops, and police stations.

Every mission was like a gamble with their lives on the line; either they would bring back a little food and medicine to sustain the shelter, or they would be surrounded and killed by the Blood Cross, leaving no trace of their bodies.

Blood Cross is not a fool either.

Their sense of smell is so keen that they can detect any remaining traces of human scent.

Sometimes, the survivor squads are targeted by lurking infected individuals as soon as they leave the subway exit.

Within minutes, dozens or even hundreds of Blood Crosses would swarm in, tearing the squad apart and humiliating them to death.

Even if someone manages to escape back to the shelter, the resources they bring back are meager, far from enough to satisfy the appetites of all the survivors.

Thus, in this vast city, the survivors are like birds trapped in a cage, knowing that the "sky" is right above them, yet they are sealed off by layers of the shadow of death.

The streets of Toronto, illuminated by the flames, were occasionally lit by distress lights. People waved makeshift flames, glow sticks, or even flashlights into the night sky, hoping to be spotted by aerial vehicles.

However, they were often met only with the howls of the Blood Cross and the flashes of gun barrels.

At this moment, Toronto was no longer a symbol of Canada, but a place where death and madness converged.

It remains vast and magnificent, yet it has become a hellish city sealed off by flames and blood.

At this moment, the cold subway tunnel was filled with the smell of dampness and rust.

The dim lighting had long since failed, and only the night vision goggles on the SWAT team's helmets emitted a cold, eerie green light, illuminating the dark tracks and crumbling walls ahead.

They deliberately kept their footsteps low, the dull rustling of their boots against the gravel creating an extremely faint sound, as if they might startle a crazed monster lurking in the darkness at any moment.

This small team consisted of only six people, but their attire and demeanor exuded a cold and resolute determination.

Each person's gun was equipped with a suppressor, and the subsonic bullets used in conjunction with it could minimize noise in order to avoid provoking the Blood Cross, which could gather at any moment like a tidal wave.

Their combat uniforms are no longer as neat as they used to be; they are worn and tattered, with clear signs of stitching on the fabric. Some of the protective pads are even pieced together from dismantled armor plates.

Even more jarring was the sight of layers upon layers of transparent plastic wrap wrapped around their exposed skin—their necks, wrists, ankles, and other areas—their final "armor."

Even if it's fragile, it can at least protect against splattered blood and saliva.

Because they knew that once the blood cross's bodily fluids came into contact with a human wound, the result would only be a rapid and complete infection.

The team cautiously proceeded along the tunnel and finally arrived at a subway platform.

The place was deserted, a heavy silence enveloped the surroundings, with only the dilapidated billboards creaking and groaning in the breeze, like a low murmur in the dark night.

Several special police officers quickly dispersed to check for any blind spots, and the angles at which they positioned their guns were precise and controlled.

They left no shadowy spot unexplored, no crevice or corner where the blood cross could be hidden.

After a brief search, the lead SWAT officer slowly raised his arm and made a short tactical hand signal.

The other team members immediately responded and regrouped.

No one spoke; they communicated only through gestures. All sounds were suppressed to the extreme, for fear that even the slightest extra breath would bring unbearable disaster.

Soon, the six of them carefully stepped onto the ground, following the dimly lit steps.

What hit them was not the long-awaited fresh air, but the pungent smell of burning and blood.

The night sky glowed a terrifying red under the distant firelight, as if the entire sky had been set ablaze by the burning city. From street corners to alleys, the sounds of intermittent gunfire, explosions, and screams filled with pain and despair could be heard incessantly.

They looked up and saw that several blocks had been turned into a raging inferno, with flames rolling and illuminating the collapsed high-rise buildings.

The shattered glass reflected the firelight on the ground, like countless blood-red fragments embedded in the spine of the city.

"Help! Someone please help me!"

Not far away, a piercing cry for help tore through the night, striking everyone's heart like an iron nail. The breathing of several SWAT officers suddenly quickened, and their fingers gripped the buttocks of their guns even tighter.

Their eyes all turned toward the direction of the sound, their expressions a mixture of resentment and suppressed pain.

The cries for help did not stop; instead, they grew clearer, a final struggle of humanity on the verge of death.

But they could only stand there, letting the heart-wrenching sound pound against their eardrums again and again.

Because they understood that their mission was not to rescue people, but to search for them.

In a secluded shelter deep within the subway, dozens of survivors await their return, including many young children suffering from persistent high fevers who urgently need medication.

If they rashly go to support those calling for help, they are likely to expose their location and attract hordes of Blood Crosses. At that time, the entire squad will be overwhelmed by the flood of infected.

Such a sacrifice would also mean that everyone in the shelter would lose their last hope.

This is the cruelest choice.

The lead SWAT officer silently raised his hand, making a resolute gesture.
Keep moving forward, don't get distracted.

Pain and anger flashed in the team members' eyes, but they did not object.

Everyone buried their emotions deep inside, tightened their formation, and left quickly and silently.

The cries for help still echoed at the other end of the street, but to their ears, they had been suppressed into a piercing noise.

They could only pretend they didn't hear it.

The six figures gradually disappeared into the distance amidst the interplay of firelight and shadow. What they carried on their backs was not only heavy equipment and tattered clothing, but also the inescapable torment of their conscience.

Under the cover of night, every step felt like walking on a steel blade, with the constant threat of falling into the abyss of death.

In the distance, on the streets illuminated by flames, the howls of the Blood Cross gradually rose, as if mocking the last stubbornness and helplessness of these humans.

The SWAT team advanced slowly, hugging the dilapidated walls. The dark alleyway resembled a narrow blood vessel, filled with a damp and decaying atmosphere that made even breathing feel heavy and rusty.

The six men moved cautiously with the help of the cold light from their night vision goggles, each breath as shallow as possible.

Occasionally, a Blood Cross wanders alone, its movements slightly stiff due to excessive rampage and severe injuries, yet its eyes are bloodshot, still displaying a twisted desire and a frenzied hunger.

Whenever this type of creature appears, the SWAT team immediately coordinates their actions through silent hand gestures.
One person steadily locked onto the target, lightly pulled the trigger, and the subsonic bullet, with its sound reduced to a minimum speed, accurately entered the skull.

Puff-!
The infected person's body trembled slightly before collapsing to the ground, blood gushing out, and darkness engulfed its final struggle.

Everything was extremely quiet.

No one spoke, and no one turned around.

Because they knew all too well that in this urban ruin, any hesitation would be tantamount to self-destruction.

Soon, they passed through the alley and arrived at a street corner.

The view suddenly opened up, and the firelight shone from between the distant high-rise buildings, casting a dark red shadow over everything in front of us.

Across the street, an old pharmacy stood prominently in the night.

The pharmacy's roller shutter door remained closed, covered with a thick layer of dust and soot.

The door lock was intact, suggesting that it had been untouched since the fall of Toronto.

The faded billboard swayed in the wind, making a slight creaking sound, as if whispering about the long-ago noisy years.

The eyes of the special police officers lit up at that moment.

drug--

That was their most pressing goal for this trip.

Compared to food and fuel, medicine is their scarcest life-saving resource, especially in shelters where children's high fevers, if left uncontrolled, could take their lives at any moment.

The fact that the pharmacy was not looted means that it is highly likely that it still has its complete inventory.

The team quickly settled into their tactical roles.

The leader, after confirming that there was no suspicious activity around, waved to signal.

Two special police officers quickly crossed the street and rushed into the narrow alley next to the pharmacy, raising their rifles and quickly establishing a crossfire cover point.

The other four followed, forming a temporary defensive formation in front of and around the pharmacy.

All the movements were performed in one smooth motion, with perfect coordination.

The streets seemed to have briefly returned to order under their control, as if they could indeed gain a safe window for the next step of the breach.

However, just as two of them were about to take out their tools and try to pry open the iron gate, the air was suddenly torn apart by a piercing roar.

"—Hahaha! I knew this place was a perfect fishing spot!"

The sound was rough and sharp, filled with heart-wrenching madness and mockery, echoing among the ruins like thousands of wild dogs howling at the same time.

The next instant, the surrounding dark streets were suddenly illuminated.

Countless torches lit up between the high-rise buildings and the ruins, their blinding light illuminating menacing figures.
Blood Cross.

They had been lying in ambush in the shadows of the surrounding buildings for some time, and now they appeared all at once, their numbers as numerous as a tide.

They perched on broken windowsills or clung to collapsed rooftops, each with its own unique shape, yet all bearing the same scarlet eyes and maniacal grin.

"Look! Another group of playthings have taken the bait!" The roar exploded again, this time accompanied by an even more chilling and sinister laugh.

Accompanied by this flattering voice, a massive blood cross, standing atop the building, slowly appeared.

Its figure resembled a steel giant, at least 2.2 meters tall, with muscles bulging like layers of iron blocks, and skin stretched purple by blood vessels, as if it would burst at any moment.

It stood atop the broken wall, looking down at the SWAT team trapped in danger below, its saliva dripping from its mouth reflecting the firelight and shimmering with a chilling luster.

"hehe."

Its laughter was deep and brutal, shaking the air like a drumbeat, as if the whole city was trembling at its arrival.

"Ouch~!"

"Kill! Kill!!"

"grass!#%#!!"

The surrounding blood crosses also howled in unison, their sounds converging into a storm that swept across the night sky, making people's hearts tighten and almost suffocate.

The six members of the SWAT team immediately realized that they had fallen into a complete ambush.
(End of this chapter)