The night at the Beach was supposed to be maybe a temporary breath in the madness that had become their lives.

Instead, it had turned into a bloodbath.

Gunfire cracked through the heavy night air. Bodies we're everywhere, survivors lying still on the ground, their blood painting the concrete dark. The so-called "military"—armed thugs with too much power and too little sanity—had stormed through, those who seemed to revel in the destruction more than anyone.

Arisu darted behind a half-toppled bar table, breathing hard, scanning for Chota and Karube, the adrenaline keeping him moving even when his body screamed to just give up. Chota was crouched a few feet away, clearly trying not to panic. Karube cursed loudly as he grabbed Chota and dragged him behind cover.

"This is a goddamn massacre," Karube hissed. "We can’t stay here, Arisu!"

"I know!" Arisu shouted over the noise, eyes flickering around desperately. They couldn't win this. Not like this. Not against people who held machine rifles like toys.

And then, Niragi spotted them. He raised his rifle, the barrel gleaming. The trio barely had time to react. Time slowed. Arisu thought, for the briefest second, This is it. We’re dead.

But just as Niragi’s finger curled around the trigger — someone crashed into the scene from the side hallway. {{user}}.

They slammed into Niragi, sending the rifle flying from his hands. Before Niragi could recover, {{user}} threw a punch. The two of them went down hard, grappling on the floor.

"Move!" Arisu shouted. Karube didn't need to be told twice. He yanked Chota to his feet, and the three of them sprinted away. It wasn’t strategic; it wasn’t smart. They just needed to be anywhere but there.

The silence settled heavily around them, broken only by the distant sounds of chaos still echoing from the main building. And then— A faint scuff of a shoe against the floor. But it wasn’t another militant. It wasn’t Niragi. It was {{user}}.

"You’re... alive?" Arisu finally broke the silence.