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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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The zombie outbreak had occurred not long ago, and a law was passed allowing civilians to carry firearms.
Although there were restrictions, such as the requirement to carry firearms other than handguns in bags or cases and to use them only when absolutely necessary, the law was passed.
Hamton was now considered one of those “necessary” situations.
Camio Minto, the 8th National Military Police Commander who had declared martial law in Hamton, also issued a directive lifting the restrictions on firearms in the outer districts.
This meant that civilians in the outer districts could now openly carry and use rifles, shotguns, and other firearms.
However, contrary to some concerns, there were no reports of civilians using firearms to settle personal scores under the guise of “zombie defense.”
Most citizens were grouped together for safety and were constantly on guard against the threat of zombies, creating a cautious and vigilant atmosphere.
On the surface, the outer districts seemed to be recovering.
Citizens were hastily boarding up broken windows and reinforcing walls with planks and nails. City Hall dispatched cleanup crews to collect the bodies of the deceased.
Citizens skilled in social media were creating and sharing maps, marking “safe zones” and “dangerous areas.” This prevented people from unnecessarily venturing into dangerous areas or carelessly wandering into safe zones.
And everyone was glued to the news.
“Look at this,” someone said, pointing to their phone. A live broadcast from a helicopter showed the road below.
The National Military Police are currently pursuing a major criminal. All gates except for Gate 4 have been closed. We ask for your understanding.
“Who the hell do they think they are, getting chased around like that? It’s like they’re the president’s motorcade.”
“They should have been this proactive during the zombie outbreak.”
“It’s the soldiers who are suffering. But who are these guys anyway, causing all this commotion?”
Another person showed their phone.
“Look at this. They blew up a section of the safe zone wall with explosives. They must be desperate.”
A murmur of excitement rippled through the crowd. While the citizens of the outer districts resented the government and the military, they had even greater disdain for those within the safe zone.
Blowing up a portion of the wall, even if just a small section, felt like a small act of defiance.
“I hope they don’t get caught,” someone said. “I hope they cause some serious trouble. Those people in the safe zone are living comfortably while we’re out here risking our lives.”
Although the citizens were unaware of it, the military police were also taking precautions.
Commander Virginia understood the public’s anger. Lifting the firearm restrictions in the outer districts meant that any unnecessary provocation could lead to violent conflict between the military and the citizens.
Therefore, Commander Virginia strictly limited the use of firearms by her troops. They were still allowed to fire, but only as a last resort. Instead, they focused on using motorcycles to maneuver and block the escape routes. This would buy them time to establish a perimeter around the outer districts.
However, neither the citizens in the outer districts nor Virginia knew what was happening inside the safe zone.
Leticia hung up the phone, her hands trembling. The shock hadn’t subsided. Hostage situation? What kind of nonsense was this? But why him? Of all people, why him?
Then, a piece of the puzzle clicked into place.
Caesar had said, “I might not be able to contact you for a while.” And the driver of the other car had expressed his annoyance when Caesar didn’t show up.
The androgynous person, the one who had seemed so indifferent, had become visibly angry when Leticia displayed a degree of intimacy with Caesar.
“I was wrong,” Leticia murmured to herself. “I wasn’t just jealous because he was spending time with another woman.”
She turned to her computer, searching for the woman’s face. She remembered seeing her somewhere.
She searched for “Liberation Army propaganda” and a flood of images appeared. The government had released these images as examples of what not to believe.
Leticia downloaded one of the images. It was labeled “Supermodel Camilla.” Searching for “Camilla” brought up countless results. She was a top model, more famous for her advertising work than her actual sports career. Every advertisement featured a different image of her.
“Humph, of course a swimmer would have a great body. And all those images are probably heavily edited anyway. Besides, who cares about those liberation army trash…”
She scrolled through the images, muttering to herself. Then, she stopped.
“No.”
One of the images showed Camilla in the driver’s seat, wearing sunglasses. It was a behind-the-scenes shot, part of a collection of “outtakes.” Thousands of comments praised her beauty and charisma. But that wasn’t the point.
It was her.
The student who had been used to incite and deceive students and citizens, the “supermodel Camilla,” the face of the Liberation Army propaganda, the wanted criminal Camilla.
The unexpected discovery left Leticia cold. She remembered the tremor in Caesar’s voice when he talked about “his friend.”
“He must have been blackmailed,” Leticia whispered to herself.
She remembered the incident at the bar. The way he had reacted when she had displayed a degree of intimacy with him.
“I should have stopped him,” she lamented. “I should have prevented him from going.”
She tried to call Caesar again, but his phone went straight to voicemail. He had probably been disarmed. Or perhaps he was being monitored.
But there was still a chance. A slim chance, but a chance nonetheless.
She opened a secure messaging app and typed a message
“- Caesar. If you are being threatened, wave your hand out the window.”
But at the last moment, Leticia hesitated.
If he saw this message, he would know that she knew about his connection to the Liberation Army. And what if he was captured and interrogated? What if they discovered her involvement?
What if they discovered that a high-ranking officer in the 8th Military Police was secretly communicating with a suspected terrorist?
Leticia knew she couldn’t risk it.
“I’ll leave it to the Commander,” she muttered to herself.
Commander Virginia was ruthless and efficient. She would capture Cassandra and her accomplices, no matter the cost.
Leticia watched the news feed intently, her eyes glued to the screen. The chase continued, the vehicles weaving through the city streets like a pack of wild animals.
The helicopters hovered overhead, their searchlights illuminating the darkness. Sirens wailed, a constant reminder of the danger.
Suddenly, the lead vehicle swerved sharply, disappearing down a narrow alleyway. The pursuing motorcycles hesitated, unsure whether to follow.
This was their chance.
Virginia, sensing the opportunity, signaled to her troops. “Spread out! Cut them off!”
The motorcycles split into smaller groups, fanning out across the city. Virginia, leading the pack, pushed her motorcycle to its limits, her eyes fixed on the last glimpse of the fleeing vehicle.
She had to catch them. For the safety of the city, for the honor of the 8th Military Police, and for herself.
This chase had become a personal vendetta.
As she navigated the treacherous city streets, a chilling thought crept into her mind.
What if Cassandra knew? What if she knew that Virginia was the one hunting her?
The thought sent a shiver down her spine. Cassandra was a dangerous woman, a woman who played by her own rules.
Virginia had to be careful. This was a game of cat and mouse, and Cassandra was a cunning predator.
She pushed her motorcycle harder, determined to bring this dangerous game to an end.
The city lights blurred into a kaleidoscope of colors, reflecting the urgency of the chase.
The fate of the city, and perhaps even the fate of the nation, hung in the balance.
Virginia gritted her teeth, her eyes fixed on the road ahead. She would not fail.
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