18 Floors Above the Apocalypse



The gasoline fire spread like wildfire, turning the base into a blazing furnace. Flames hungrily consumed the circuits and surveillance systems.

In some control room, over half of the large monitors flickered and then went dark.

The boss was about to blow a gasket, cursing up a storm. "Get me that damn wolf!"

Explosions, flames, scorching heat, thick smoke, suffocation...

Base members flooded in non-stop. They navigated through the inferno-some aiming to attack Stella and Jasper, others choking on the smoke, and a few making a break for the outside.

Unity had never been their thing; they were a ragtag bunch held together by selfish motives. None had expected to miss out on the spoils while taking all the hits.

No one in their right mind would put anything above their own life.

And now, with the boss's legs chopped off, who was left to cling to?

Not to mention, this wasn't even the real boss, just one of his many stand-ins a sub-leader who'd gotten separated from the main fleet during a massive storm at sea.

Separated? Who knew the real story?

After all, this fleet was under the command of the China National Defense Department, specifically tasked with transporting critical tech assets. Despite the boss's formidable military might, internal strife within the faction was intense. The two parties would have gladly seen each other dead, while the sea, air, and land branches wracked their brains to swindle budgets from the congressional bigwigs.

How else could you explain the exorbitant price tags on coffee cups and toilets?

Each department was its own little kingdom, with heads so powerful they wouldn't even listen to the head of state.

So it was very possible that this stand-in boss had intentionally gone AWOL with valuable assets in tow.

After all, why let someone else play king when you can sit comfortably on the throne yourself?

As the saying goes, once one starts running, others follow.

In the chaos, Stella and Jasper switched outfits, making sure to don gas masks.

The base was a melting pot of ethnicities, with plenty of Eastern faces, so in the confusion, those with slower wits failed to recognize the two. Those who did recognize them, were swiftly dealt with.

They nabbed a high-ranking guy, trembling like a leaf. "Please, don't kill me, they're on sublevel three."

In a life-or-death moment, he spilled everything.

The underwater base had three levels-the lowest housing the grunts, the second for mid-ranking members and holding cells, and the third was the plush digs of the high-ranking officials, complete with entertainment areas and an armory.

"Take us there," Stella ordered, her gun pressed to his temple.

The man coughed incessantly from the smoke. "You need an iris scan to access the third floor, and I don't have that clearance."

Stella didn't buy it and threatened to end him.

"If you don't believe me, I can take you there," he offered.

So, the man led them through a maze of corridors, trying to escape at one point, only to be shot in the thigh by Jasper. He howled in pain, crumpling to the ground.

"There are several checkpoints to get to the third level."

One for a password, another for fingerprints, then the iris scan, and finally a voice recognition check.

The man didn't even know the password; he was just looking for a chance to bolt.

Seeing he was useless, Stella raised her gun to send him to meet his maker.

"I can't get to the third floor, but I can take you to the holding cells," the man pleaded, his voice barely a whisper. "There are many people there; you might find your friends or even family."

The holding cells? Stella thought of what Ivans had mentioned and the Belarus survivors they had captured before.

"Where?" she demanded icily. "Take us there."

The man dared not play any tricks and obediently led them to the cells.

The prison was massive and divided into sections.

The innermost area was segregated by skin color and gender, while the outer section had individual cells. Union Base members would randomly pick prisoners for their cruel amusement when they were bored.

Their games were diverse, involving physical, psychological, and verbal cruelty, all in the pursuit of their twisted pleasure.

Many prisoners never returned after being taken out for these games.

When Stella burst into the base, she found some members still indulging in their sick entertainment, with the victims not yet returned to their cells.

She opened one of the doors to find

a survivor, battered and bruised, cowering in a corner, clutching himself silently. Despite the chaos outside and the unlocked door, he showed no desire to flee.

His spirit had been forever imprisoned.

The same skin hue, a familiar face, yet lifeless like a tattered doll.

Stella's fury rose sharply, and she sent the man to his God with a swift stroke of her blade!

They all claimed to believe in God, right? What God would condone such inhuman acts?

They continued deeper into the prison, guided by the sounds of pained moans.

Stella found the room and flung the door open.

A pregnant woman lay on the bed, her clothes torn and body stained with blood. Her emaciated arms struggled feebly...

It was painfully clear what had transpired before their arrival.

Monsters!

"Help, help me..." Seeing the newcomers masked, the woman's initial fear turned to desperate pleading. "Please, save me..."

Her thin frame made her belly appear all the more prominent, blue veins visible across her body.

Hearing her voice, Stella's numb expression flickered with complexity, obscured by the mask.

Talk about karma; she never expected to encounter Julia in the Arctic.

Julia was emaciated, her eyes sunken, scars marring her face and hands.

It was unimaginable how Julia had made it from the Goldbridge base to the Arctic, only to end up imprisoned and tortured at Union Base. Stella felt no joy, nor schadenfreude.

Instead, she studied Julia's face for a moment, then turned to leave. "Let's go."

The words were meant for Jasper but caused Julia's eyes to widen in recognition. "Stella! Stella!!"Property © NôvelDrama.Org.

Stella found it amusing, turning back to her. "You remember me that well?"

Of course, Julia would recognize her voice anywhere.

Julia had lost a lot of blood, her abdomen feeling as if countless knives were carving into her flesh. In agony, she pleaded, "Stella, help me."

"You're losing too much blood. You won't make it," Stella stated calmly.

"I know," Julia gasped. "Please... give me a quick end."

"Why should I grant you that?" Stella retorted. "You don't even have the courage to die, yet you expect me to do it for you?"

She stood over Julia. "Why should I help you? Where do you get the nerve to ask me for anything?"

"You wanted to kill me, right? Now's your chance, why not take it?"

Stella ignored her provocation. "Sorry, but I'd prefer to see you live."

Julia looked up at her, a twisted smile on her lips. "Stella, why do you hate me so much?"

Stella didn't even know how to respond to that.

Forget it. Why argue with someone who's lost their mind?

Julia's misfortunes, however, weren't exactly a cause for celebration, even in this grim place where schadenfreude was as common as dirt.

There were many who had it worse.

Or rather, was there anyone locked up in this godforsaken place who could expect a happy ending?