In the town, the Maelstrom gang was still noisily destroying and searching everywhere.
They were even arguing endlessly about which ruined house would be more suitable as "headquarters" and where to set up guard posts, completely unaware they'd triggered an automated defense system far beyond their comprehension—an efficient systematic cleaning operation had already begun.
In the garage, Rebecca and Pilar held their breath, tensely listening to the commotion outside.
The clamorous curses seemed to undergo a strange transformation.
Some voices suddenly cut off, as if precisely strangled mid-shout.
The sounds of destruction gradually became sparse, replaced by several extremely brief exclamations, as if forcibly swallowed back down throats.
Beyond that, there was a sound they'd never heard before—extremely subtle, like the hum when high-frequency energy weapons activate, or like the low drone of precision machinery operating at its limit. This sound made their auditory nerves feel slightly numb.
"What... what's that sound?" Pilar asked in a whisper, his eyes behind the goggles nervously darting around, trying to locate the sound's source.
Rebecca shook her head equally confused, gripping tightly the nearly empty pistol in her hand.
A powerful, instinctive sense of alertness crept up her spine, as if the air was filled with invisible static electricity.
At that moment outside, a highly precise elimination operation was unfolding with maximum efficiency.
A Maelstrom member who had just picked up a spray paint can, wanting to graffiti a wall, had barely raised his hand when his body suddenly went soft, silently collapsing. Only the spray can rolling on the ground made a faint "clatter."
Not far away, another guy with his back to his comrades, shouting for backup into a radio, had his transmission suddenly cut off. He swayed, then quietly crumpled to the ground.
"We're under attack! Find cov—" A guy who looked like a minor leader finally sensed something wrong, shouting in terror while trying to locate the attack source and dive for cover.
But his voice cut off abruptly, his movements ceasing immediately.
Only then did the remaining Maelstrom members discover in horror that a pale human skull, like an ancient sculpture gleaming with inhuman metallic coldness, was silently hovering in mid-air.
Red light flickered in its hollow eye sockets, metal jaw slightly opening and closing, the micro laser emitter extending from its side operating efficiently.
Its movement was soundless, defying physical laws—sometimes flashing past a broken windowsill, sometimes perfectly merging with building shadows, the next moment appearing at another angle without warning.
"Ghost... a ghost!"
"It's that... skull! Shoot it! Quick, shoot it!"
Panic exploded like plague among the survivors.
Maelstrom members hysterically raised various firearms, frantically pouring bullets toward that elusive skull.
Bullets rained down on walls, ground, and abandoned vehicles like a storm, splashing countless fragments and sparks, creating massive noise, yet couldn't even graze the skull's edge.
It could always avoid all chaotic trajectories with minimal movements, elegant and precise. Each imperceptible brief pause was inevitably accompanied by a precise red beam and an enemy falling.
This wasn't a battle—it was more like executing a silent, efficient cleaning program.
It disregarded terrain obstacles, crude cover, numerical advantage.
No screams could last a moment, because everything happened too fast, too precisely, too unexpectedly.
Rebecca and Pilar peered through wall cracks and that broken hole, astonished at this one-sided, unimaginable confrontation outside.
They watched the mechanical skull move through the air above the street as if conducting precise drills, watched those Maelstrom members who'd been so arrogant minutes ago fall one by one.
No roars, no wails—only the attackers' frantic, gradually thinning gunfire and the dull thuds of bodies hitting ground.
This absolute, efficient method of response brought shock far exceeding any chaotic battlefield scene.
In just one or two minutes, possibly even less, the gunfire and final curses outside completely vanished.
A profound silence blanketed the town, only the wind whistling through hollow ruins, as if whispering about everything that had just occurred.
In the garage, Rebecca and Pilar dared not breathe, their bodies soaked in cold sweat.
The finality contained in that silence outside disturbed them more than the thugs' earlier clamor and frenzied gunfire.
Pilar trembled uncontrollably, mouthing to Rebecca in barely audible whispers: "...Is... is it still out there?"
Rebecca's face was pale, staring fixedly at the faint light coming through the door crack and broken hole, shaking her head almost imperceptibly.
She couldn't see anything, but that feeling of being monitored by a highly advanced automated system hadn't dissipated with the end of external confrontation—it had become clearer.
After what felt like an eternity, there was still no movement outside.
Only eternal wind passing through ruins, bringing traces of indescribable strange scent.
Finally, Rebecca mustered courage, limbs somewhat numb, cautiously approaching the broken hole in the wall again, holding her breath to peek outside.
On the street was a scene after intense confrontation.
That terrifying, nightmare-like pale mechanical skull had vanished, as if it had never existed.
But just as Rebecca was about to breathe a sigh of relief, her peripheral vision suddenly caught—at the street's end, at the edge of a taller building's broken rooftop, the skull was quietly, eerily hovering there!
Its hollow eye sockets seemed to be precisely, motionlessly aimed at the garage where they were hiding.
It made no movement, like an art piece casually placed on a rooftop. But having personally experienced that brief, shocking confrontation earlier, this extreme stillness radiated a persistent, undeniable presence.
It hadn't left.
It was simply monitoring.
Silently, patiently, absolutely monitoring.
Rebecca jerked her head back as if shocked by static electricity, sliding down against the cold, rough wall to sit on the ground, feeling her heart leap into her throat once again.
"What's wrong? Sis? What did you see?" Pilar noticed her abnormality, nervously pressing, his voice trembling.
Rebecca's lips quivered. After several seconds, she squeezed out an answer in a voice as dry as sandpaper: "...It didn't leave..."
She raised her head, eyes full of complex emotions. "It's outside on the rooftop... watching us. Still watching."