At last, an opportunity appeared, and he wasted no time following the Defense Force convoy.
When he reached the location, however, there were no giant monsters waiting for him.
Instead, it was a storage facility—sealed off and surrounded.
He landed in a pole and began observing the situation. It didn't take long to realize this one was different from before.
No heavy artillery were in place. Only men with guns stood watch. Reading their lips wasn't easy, but he caught enough.
"So we're dealing with radicals," one police officer sneered, his face twisted with annoyance and disgust.
"Yeah," another replied, "and we can't rush in. They've got hostages… and worst of all, some of the criminals are gamma users. We even got word that one of them is really dangerous."
Francis's eyes glinted. 'Gamma users.'
He wondered if their liver would grant him more points compared to normal humans.
Patiently, he balanced on the pole, wings tucked as he observed.
More Defense Force personnel arrived.
A few trucks moved in and stopped behind the barricade. No one rushed forward. No one shouted commands.
That alone told him how serious the situation was.
Two DF agents stepped in, lowering their voices. "How many inside?"
"Based on the last report? Around twelve members. Maybe more." answered by the police.
"And the hostages?"
"Warehouse workers. About fifteen. They're tied up near the center."
"Snipers?" the agent asked.
"Already positioned. But there are too many terrorists. Any full assault could endanger the hostages."
"Don't worry. We've already called HQ for a Class B Category Agent. For now, the best thing to do is wait."
Francis adjusted his talons slightly. 'So they weren't going in anytime soon.'
He wondered about the meaning of "Class B," but the thought of checking the warehouse—and finding bodies to harvest—was more tempting.
His small sparrow body made almost no sound as he lifted into the air. With a quick circle to appear natural, he drifted toward one of the broken vents at the top.
He slipped through the narrow gap and navigated the maze like vents, following the faint sounds that echoed from time to time.
'I smell blood.'
Francis landed quietly on a metal beam near the ceiling.
Below, the situation became clear.
About ten civilians sat on the floor with their hands bound. Some looked pale. Others trembled. A few tried to stay calm, whispering to each other.
To the side, five bodies lay on the ground. Each had a bullet wound to the head.
They were likely those who tried to escape, or victims the hostage takers used as an example. Fear, after all, was effective at forcing people to behave.
Around them stood armed men in mismatched gear—no uniforms, no discipline.
But their eyes caught his attention. He remembered seeing the same look once, during a raid on a cult tied to human trafficking: the eyes of people who had been completely brainwashed.
'Where are the gamma users?' he muttered, scanning the place.
He didn't need to look far—one figure stood out immediately.
Leaning against the wall, a man in a black jacket with two daggers at his waist remained silent, like a shadow barely noticed in the room.
A conversation broke out among them.
"We're surrounded, Daryl," one of them muttered weakly.
"So what?" he replied, gripping the hilt of his dagger. "They won't risk the hostages."
"And if they do?"
A faint, menacing smile crossed Daryl's face.
"Then I'll take care of them. It's time the Defense Force learns they're not the only ones with power."
"That's right!" one shouted, pounding his fist against the wall. "Those Defense Force bastards think they're so tough. We need to put them in their place!"
The room erupted into loud, laughter and cheers.
"And don't forget," another shouted, grinning, "we've got gamma weapons too! They won't know what hit them!"
Francis's talons tightened on the beam. Calculating. Observing. Waiting.