When they discovered that the elevator was no longer controllable and the back door was locked with a heavy chain, terror surged in their hearts, rolling back into the bar like a tide. Watching the man walking among the blood, they felt a sense of despair, as if there was nowhere to escape.

In the chaos, someone was pushed onto the control panel, and explosive music once again filled their ears.

“Boom! Shakalaka!”

William Carter, armed with a gun, advanced toward the dance floor, his feet already treading on a carpet formed by rivers of blood.

“Damn it…”

The gothic DJ watched as the slaughterer below quickly approached him, clenching his stainless steel teeth.

He roared and charged forward like a human tank, sending four or five people flying into the air. His eyes were bloodshot, as if blood was about to burst out, and he swung his fist—adorned with a skull ring—fiercely at William Carter, who was now close to the stage.

Before the sharp edge of the ring could slash William Carter's face, William Carter suddenly turned, already drawing a second gun from his holster. This one was longer than the first, silver in color, with exquisite engravings and a set of black English signatures on it.

Elegant and refined, like a lady.

The long gun spun in his palm, tracing a graceful and precise flourish, and was thrust right into the DJ's face.

DJ froze for a moment.

“Bang!”

In the next instant, a special bullet howled out from the dark barrel, blasting half of DJ's head into a mess of blood and pulp.

But after twitching on the ground a few times, he suddenly got up again.

From the shattered half of his eye, a blood-red glow of hatred shot out.

His body, in an inhuman posture and exuding a heavy sense of power, lunged at William Carter's neck once more.

William Carter leaned aside slightly—his movements not as fast as the other's, but exceptionally precise.

He widened the distance between the other's hand and his own neck, angled the black long gun, and fired again.

“Bang.”

A large hole was blasted open in DJ's chest, sending him flying off at an angle once more.

But immediately, he climbed up again, his spine already broken, his body arched upward in a “bridge” with both ends touching the ground and only a bit of flesh connecting the middle. His hands and feet scrambled rapidly as he charged at William Carter again.

William Carter kicked him down, stepped on the spot where his spine was broken, and aimed at his upper body, pulling the trigger repeatedly.

“Bang bang bang bang…”

He emptied the magazine in one go. DJ's upper body was now a mass of flesh, yet some of the bloody tissue still squirmed.

William Carter shook his head in dissatisfaction, grabbed a bottle of high-proof liquor from the side, poured it over him, and set him on fire.

With a “whoosh,” flames rose up. The twisted flesh convulsed in the fire, then finally stopped moving.

William Carter let out a satisfied breath, and a smile returned to his face.

……

……

Boom! Shakalaka!

The music still played, but in the air thick with alcohol, smoke, perfume, and the stench of rotting seafood, a new scent of fresh blood mingled. It was like an invisible giant hand gripping the survivors’ stomachs, filling them with a food called fear.

The manic expressions faded from their faces, and terror quietly crept onto their features.

Mr. DJ was dead. In the hearts of many, he had seemed omnipotent, yet he died in such a simple way.

Someone suddenly lost control and convulsed, vomiting. Someone else’s legs went weak, and they collapsed to their knees.

And among the group of demon-infected who had been scared out of their wits, William Carter had already turned leisurely from the flames, picked up a fine cigarette from a nearby table, clamped it between his lips, lit it with the still-hot gun barrel, then holstered the elegant “lady” and drew out the rugged “strongman.” He glanced at the remaining people, then grabbed a handful of bullets and slowly loaded them into the magazine.

A person collapsed in the pool of blood trembled, looking at William Carter in terror, pleading in a trembling voice:

“Spare… spare us…”

“……”

With a click, William Carter snapped the stock into place, turned to glance at him, then shook his head with a smile:

“No!”

“……”

“Bang”

“Bang”

“Bang bang bang”

“……”

Advising people to be good? That’s my favorite thing to do!

Chapter Four: Instructor

“Whew…”

Walking out of the abandoned old building, William Carter took a deep breath under the starlit sky.

The crisp, slightly chilly air of late autumn rushed into his lungs, washing away the dizziness brought on by the irritating music and the stale air. By the light, he walked down the cracked path to his car.

It was a black modified Jeep, with a sturdy frame and tall tires, though some parts were already worn.

There were even a few bullet holes visible on the left door.

William Carter took off his blood-soaked clothes—so drenched they could be wrung out—and burned them.