Sigh.

Just Tier 2?

When Shen Ge heard the system’s notification, he couldn’t help but feel disappointed. He had assumed the mutated hound’s massive size meant it was already Tier 3, but it turned out it was still in the process of evolving.

Should I have waited longer?

No—that wouldn’t have worked either. Even an assault rifle was useless against it now. If it had fully evolved into a Tier 3 entity, not even a minigun or explosives would have made a difference. At that point, he’d have been truly helpless.

“Extract.”

[Reward draw in progress—]

[Draw successful!]

[Obtained: “Mental Apple x1 (F-grade).”]

A Mental Apple? Any draw that landed this was pure profit.

[Sell the Tier 2 anomalous corpse? Price: 500 System Points.]

“Sell.”

Between the kill reward and the sale, 600 System Points were added to his balance. Shen Ge’s total points returned to 3,621, but considering the cost—frag grenades, high-explosive charges, 20 Molotov cocktails, the minigun, and its grenade launcher—it all added up to 600 Points in expenses. In the end, taking down a Tier 2 anomaly left him breaking even.

“Still, with the hound dead, this anomalous space should be affected. There’s no way we’re still trapped here, right?” With that thought, Shen Ge gathered his gear and pressed forward.

Since he had already walked this stretch three or four times, he was familiar with the surrounding buildings. When he reached the “repeating point” again, he continued onward—this time successfully passing through the district and entering a new area.

Compared to the previous district, this one hadn’t been abandoned as long. If the last area looked like it had been deserted for a decade or two, this one seemed like it had only been empty for less than ten years.

Given the chaotic distortions of space and time here, Shen Ge suspected that time flowed differently in different sections of this place.

After walking a bit further, he spotted a faint glow of firelight coming from a two-story building up ahead. Activating Invisibility, he approached the structure.

The right side of the building had partially collapsed, as if rammed by a heavy truck, and half the ceiling was gone—leaving it open to the sky like a giant skylight.

Inside, three figures in dark camouflage sat around a campfire, roasting chunks of meat on a spit.

Nearby, in a corner, lay a black uniform from the Special Response Division—next to a corpse so mutilated it was unrecognizable.

The three by the fire spoke in English. Though Shen Ge couldn’t understand them, their tone made it clear they were complaining about something.

“Mercenaries hired for anomaly suppression?” He noted that their combat gear was different from the Special Response Division’s—more advanced and specialized.

His gaze shifted between the meat on the spit and the mangled corpse in the corner. His expression darkened as he pulled out an F-1 Fragmentation Grenade, infused it with psychic energy to activate Silent Mode, and tossed it inside.

The grenade rolled into the building without a sound, coming to rest behind the man sitting with his back to the window.

Then—BOOM.

The closest man was blown off his feet, killed instantly. The other two were caught in the blast to varying degrees—shrapnel piercing one’s bulletproof vest, sending blood gushing out.

The least injured of the three, a buzz-cut blond Caucasian, scrambled up, cursing loudly as he rushed to check on his companions, shouting something while trying to staunch the bleeding.

The other one?

He died peacefully.

The explosion had been so sudden that the blond man initially thought they’d been ambushed by an anomaly. As he desperately tried first aid on his bleeding comrade, he suddenly felt a cold press against the back of his neck.

A figure had materialized out of thin air, holding a gun to his spine.

“&*%$#@!…” The blond babbled frantically in English.

Shen Ge’s English wasn’t terrible—he could probably score around 100 on a high school exam. The only issue was that he couldn’t actually understand what foreigners were saying.

“Speak Chinese!” Shen Ge growled.

The blond cautiously raised his hands in surrender, struggling to form words in broken Mandarin:

“We—your side’s hired help! Mercenary! Friend! Don’t shoot! Don’t shoot! Friend!”

Despite the mangled delivery, Shen Ge got the gist—the man was desperately insisting they were allies hired by the Special Response Division and begging not to be shot.

“How many of you came in? Where are the others?” Shen Ge demanded.

The blond stammered out an answer after a long pause.

The details matched the intel from the Chongqing Branch: a team of thirteen mercenaries—two anti-anomaly specialists and eleven veteran soldiers.

But just like the Special Response Division operatives, they had all been separated upon entering the anomalous space. Worse, they had been trapped here far longer than Fang Mingyue—some for months.

Strangest of all, though all thirteen had entered at the same time, some had only been inside for a month, while others had been stuck for half a year.

Yet more proof that time moved differently in different zones of this place.

These three had met up a month ago. After escaping what seemed like an office building, they’d been stranded in this district ever since.

Shen Ge deliberately asked if they’d encountered any other Special Response Division agents. The blond hesitated, then tried to dodge the question with his broken Chinese.

“We no see your people… but many die in anomaly hands…” he mumbled.

Shen Ge sneered, grabbing the blond by the collar and dragging him over to the mutilated corpse in the corner. He shoved the man’s face toward it.

“Go on. Tell me—do your American anomalies prefer using knives and forks? Do they slice their food into neat little pieces before eating?”

“I—I can explain!” The blond’s Mandarin suddenly improved under sheer terror, afraid any delay would earn him a bullet.

Click.

The sound of the gun’s slide racking was his only reply. The man screamed:

“What choice did we have?! Trapped here for months, no food, no water—we had to survive! Don’t forget, we’re only in this mess because we came to help you! Don’t kill me! I know things about this space—I can help you escape!”

BANG!

BANG!

BANG!

Shen Ge fired—but not to kill. The shots struck the blond’s wrists and ankles, crippling him.

He then stripped the mercenaries of their gear, though after being trapped so long, they had little ammo left, let any grenades or other throwables.

“You Madman! Madman! Kill me! Just kill me!” The blond, now more afraid of living in agony than dying, recalled how they had kept their victims alive to preserve “freshness.” The thought of suffering the same fate made him beg for death.

As the man hurled curses, Shen Ge knelt beside him, drawing a combat knife and yanking out his tongue.

“I know a doctor. Whenever patients annoyed him, he’d cut out their tongues. I’ve seen it enough times—I’m sure I remember how it’s done. Don’t worry, it won’t hurt much.”

The blond’s eyes filled with despair as the black blade came closer.

A second later, searing pain erupted as his tongue was severed. Blood gushed into his nostrils and down his throat.

Shen Ge stood, wiping the knife clean before grabbing the blond by the ankle and dragging him out into the street.

As long as the man was still alive, he could serve as bait for other anomalies.