Reborn in America’s Anti-Terror Unit

At the end of the corridor stood an elevator. Beside it was a guard holding the leashes of two dogs.

Owen and Monica, dressed in slaughterhouse uniforms, walked over calmly. The guard gave them a glance, seemingly not suspicious in the slightest, and even pressed the elevator button for them.

The doors opened, they stepped in.

On the other side, another guard was posted, and the hallway beyond was stark and empty, without any branching paths — something that, in a way, worked in their favor, reducing chances of being exposed.

Owen and Monica moved forward naturally. After turning the corner, another corridor appeared, but this one was different — it had doors lining both sides. Each door was tightly shut.

As they passed one room, its door happened to be open. Inside, a worker was rinsing blood off the floor with a hose.

Whatever had taken place in that room had been violent — fresh blood splattered the walls and pooled on the floor. A nearby table was strewn with tools still stained with blood, their messy placement suggesting they'd just been used.

Seeing this, Owen and Monica unconsciously slowed their steps. The man inside glanced at them but said nothing, continuing his cleaning with practiced efficiency. Clearly, this wasn't the first time.

They pressed on. Someone had definitely been killed here — but was it Beth?

They passed room after room. Just as they were about to begin searching them one by one, a sudden scream echoed from one of the doors:

"No, don't—! Ahhhh!"

The voice was familiar — one of the pickup guys from earlier on the train. Josh.

Owen and Monica exchanged glances. Their mission was to save Beth, but they couldn't just ignore this.

Gently pushing open the door, they were met by a horrendous scene — one that nearly made them vomit.

Inside the dim room, Josh was strapped to a chair, arms bound. In front of him stood a man in the same orange work suit as Owen and Monica, holding a chainsaw — and he was cutting into Josh's leg.

The man wasn't even looking at his work. He was staring into Josh's eyes with a twisted grin. He was doing this on purpose — forcing Josh to watch himself be dismembered.

Josh's eyes bulged in agony, his screams raw and desperate. One leg already lay severed on the floor. The man was sawing through the second.

Psychopath.

Owen could barely keep himself from retching. The horrors Elikxil had described didn't compare to this. Seeing it firsthand was entirely different.

Monica was pale, stiff, frozen just like Owen.

They stood at the door, motionless, momentarily stunned.

The chainsaw whined as the second leg fell. Still not bothering to switch it off, the killer tossed it aside and picked up a power drill — then drove it into Josh's chest.

Monica finally couldn't hold back. She turned and vomited.

Josh's screams hit a higher pitch, then dulled, then stopped altogether.

The man, now clearly annoyed, turned toward the door — Monica's vomiting had caught his attention. Owen could see flesh and blood still wrapped around the drill bit.

That was it — Owen threw up too.

"You idiots! This one's already paid for!" the man barked, fuming. "Get out or I'll—wait. You! You're the one I bought! How did you—GUARDS!"

Before he could finish, Owen hurled his claw knife.

The blade silenced his scream, piercing his lung. He staggered, stumbled backward—then collapsed onto the chainsaw, which still roared to life. A grotesque mix of wailing and tearing flesh followed as his body was shredded.

Monica, who'd only just calmed down, threw up again.

Owen fought back bile and approached. The man was beyond saving. He checked Josh—dead. Between the massive blood loss and the drill wound in his chest, there was no chance.

Josh's body bore more injuries. Only four fingers remained; one ear had been sliced off and sat on a silver tray beside a glass of red wine and silver cutlery.

Apparently, the killer had planned to eat it later.

Monsters.

Owen had lost count of how many times he'd used that word today.

Monica staggered over, pale as a sheet, yet determined. What they'd seen in this room redefined the word depravity. And the items on the table — the ear, the wine — proved there was no bottom to this pit.

Owen glanced around. Along with the chainsaw and drill, there were other tools — jagged, sharp, cruel — all stained with fresh blood.

Seeing a camera above the door, Owen picked up a hammer and smashed it.

"We need to move," he said, pointing at the destroyed camera. Then he retrieved his claw knife from the corpse.

Monica armed herself with a knife she found among the torture tools.

But it was already too late — footsteps echoed down the hallway.

A guard entered, gun raised. "Hands up! What did you do? No fighting among hunters is allowed! You're in deep—"

He didn't finish.

Owen dropped from above the doorframe, slashed the guard's hand, then looped behind him and slit his throat with a swift twist of the knife.

Blood sprayed, soaking the wall. Owen grabbed the man's pistol and tossed it to Monica. No extra magazines.

More footsteps.

This time, a group.

Owen shut the door. Monica positioned herself behind Josh's corpse, gun aimed at the entrance. Owen crouched beside the door, ready to strike once someone entered.

They moved like two halves of one mind — no words, no signals, pure instinct. Left hand and right hand.

The footsteps drew closer.

But they didn't stop at the door.

Instead, they ran past—toward another corridor.

Owen and Monica shared a look. They weren't here for them?

Then came a female voice, shouting:

"Everybody freeze! Sons of bitches! Get your boss—I want to buy back my life!"

Beth.

They recognized her voice instantly. She was nearby, on this floor.

And still alive.

[Check out my Patreon for +200 additional chapters in all my fanfics! Only $5 per novel or $15 for all!!] [[email protected]/Mutter]

[+50 Power Stones = +1 Extra Chapter]

[+5 Reviews = +1 Extra Chapter]