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Just as DuSSt pulled himself to his feet, a loud scream split the air—the dreaded sound of a Witch. In the chaos, no one had noticed her lurking in the corner, her rage a ticking time bomb.
The Witch charged. DuSSt acted without thinking. He grabbed his last pipe bomb, pulled the pin, and tossed it toward the Witch. The explosion was deafening, sending the Witch into a frenzy, her screech piercing through the room.
But it wasn’t enough. A Boomer’s bile splattered over DuSSt and the others, turning the room into a toxic nightmare. The group staggered through the haze, trying to reach the nearest exit.
Then, a sound worse than any of them could imagine. The Tank was still coming. It wasn’t done. The beast roared, and DuSSt felt his blood freeze. There was no way out.
Then, without thinking, DuSSt turned to face the beast. His heart raced, his hands steady. He had one last plan. The Molotov was gone, and his ammo was running low. But in his hand was a single grenade—something that would make sure the Tank wouldn’t leave this room alive.
The explosion rocked the building.
When the dust cleared, DuSSt was the first to stand. His group was battered, bruised, but alive. The Tank was nothing more than a pile of flaming rubble now.
“Is everyone good?” DuSSt asked, his voice rough but steady. They nodded, though their faces were pale from the close call.
“We’re alive, thanks to you, DuSSt,” Sarah said quietly. “You got us through it.”
DuSSt didn’t reply. He couldn’t. There was still too much to do. The infected would be back. And they weren’t safe yet. But for now, in this moment, they had survived. And that was enough.
He glanced at the horizon. The night was far from over.
And DuSStQ 21 was ready for whatever came next.