Apocalyptic Rebirth: With a repairman system space, she rises again.-Chapter 636: The mist is your friend.

The line of tactical trucks came to a sudden, silent stop at the edge of Kingsbridge. Ahead of them, the mist was so thick it looked like a solid wall of grey wool. If given an option none of the soldiers in the trucks would have chosen to walk into the mist willingly.

If Philip muttered ’the mist is your friend’ one more time, someone was going to break his jaw. And there were many willing ’someone’s’ in the group.

Sunshine grabbed the radio, her voice crackling through every headset in the convoy. "Listen up. Check your pockets. If you haven’t swallowed your Reddix pill yet, do it now. I know half of you are running on caffeine, coconut beans and anger. Get your heads on straight and chug your Vita-E, I’m not dragging anyone’s exhausted butt across a battlefield. We need to be sharp. Our people are over there, and I want every single one of them back in one piece. Unless they are already dead when we find them. But other than that, no excuses."

"Copy that." Many voices responded.

In the passenger seats, soldiers fumbled with small foil packets, popping the transparent pills that would sharpen their focus and mask their exhaustion. Some chose to finish the half-drunk Vita E they were saving for another day.

Those who preferred sweetness popped coconut beans like candy.

Outside, standing in the headlights of the lead truck, Vicente looked like a ghostly conductor. He wasn’t wearing his usual grumpy scowl, instead, a small, knowing smile played on his lips. He raised his hands, his fingers dancing as if he were pulling invisible strings.

The mist wall began to swirl and churn, slowly pulling apart to reveal a narrow, clear path through the center. It looked like a tunnel carved out of clouds.

"Let’s go!" Sunshine shouted, slamming the truck into gear.

She drove into the grey abyss first, the other trucks following like a metal snake. Vicente hopped onto the side of the lead vehicle as they passed, his eyes glowing with the effort of shaping the little mist he could control. Within minutes, the entire force had slipped through the rebel barricades and emerged onto the dry soil of Ferry Island.

The mood changed the moment they crossed the line and weapons were armed. The trucks were parked in a hidden grove, and the teams moved out on foot. As the squads moved through the outskirts of the town, the horror of Luca’s takeover became clear. They passed small houses with doors kicked in. On the roadsides and in the doorways of shops, they saw them_ dead bodies of innocent civilians who had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"They are ruthless," O’Toole whispered, his hand tightening on his rifle. He looked at a fallen shopkeeper and felt a hot surge of anger. "This isn’t war. This is just a slaughter. I’m going to make sure every one of these mercenaries pays a tax in blood for this."

"Focus, O’Toole," Hadrian whispered back. Hadrian was already moving like a shadow, leading a team of four invisible superhumans to take out the closest green dots Hunter had picked up.

Hadrian’s team moved like ghosts. Every time a mercenary guard turned a corner, an invisible hand would reach out. There would be a quick crack of a neck, a muffled thud, and the body would be dragged into the mist before a second guard could even blink. They were clearing a path of silence.

This was a mission of silence, not loud display of power. Everyone worked in stealth mode. It helped that the mist was not new to Ferry Island, and those within, were assuming that it was simply on the move, yet again. The quick, closed themselves in their homes.

"Pings are coming from that warehouse up ahead," Hadrian signaled. "All twenty of them. Grouped tight. This is it."

They reached a heavy steel door at the back of a cold-storage building. Hadrian signaled for the breach. The door creaked open, and the team rushed in, weapons raised, hearts hammering against their ribs.

But they didn’t find humans hoping to be saved, they found a nightmare.

In the center of the room, there was a pile. It looked like a heap of discarded clothes and limbs. Scattered across the floor like broken glass were the smashed remains of the thermal bands.

"Oh God," Hadrian said, as he became visible. He lowered his gun, his shoulders slumping. "No..."

O’Toole stepped into the room, the color draining from his face. He slowly made the sign of the cross over his chest. "They’re dead. We spent all that time planning, and we came too late."

The room was silent, save for the heavy breathing of the soldiers. Poncho, who usually had a joke for every occasion, was trembling. He walked toward the pile; his eyes fixed on a shock of dark hair. "Lucia?" he whispered. He lunged forward, pulling a body from under the heap. It was Lucia, his sister. Her eyes were closed, her face pale. Poncho let out a muffled, broken sob, cradling her head. "No, no, no. Not like this."

But then, Poncho stopped. He blinked, rubbing his thumb against her cheek. Confusion replaced the grief on his face. "Wait... she’s warm."

O’Toole looked up sharply. "What?"

"Dead people are cold, O’Toole! I’ve felt enough of them to date," Poncho shouted, his voice cracking. "She’s warm! Her skin is warm!"

O’Toole scrambled over, pressing two fingers firmly against the side of Lucia’s neck. He held his breath, counting the seconds. Suddenly, his eyes widened. "She has a pulse," He breathed. "It’s slow... really slow. But it’s there. She’s breathing."

He moved to the next body in the pile, then the next. "This one too! And this one! They aren’t dead, Hadrian. They’ve been heavily sedated. It would have been foolish of them to kill potential hostages or strong superhumans that would maybe switch to their side."

Hadrian let out a breath that sounded like a prayer. He tapped his comms, his voice shaking with relief. "Ma’am, this is Hadrian. We have the hostages. Repeat: the hostages are alive. They aren’t dead, they’re just... sleeping very, very deeply. The mercenaries smashed the thermal bands."

"They should be glad that they did not kill them or I would have gutted them like fish," Poncho muttered to O’Toole as they started lifting their people.

"Dead bodies are just weight. Living hostages are leverage. Luca wanted to keep them as a backup plan. He did not count on Sunshine being crazy and using the mist as a cover." O’Toole chuckled. "And now, his backup plan just got a hole poked in it," He threw Lucia and another female over his shoulders. "Let’s get them to the trucks before our friends find out we’re here."