Luo Shu was still blending into the crowd of Mexican migrants trekking toward El Paso when the 91st Division received Bowe's orders.
The city was just ten kilometers away—two hours on foot. Once there, he could reunite with his rogue pickup and continue north to Colorado.
But then—a mechanical roar behind him.
He turned.
The turrets of a hundred tanks and armored vehicles pivoted toward the migrants.
No warning. No mercy.
The M256 smoothbore guns fired as one. High-explosive shells tore into the crowd.
Simultaneously, M240 coaxial machine guns opened up, stitching lines of death through the fleeing masses.
In seconds, the road became a slaughterhouse.
Migrants froze in shock, watching hell unfold. Those already past the checkpoint turned and ran back, too terrified to proceed.
The 5th Armored Brigade ignored them. Their target was among the northbound group—Luo Shu.
He reacted instantly, hitting the dirt.
But dodging shrapnel was one thing. A direct hit from a 120mm shell or 7.62mm rounds would reduce him to chunks of meat, like the corpses around him.
Luo Shu flipped open the Anomaly Archives to Page 111.
Cognitive Distortion!
The earth beneath him hardened into a bunker.
Still, ordinary cover wouldn't stop tank shells. He layered it with a spatial barrier overhead.
Just in time.
A shell slammed into his position.
The bunker shattered. The barrier buckled.
The shockwave cracked his ribs, puncturing his lungs. Blood frothed in his throat.
A hospital scan would show punctured alveoli—drowning him in his own blood.
And if the tanks fired again? Game over.
It was like wearing body armor—bullets might not penetrate, but repeated impacts would liquefy your organs.
Thankfully, he'd gotten Anomaly-500 (Panacea) from Waiter.
One dose later, his injuries vanished. Even minor aches disappeared.
But he could only use it twice a day. Two more barrages, and he'd be out of luck.
Fortunately, the 5th Armored Brigade didn't fire again. Instead, machine guns mopped up survivors.
After a full minute of carnage, the road held no living souls.
Except Luo Shu.
Once the guns fell silent, he activated Perceptual Isolation and stood.
To the brigade commander's thermal scans, the area was lifeless.
"Report to General Bowe: Sector sterilized. No survivors."
"Hold position. Halt all migrant processing."
Luo Shu sprinted north, each step splashing in blood.
A lake of it now paved the road to El Paso.
The stench of gunpowder and copper choked the air. The ground was a kaleidoscope of gore—red flesh, white bone, yellow-green viscera.
Human cruelty rivaled the worst anomalies.
As he ran, jet engines screamed overhead.
The 166th Aviation Brigade had arrived.
A C-130 lumbered into view, dropping a hulking, parachute-slowed cylinder.
Moonlight revealed its shape: not a missile, not a nuke—but the BLU-82 "Daisy Cutter", America's largest conventional bomb.
A fuel-air explosive.
Detonation would scorch 500 meters, sucking oxygen from the air. Even those unburned would suffocate.
Luo Shu couldn't outrun it.
His first thought: Anomaly-CN-1451 (The Charlatan's Realm).
But as he flipped to Page 63, his heart sank.
At the bottom:
A bold, glaring "X."
Nowhere to hide.