【Chapter 3】Chaos (Part 2)

**Thinking carefully, I remembered that there should be a police station nearby. Maybe I could find a better weapon there—something like a gun.**

As I walked, I kept an eye on the surrounding buildings, quickening my pace to reach my destination faster.

After crossing the intersection ahead, I turned left and saw the police station not far away. A police car was parked in the middle of the road in front of the station. I didn't approach it recklessly; instead, I observed from a distance.

The front windshield of the police car was completely shattered, and the roof was noticeably caved in, as if something heavy had crushed it. There was no one in the driver's seat, just a large, dried bloodstain. In the back seat, there was something that looked like a net bag. As I cautiously approached, I tried to assess the situation inside the car.

That's when I heard a noise coming from the car's trunk. Of course, I wasn't naive enough to just open it and see what was inside.

After confirming that the trunk was locked, I shifted my attention back to the interior of the car, hoping to find something useful. Sure enough, when I opened the car door, I found a revolver near the brake pedal in the driver's seat.

I glanced around to make sure there were no threats before I quickly grabbed the gun and stepped back. When I checked the cylinder, I found it empty, with only spent casings remaining.

I tucked the revolver into my jacket pocket and continued searching the car, hoping to find something more. After prying open the glove compartment, I found a pair of police handcuffs, the key to the cuffs, and some documents. The papers were useless to me, so I tossed them aside and pocketed the handcuffs.

In the end, all I found was an unloaded revolver and a pair of handcuffs. I had hoped to find something more useful in the police car, so I wouldn't have to enter the station, but it seemed I had no choice now.

The thought of being cornered like last time sent a shiver down my spine. Back then, I was fortunate to be in a department store with large windows all around, but the police station was a different story—there would be no easy escape.

Just before entering the station, I noticed the ground, and sure enough, there were signs of "their" activity here as well. I recalled the net bag in the back seat of the police car and figured it might still be useful, so I pulled it out.

It wasn't until I brought the net bag closer that I noticed it was covered in dried slime. The smell confirmed it—this was the unique stench of those creatures. This only solidified my suspicion about what was in the trunk.

With the foul-smelling net bag in hand, I circled the police station, contemplating the best approach. Eventually, I spotted a metal pipe connected to a vent on the first-floor rooftop of the station.

I tried tossing one end of the net bag over the metal pipe, aiming to hook it. After a couple of attempts, I managed to secure one corner of the net on the J-shaped pipe. I tugged on it to test its strength—the net held surprisingly well, and the pipe didn't budge.

Using the net as a makeshift rope ladder, I climbed up to the first-floor rooftop of the police station, carefully placing my feet in the gaps of the netting.

Once on the rooftop, I pulled the net bag up with me—a basic precaution.

I also took the opportunity to cover the surveillance camera on that side of the station with my jacket, partly for certain considerations and partly because I had already transferred everything from my jacket pockets to my pants.

I wandered around the rooftop, searching for a way into the station. Finally, I found a metal hatch about half a meter square near the inner side of the building. It looked like it had been opened recently; the edge of the hatch was free of dust, as if someone had wiped it clean.

Ignoring the dust, I straddled the metal hatch and slowly lifted it.

The hatch, which wasn't very heavy, gradually revealed a lit passageway below. Fortunately, it wasn't locked from the inside, confirming what the previous clues had suggested.

Peering down, I saw that the passage was lit, and there was a ladder-like structure embedded in the wall.

Moments like these required courage—entering an unknown building that could be teeming with danger. But I had to do it because there was something inside worth the risk.

I quickly descended the ladder, and as soon as my feet touched the ground, I instinctively checked my surroundings—a reaction born of fear.

Thankfully, there was no ambush waiting for me, though if I were the enemy, this would be the perfect trap—a human-hunting trap.

Even in this tense situation, my mind raced with anxious thoughts.

The interior of the police station was a mess—bloodstains, slime, overturned furniture, and scattered documents everywhere. I leaned against a wall to steady myself. As I moved, I felt something hard rolling under my foot. I stepped back to see a spent bullet casing.

It looked like there had been survivors who fought back here. I kept this in mind as I slowly moved deeper into the building, one hand clutching the empty revolver in my pocket, trying to steady my breathing and maintain my composure.

The only sound in the eerily quiet station was my own footsteps and the rustling of paper underfoot. My heartbeat echoed in my ears, and I jumped when the overhead lights flickered.

In situations like this, fear stemmed from the unknown. But fear wasn't entirely a bad thing—it heightened my awareness of my surroundings, though to others, it might seem like I was overreacting.

(Fear comes from the unknown—from not understanding, from not knowing. That's how I see it, just like with thalassophobia.)

I moved cautiously along the wall, taking small steps. When I passed the interrogation room, I noticed one of "them" inside through the observation window. Fortunately, "he" couldn't get out, just as it had been before.

I also noticed a large, conspicuous bloodstain on one of the windows in the interrogation room. It was so obvious that I couldn't miss it.

The bloodstains on the floor, accompanied by "their" distinctive tracks, led down a hallway in one direction.

After some hesitation, I decided to follow the trail, preferring to avoid an unexpected encounter.

The bloodstains led me to a staircase that descended into the basement, where the trail continued.

I crouched down and peered through the gaps in the stairs, seeing what looked like iron bars below. If I wasn't mistaken, this was where they temporarily held prisoners.

Hunching over to minimize noise, I carefully tiptoed down the spiral staircase.

Before me was a corridor lined with six cells, three on each side. At the end of the hallway lay a blood-soaked, mangled skeleton, the skull indicating it had once been human. The torn clothing, scattered bones, and flesh fragments made it clear that this was "their" doing.

I picked up the skull and examined it, feeling surprisingly calm, as if I were looking at a figurine or a trinket.

The eye sockets bore visible bite marks, but there was nothing else noteworthy. I tossed the skull aside and wiped my bloodstained hands on a nearby white pillar, though it didn't do much to clean them.

I then turned my attention to the middle cell on the right, where a complete corpse was propped against the wall, its head stained with blood. Judging by the uniform, it was likely a police officer.

This was the only cell that was locked, with the door secured by handcuffs that bound the iron bars of the cell gate to the cell's railing—likely a desperate move.

I remembered the handcuffs and key I had found in the police car. Ignoring the blood on my hands, I pulled out the key from my pocket.

I tried unlocking the handcuffs, and to my relief, they opened.

Pushing open the iron gate, I approached the corpse and found another revolver in its hand. When I checked the cylinder, I discovered it was missing just one bullet—the one likely used in the officer's suicide.

I continued searching the body, hoping to find something useful. Beneath the clothes, I felt something hard and flat. To my surprise, it was a lightweight bulletproof vest. After some effort, I removed it and put it on.

Other than that, I found nothing else of value, just the officer's wallet.

A wallet? What use would that be? Was I supposed to use a credit card to buy something? I tossed the wallet aside, mocking myself.

After leaving the cell, I searched other rooms, finding some more revolver bullets among the remains of other bodies. However, the large firearms I had hoped for were nowhere to be found, except for a locked room marked as the equipment storage room.

I even fired a few rounds at the door lock, but it had no effect. The bullets ricocheted off the metal door, nearly injuring me, so I gave up.

In the end, I was left with two revolvers and a total of 24 bullets.

As I was leaving, I encountered some of "them" returning and witnessed them feeding the one in the interrogation room. As for why they did it, I didn't care.

This time, I managed to avoid detection, retraced my steps to the rooftop, and used the net bag to make my exit. I didn't forget to retrieve my jacket before leaving.