The piercing alarm tore apart the fragile illusion of order inside the Trade Center.
After a brief, stunned silence, chaos erupted.
"Walkers! So many walkers!"
"God! Where did they come from?!"
"Run! Move!"
The local Knoxville gang members were the first to collapse.
They were used to bullying the weak and preying on defenseless survivors. They had never faced an endless, disaster-like tide of death like this.
They screamed and shoved like headless flies, desperately searching for escape routes that didn't exist. Some, in sheer panic, even tried to jump out of second-floor windows.
"Shut up! You useless trash! Get back to your posts!"
Wagner's roar hit like thunder as he drew his pistol and fired twice into the ceiling.
Bang! Bang!
The gunshots briefly forced the chaos into submission.
"André! Marco! Take men and seal every first-floor entrance! Block them with anything you can find! Everyone else, take positions at windows on the second floor and above. Fire at will! Prioritize anything trying to climb or break through!"
His orders were sharp and ruthless, an attempt to reestablish control.
But it was already too late.
The screams and scattered gunfire inside had already drawn the horde's full attention. The leading wave of walkers slammed violently into the building's outer defenses.
Crude barricades and abandoned vehicles were easily overturned and swallowed.
Countless rotting hands began pounding wildly against the rolling shutters and reinforced windows, producing a relentless, bone-grating thud.
The entire building shook as if it were being hammered by giants, on the verge of collapse.
"Open fire! Fire at will!"
Someone shouted, and chaos erupted again as gunfire burst from the second- and third-floor windows.
The local gang members, gripped by terror, sprayed bullets wildly into the horde below, barely aiming.
Rounds thudded into rotting flesh, splashing dark, filthy blood. Occasionally, a walker would be dropped with a headshot, only to be instantly trampled and swallowed by the endless mass behind it.
Their fire was wildly inefficient, wasting precious ammunition. Stray rounds even struck their own people across from them, triggering more screams and curses.
Absurd. Chaotic. Brutal.
Panic spread like a plague.
In stark contrast stood Wagner's own men and Lorenzo's Italian inner circle.
On the fourth floor, the doors to Lorenzo's "palace" swung open.
Lorenzo Calabria stepped out.
He still wore his perfectly tailored suit, though his collar was loosened, black tactical gloves covering his hands.
There was no fear on his face. Instead, there was excitement… and a twisted sense of admiration, as if he were watching a grand and savage performance.
A manic light flickered in his brown eyes.
"Ah… what a magnificent sight."
He spread his arms slightly and took a deep breath of the air thick with gunpowder and decay.
"The true nature of chaos… how fascinating."
Behind him, five or six Italian bodyguards appeared silently.
They moved quickly, quietly, efficiently.
Two took position at his sides, while the others moved straight to the windows facing the main horde.
Their shooting was nothing like the panicked gang members below.
They used scoped rifles and modified submachine guns, firing in controlled bursts or precise single shots.
Almost every shot resulted in a walker's head exploding.
They focused on targets climbing or striking weak points, doing everything possible to slow the breach.
Magazine changes were smooth and seamless, without wasted motion.
They were nearly as professional as Leah's mercenaries.
On the second floor, Wagner held his ground.
With a handpicked team of ten, he locked down key windows, creating overlapping fields of fire that cut down walkers trying to approach from the sides.
"Conserve ammo! Aim for the head! Prioritize threats!"
His rough, commanding voice steadied those nearby.
But against a horde of this scale, individual skill meant very little.
Crack! Crash!!
A poorly reinforced side window on the first floor finally gave way. Glass and wood shattered under the pressure.
A dozen walkers surged inside like a breached flood.
"Ahhh—!!"
Several Red Scarf Gang members were instantly dragged down. Their screams lasted only seconds before turning into the sounds of tearing flesh and crunching bone.
Moments later, they rose again as part of the horde.
The breach was open.
More walkers poured in, frenzied, like sharks drawn to blood.
The first floor fell completely.
It became a slaughterhouse.
Those who failed to retreat in time were trapped, hunted through narrow hallways and rooms, torn apart and devoured.
Gunfire, screams, walker growls, and crashing furniture blended into a deafening storm that pushed everyone else to the edge of collapse.
"Abandon the first floor! Fall back to the second-floor stairwell! Form a defensive line!"
Wagner made the call instantly, firing as he retreated.
The surviving gang members scrambled toward the stairs, the horde surging behind them.
The stairwell became the next killing ground.
People packed together, firing desperately down at the walkers pushing upward. Bodies fell in heaps, but those behind climbed over them without pause.
Now and then, someone was dragged down, their screams cut short.
On the fourth floor, Lorenzo heard the chaos below.
The excitement on his face faded slightly, replaced with cold irritation.
"This noise… is unbearable."
He took a Beretta 1301 Tactical shotgun from a bodyguard.
Instead of staying in safety, he walked down the stairs with calm, almost leisurely elegance, stopping at the third-floor landing.
The fighting there was at its fiercest. The horde had nearly reached the level.
"Mr. Lorenzo! It's too dangerous here!" a bodyguard warned.
Lorenzo only smiled and raised the shotgun.
Boom!!!
The blast tore through the front line, nearly obliterating the upper bodies of three walkers. The impact hurled them backward, knocking others down with them.
"Taking out trash requires force… not elegance, wouldn't you agree?"
He smoothly cycled the weapon and fired again.
Boom! Boom!
There was an almost artistic brutality in his movements. Each shot cleared a section of space.
His Italian bodyguards immediately formed around him, creating a tight, efficient killing unit. With precise rifle fire, they picked off anything that slipped through, holding the third-floor stairwell firm.