The dense bullets sounded like a rainstorm drumming against a steel roof, and the noise reminded Aparajita of his childhood in the slums. Hunger, cold, rock music CDs scattered across the floor, and posters of busty blondes. Hunger, anger, arguments, and needles scattered everywhere. Hunger, pain, and scolding. Hunger, tears, and then nothing else. But the memories were quickly interrupted by gunfire. The Gene-modded Warriors silently held up their shields, resting their guns in the shields' firing ports. Every few steps, they stopped and formed a moving wall of steel, methodically pulling their triggers to kill every enemy who exposed themselves from behind cover at the end of the corridor, steadily compressing the enemy's room to maneuver.
Aparajita stood behind the wall of steel, gripping his Execution Axe tightly. He watched the Mutant army gradually collapse under the pressure of the Gene-modded Warriors, like a dam made of sand trying to hold back a rushing river. At first, there were only one or two deserters, but the Gene-modded Warriors' unwavering advance made the Mutants feel fear on a spiritual level. The inescapable terror of death crushed their minds like a wall of steel, squeezing out the last traces of fear from their bones and blood. More and more Mutant soldiers broke and fled, but every Mutant who left cover and entered the field of fire was attacked.
Aparajita had no intention of sparing deserters. He let the Mutants' defensive line collapse on its own. He simply wanted to kill the Mutants. The Gene-modded Warriors did not waste a single shot; one round was enough to eliminate a Mutant with formidable physical strength. When they advanced to within five meters of the barricades, the Gene-modded Warriors charged. Heavy shields like tank armor plates smashed apart the gathered Mutants attempting to resist,