The decision had been sealed, but the air inside the computer lab remained thick, stagnant with the smell of sweat, dust, and dried blood. There was no room for heroism here; only the cold physics of survival.
Paulo stepped forward, pointing to his own ears and shaking his head. A thin trail of clear fluid and traces of dried blood still smeared his neck. The acoustic shock emitted by the Carcará had ruptured his eardrums, leaving him completely deaf. He relied on Abner’s swift hand gestures to understand his surroundings.
Allisson faced Ângela, adjusting his grip on the spear in his still-tender hands:
"Ângela, are you coming with us on the front line?"
Ângela remained static. The Carcará’s bone helm projected an intimidating, icy aura across the room, amplified by the passive effect of [The Predator's Hour]. The doctor tilted her head slightly, the hollow sockets of the skull staring back at Allisson with surgical disdain:
"Allisson, I thought you understood the situation by now. But fine..."
Without another word, she took a swift step toward Paulo. Before the boy could react, Ângela reached out her right hand and drove her palm firmly against his temple.
[Metabolic Stimulation - Lv. 1]
Tiny electrical arcs crackled beneath Paulo’s skin. The forced regeneration accelerated the cellular division of his auditory system at a brutal speed. The internal tissue of his inner ear and the ruptured membrane of his eardrum reconstructed themselves within seconds amid sharp neural spikes. Paulo let out a muffled groan, his eyes widening from the sudden pain.
The biological cost, however, was immediate and devastating.
The accelerated burning of glucose and lipid reserves caused Paulo’s body to visibly wither right before the group. His cheeks hollowed out, the contours of his vascular membranes and facial bone structure pressing sharply against his pale skin, and his posture collapsed. The boy crumpled to his knees on the cold ceramic tiles, hit by overwhelming dizziness and a severe caloric deficit. He was now physically incapable of holding a weapon, let alone enduring an excursion to the cafeteria.
Abner reacted with instant sharpness. He yanked open his supply backpack, pulled out the last package of sandwich cookies, and tipped the rest of a water bottle into Paulo’s mouth, forcing him to chew to stabilize his blood sugar before he collapsed entirely.
"He can hear now," Ângela said, pulling her hand back and wiping her palm on her lab coat with total indifference. "But he’s spent everything he had. Paulo stays. He can’t take ten steps without passing out."
She observed the scene for a few seconds before dictating the new squad distribution with glacial pragmatism:
"Paulo stays with Pierre. If you don't return within 24 hours, I am leaving. I’m not going to die waiting for corpses."
Then, Ângela turned her dark-skulled head toward Adson, who was watching everything from the farthest corner of the room:
"Adson. You are taking Paulo's place."
Adson’s eyes widened, what little color remained in his face vanishing instantly. He took two steps back, waving his hands in panic:
"Me?! Are you crazy?! You want me to go into a kill zone packed with murderous monsters? No way! I’m the door guard! I’m staying right here to protect Pierre and Paulo!"
Allisson took a step forward, closing the distance between them. He used a serious, persuasive tone:
"Adson. Paulo is incapacitated because Ângela had to heal him. You're the only one here with a defense skill. If we enter that cafeteria, we need someone to absorb the impact in the hallways and lock down the vanguard. You're our only Tank. Without your skill to hold the line, the chances of any of us coming back alive drop drastically."
Adson retreated another step.
Ângela took a slow, heavy step toward him. The aura of the bone helm seemed to freeze the surrounding air. She looked straight into Adson’s eyes and spoke in an extremely stern, cutting voice that left zero room for argument or negotiation:
"You are going."
Adson froze. The direct impact of the command, coming from the imposing figure clad in the predator helm, caught him completely off guard. He opened his mouth to talk back, but the categorical firmness in Ângela’s gaze left no room to bargain. Shell-shocked by the weight of reality, he didn't utter a single word.
Swallowing hard, Adson simply nodded in silence. He walked over to the corner, picked up an iron bar with trembling hands, and joined the attack line.
Allisson returned his attention to his own combat gear. He inspected his improvised double-bladed spear: the steel shaft remained firm and straight, but his left forearm guard—the chitin plates harvested from the Mana Centipede—had been completely shattered by the direct impact of the Carcará’s talons in the previous battle. Only his right forearm retained its intact insect vambrace.
Knowing that the cafeteria raid was not a hunt for extermination, but rather a mass supply extraction mission, Allisson tightened the straps of the backpack on his back. He arranged several empty plastic bottles at the bottom of his pack to transport water, keeping his focus on rapid load capacity under the constant threat of being trapped inside.
Beside him, Abner, Jade, and Adson repeated the preparation process, testing the weight of their metal bars and organizing the empty space in their backpacks to maximize their haul.
After ten minutes of silent, tense, and focused preparation, the four-person strike team—Allisson and Adson in the vanguard, followed by Abner and Jade—lined up by the exit.
Ângela took control of the lock from the inside, holding the mechanism tightly.
Allisson gripped the shaft of his spear with both hands, feeling the residual pain in his arms serve as a constant reminder of their mortality in this new world. He gave Ângela a firm nod.
CLACK!
The heavy lock disengaged. The group stared at the threshold of the computer lab, ready to step through the door and advance down the dark corridor toward the cafeteria.