Down the hill, the explosion at Tycoon Vance’s villa was still burning, sending a jagged line of fire into the dark, frozen sky.From our command center, the high-tech security monitors showed a truly pathetic sight. A crowd of about twenty people was stumbling up the icy road toward Villa 09.They weren't fierce raiders. They were the wealthy elites of the lower ridge, and they looked like walking corpses. Covered in soot, wrapped in ruined fur coats, and shivering violently, they were dragging their feet through the deep snow. At the front of the group was Director Harrison, his expensive leather shoes completely ruined by the ice, clutching a silver-plated pistol with freezing, stiff fingers."They look desperate," Caleb said, stepping up behind me. He adjusted the assault rifle slung over his tactical vest, his eyes stone-cold. "Vance’s fuel tank exploded because Harrison tried to steal his remaining kerosene. Now they have absolutely nothing left. No heat, no food, no shelter.""
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