18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 341

The haze lifted, and there was a hive of survivors bustling about the town square. Their faces, once masked by pollution, now revealed the weariness of lives lived on the edge of survival.

The endless drone of the emergency broadcast grated on nerves already frayed, a looped reminder of their grim reality. "Instead of that incessant noise, they might as well hand out a couple pounds of rations," one grumbled. "It'd do more good than all this chatter." Fear of acid rain was universal, but what choice did they have?

Outside, the sparse drizzle mocked their urgency. "Come on, really pour! Drown us if that's what you want." But the god played a cruel game, drizzling on and off as if teasing the desperate souls below.

After an agitated wait inside the hall, some of the bolder spirits dashed out beneath makeshift coverings, braving the corrosive drops. One by one, others followed, and soon the square emptied as people scattered to homes and jobs, gambling with the fickle weather. It was getting close to the afternoon, and they were interrupted by the sudden raindrops, so Stella estimated that there wouldn't be many more patients. She suggested closing the stall early and heading back. It could be troublesome if it really started pouring rain. As they gathered their supplies, a scream pierced the air. The rain intensified, transforming from a teasing drizzle to a deluge, pelting the people outside with relentless fury.

Pain erupted on exposed skin-faces, hands, everywhere as if thrown into boiling water. The screams crescendoed as people scrambled for shelter, but with the crowd in a panic, where could they hide?

Those quick enough sought refuge back in the hall. The square became a blur of chaos, some knocked over, others trampled, as the downpour continued its acidic assault.

heart pounding, as the skin of those caught outside blistered and peeled. Even through

seconds, and nobody dared to brave the storm to rescue the fallen. Faces turned away, unable to

her own, she had helped Jasper raise Rosie, barely seven years old. The little one's cries, growing fainter until

torments of a living hell. Those who escaped bore scars

injured flooded into the hall, their cries for help drowning in the stench of the

bag over her shoulder. "Doc, we gotta get out

much as they were healers, they were powerless without

care-stripping of contaminated clothes, rinsing with copious water, and medical attention

it too. They were doctors sworn to aid, yet now they had to flee, the

help. It's that we can't." Stella said

listen and wouldn't consider the doctor's perspective. In such situations, friction could easily occur, and there might have been a risk to life. But logic was lost to pain, and resentment swelled against the retreating medics. To the

Stella pulled out a samurai sword she kept for emergencies. "Back off!" she