Blood.

And the hideous words and drawings written by blood.

"Gang, I am sorry for your loss. You are a good man. Why don’t you come to our place?" The middle-aged man with a buzz cut sighed, walked over to Zhao Gang and put his hand on his shoulder as he softly comforted him.

His name was Ma Zhongchen. Zhao Gang and him were in the same firing spot in the battle. No one expected for a celebratory moment to become a pitiful sight.

The gloom of blood covered this triumphant victory, just like a bucket of cold water dumped on top of every survivor’s face.

"I, I am going to kill them!" Zhao Gang, who was kneeling on the ground, stood up abruptly as he lifted his rifle with viciousness.

"Calm! Take it easy, don’t overreact!"

"What can you do as just one person? Take his gun away."

A few of the survivors close to him immediately dragged him down, and put their hands on the safety before stripping him of the weapon. The situation suddenly turned messy.

Zhao Baodong’s hand became numb