18 Floors Above the Apocalypse



Their eyes gleamed with ferocity as they brandished their blades with deadly intent. Stella, with reflexes like she had eyes in the back of her head, dodged and delivered a spinning kick that sent the knife flying from the man's grip. Whipping out her switchblade, she made a swift and clean cut across the man's throat.

Over the years, Monkey and Bran had become just as formidable. Hailing from the same rough neighborhood, they sensed trouble the moment Stella asked about the hotdog, realizing they were not dealing with survivors but pirates. Both armed for self-defense, they engaged the oncoming pirates in combat.

Monkey, lacking in size, had to rely on dirty tricks to survive. He whipped out his pepper spray and let loose a fiery stream of homemade ghost pepper concoction, a special breed his wife grew in their backyard garden. Caught off guard, the pirates couldn't dodge in time. Eyes burning and unable to see, one of them cursed in frustration, "Ah, damn it all!"

"Damn it?" Monkey slashed with his knife and retorted, "You've met your match, buddy!"

"Sis, bro-in-law, help me!" Whether they saw Bran as an easy target or a worthy challenge, several pirates charged at him. Outnumbered, Bran found himself in dire straits, howling for help. Jasper, swift and lethal, dispatched a few and cut through to save him.

The pirates had their roles; they were after the hospital's medical supplies, thinking Stella and her companions were easy prey. Instead, they found themselves in the reaper's grip. Taken by surprise, several fell instantly, and the last one turned to flee. Stella, quick as lightning, lunged with a flying kick that dislocated his arm. The man howled in agony, spouting incomprehensible words.

It wasn't English, but from his looks, he was clearly from the region. They could all speak the language; it was just a matter of beating it out of them. As a doctor, Stella knew just where to strike for excruciating pain. Sure enough, after a few punches, he wailed, "I'll talk, I'll talk......”

Stella was right; they were monkeys from the South. These pirates, survivors from various nations, had formed regional alliances in the lawless seas. They lived by plundering, and Ocean Point Naval Station had long been in their sights. But Ocean Point was too strong and didn't take in foreign survivors, forcing them to secretly hone their language skills.

Some pirates had once conducted business in Australia and were linguistically adept. Before the disaster struck, the inte had connected all dialects far and wide. So they adapted and learned. Long at sea, they planned to catch Ocean Point Naval Station off guard during turbulent weather, aiming for Area A, where all the base's medical supplies and food were stored. With each base platform far apart, a swift raid under the cover of the storm could mean a clean getaway.

But Ocean Point Naval Station was cunning, constantly probing, and with a myriad of local dialects, colloquialisms, and even neighborhood-specific slang, they were hard to fool. No honor among thieves! They never expected to be undone by a simple hotdog. So, what the hell does 'hotdog' mean! Damn it to hell! Stella offered no explanation as she sent him to meet his maker.

The commotion drew armed medical staff, who were stunned at the sight of the bodies strewn across the ground. Stella had no time to clarify, "Dr. Collin, we're under pirate attack. Get to safety and stay out of this." She worried about Justice's situation. They hurried back.

Justice was cunning, corralling everyone into the indoor recreation area, "Keep calm, folks. We're all kin here, united by blood. Now that fate has brought us to Hope Point, we're family. I've called in the staff to work overtime. They'll be here shortly to process your documentation so you can receive supplies and settle into your new homes tonight."

The crowd grew restless, "Can't we do this in the morning?"

"You've been at sea for months, weary to the bone. I see your plight and feel your pain. If we wait till tomorrow, you'll lose another day, and that's something I can't bear..."

"But we're tired, sleepy, and hungry. We just want to rest tonight..."

"Fear not, I've alerted the kitchen staff to prepare a meal for you. It'll be here in no time."

The survivors had never heard of such hospitality at Ocean Point Naval Station. Yet, they couldn't refuse. Who would dare admit they weren't hungry and didn't crave a hearty meal without casting suspicion upon themselves?

Before landing, they had a meticulous plan: raid the hospital, the cafeteria, the food stores... All with strict roles and timing constraints. The hospital raiders had already departed, but now they were trapped inside. Any noise from their end would alert the base. One moment registration, the next, food distribution - could it be... They were exposed!

After months of language practice and a foolproof plan, how could this happen? Damn these Australians, too crafty by half. The leaders exchanged glances. It was time to act! Already ashore, they couldn't wait to be cornered. It was do or die.

Suddenly, they drew their weapons

and lunged at Justice. To defeat the enemy, take out the leader first. But Justice was not alone; several

guards stood by him, drawing et

guns with lightning speed.

Battle-hardened soldiers, they didn't hesitate, aiming for the head or the heart. Even after a career in logistics, Justice wasn't to be

underestimated. At Jasper's warning, he had his men on high

alert. Gunshots rang out, and

soldiers hidden in the shadows burst

out with submachine guns,

encircling the pirates...

The pirates had guns and knives and guts, but the cold steel of the submachine guns held them at bay. Fortune favors the bold, and as Ocean Point Naval Station thrived, t drew in more survivors seeking refuge disrupting the pirates' plundering. With fewer targets, they grew desperate, staking their lives on this gamble. Nobody could have predicted it-the calamity had struck a decade ago, yet the Aussies were still armed to the teeth with a staggering arsenal.

The pirates glanced down at their own meager weapons, their morale shattering in an instant. It was like bringing a knife to a gunfight. They knew the base was formidable, but they hadn't imagined it to be this impregnable-it was a wipeout! Each pirate was a survivor of countless skirmishes, tough as nails, accustomed to victory and brimming with confidence. Yet, they were unprepared for such a total defeat.

All of them shared the same yellow skin and dark eyes. Why was it that the Australians could rally their nation in the face of disaster, while their own country had long since crumbled, forcing them into a barbaric existence? "Damn it all," they cursed under their breath, "What a bloody mess!"Exclusive © material by Nô(/v)elDrama.Org.