18 Floors Above the Apocalypse

Chapter 296

Two thunderous booms resonated, momentarily silencing the rioters in their wanton destruction.

What the hell? Explosions now?

Stella didn't hesitate. She pulled out a small Bluetooth speaker and tossed it over the high wall onto the street. Soon enough, the shrill wail of a siren pierced the night.

The rioters were taken aback. They had barely started their rampage 15 minutes ago. How had the police arrived so swiftly?

Damn it all, bombs and the police?!

The more timid ones, having looted a handful of valuables, bolted at once. But those who were in too deep, caught up in the chaos and destruction, couldn't control themselves. They had unleashed the monsters within, wielding their makeshift weapons and wrecking everything in sight.

"What are we afraid of? They're just cops!"

This was the affluent district. One good haul here could set them up for years. Opportunities like this didn't come often. Everyone living here was fair game. They were all blood-sucking capitalists. If not them, then who?

There were so many of them, and the police had limited manpower and weaponry. They refused to believe they could be so unlucky as to get hit. So, the robbery continued. The rioters vented years of pent-up frustrations on the glittering elite. However, nobody dared approach the blazing inferno at the tail end of the mansion district.

The sounds of rioting and wailing mixed with the occasional gunshot echoed through the night.

They took what they could: canned goods, cured hams, and silk quilts. They even turned on each other in their frenzy. The entire neighborhood was a tragic scene.

The rich really did have it all. One mansion looted was worth more than 10 apartment buildings.

Many were covered in blood, but they left the neighborhood with beaming smiles, their arms filled with stolen goods.

As they exited, harsh sirens and blinding lights swept over them.

"You are surrounded. Drop your weapons and surrender immediately." The loudspeakers blared, accompanied by the authoritative voice. Two trucks rumbled in, and disciplined soldiers jumped out, surrounding the main entrance.

Despite this, those determined to escape did so, and those filled with adrenaline charged on. The sounds of gunfire filled the air, reminiscent of Fourth of July firecrackers.

Bullets found their targets with deadly accuracy, sending the rioters scurrying back into the mansion district. Even the best hiding spots were not safe from the swift and efficient soldiers, while the rioters felt like they were stumbling in the dark.

Spotlights illuminated the district, turning the night into day. The mansions were a grim sight, with materials stained red with blood.

The riot had been thoroughly quelled.

With the blaring of the loudspeaker, the gates to the Porras family mansion slowly opened, and Shane, with his son at his side, came out to meet them. Contentt bel0ngs to N0ve/lDrâ/ma.O(r)g!

Evan did not immediately go in, instead casting his gaze towards the still burning mansion district. “What happened over there?”

Bran couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. “The rioters tried to storm the mansions, but the owners fought back with gasoline. Burnt a large chunk of them.”

“Building 50?”

“Yeah.”

“Just gasoline?”

Bran paused, then replied: "Yes."

Evan didn’t respond, instead driving his police car towards the Building 50. Bran quickly followed.

The air was filled with the stench of burnt corpses, and the cement road was marred by a large crater.

Evan looked up at Building 50, standing tall in the darkness.

Bran couldn't figure out what Evan was thinking, but he knew that the Porras family was allowed to keep firearms due to their special connections, so he said, "Actually, if it weren't for their actions, there would have been more casualties in the neighborhood."

Evan seemed surprised. This rich kid who had previously crashed his car into Building 50 was now defending them?

“Who’s the president of the neighborhood's Homeowners Association?”

Bran replied with some pride, “That would be me.”

“Just remember to contact the station if you run into any trouble. We’ll be there as soon as we can.” Evan patted Bran on the shoulder.

There was only so much manpower available to the Griffith police, and the police had to maintain the safety of the entire city.

Having temporarily secured the neighborhood, they had to rush off to other parts of the city. They neither had the time nor the energy to stay in Hopefield.

Bran wanted to ask them to leave some men behind, but he swallowed his words. If it were anyone else, he might have been able to persuade them, but Evan wouldn't exploit his public duty for personal reasons.

Bran felt the weight of his responsibility. “Thank you, Evan, for arriving so promptly.”

The military police didn't linger. They patrolled the neighborhood to ensure there were no hidden rioters and then left for the next place in need of rescue.

As soon as they left, Bran began discussing the neighborhood's security with his father. The Porras family had bodyguards, but if the surrounding area fell into chaos, they would inevitably be affected.

Looking at the surviving homeowners, Shane felt a heavy responsibility. “Let's call a homeowners' meeting.”

On the fourth day of the perpetual night, Hopefield held its third homeowners' meeting. The loudspeakers echoed in the darkness.

Half an hour later, homeowners began to emerge from their houses. Some were severely injured, some disheveled, and some were gone forever.

The meeting was chaired by Shane, and each household reported the number of survivors.

Six households had been completely wiped out, all by the hands of the security team. When Bran found out who they were, he broke out in a cold sweat. He was grateful that his family had always

treated their security guards and servants decently.

After everyone had reported in, it was revealed that over forty people from the neighborhood had died. This was due to the rioters primarily focusing on looting rather than killing, unlike the vengeful slaughter carried out by the security team.

However, countless people were injured, and some were emotionally traumatized.

What surprised Stella was that Asher from Building 36 had died, and Tracy and Julia were injured. Perhaps they had been too domineering in the past, even their own servants had turned against them, looting their house and escaping with the rioters.

Now, the mother and daughter were sobbing uncontrollably. Tracy choked on her words, “Shane, how are we supposed to live now?”

How were they supposed to live? Shane almost clenched his jaw in frustration. How was that his problem?

Yet, Julia was looking at Bran with tear-filled eyes, seemingly hoping he would be her knight in shining armor.

Bran was speechless. What the hell did he have to do with her? He was barely surviving himself. He turned his head and waved at Stella across the room.

Julia gritted her teeth in anger.

Shane provided Tracy with verbal consolation, “Please, rest assured, the safety of the neighborhood is the responsibility of the Homeowners Association. All the homeowners will not ignore this."

A true cunning fox, his words meant nothing.

Shane jumped straight to the heart of the matter, focusing on the casualties. First, they needed to promptly remove any bodies left in the neighborhood. Ignoring this would only invite a plague, wreaking havoc on their living conditions. Second, they needed to reorganize a security patrol team to ensure the neighborhood's safety.

Having experienced the betrayal of a past security team, Shane suggested the formation of a new team, composed solely of homeowners. Each household would contribute one person for the neighborhood patrol.

The idea was sound, but it didn't sit well with Tracy. "How are we supposed to contribute to the patrol?" she protested, "My husband just died, and now it's just me and my kids in my family."