This is an automated archive made by the Lemmit Bot.

The original was posted on /r/nosleep by /u/PageTurner627 on 2024-03-11 00:49:16.

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Part 4

Part 5

Part 6

Without even thinking, I launch myself towards the grenade, every muscle tensed for the desperate attempt to save Tuyet and the boy Luc.

But before my fingers can grasp its cold metal, Văn surges past, shoving me out of the way.

"Get down!" he bellows. In one fluid motion, he grabs the grenade, intent on hurling it back towards our attackers.

But he’s not fast enough. The grenade detonates in his hand. The explosion is deafening, a blast of heat and shrapnel that tears through the air. Văn is thrown backward, his body a ragdoll caught in the blast's merciless embrace.

The shockwave reverberates through my bones, my ears ringing, my vision blurred. When the dust settles, the air is filled with the smell of gunpowder and blood.

My heart hammers in my chest as I crawl over to where Văn lies prone on the floor.

“Van!” I cry out.

At first glance, Văn seems miraculously intact, almost sleeping. But the illusion shatters as I turn him over. His right forearm is gone, severed by the blast. Shrapnel wounds pepper his body. Half his face is missing, obliterated in an instant.

His eyes flutter open, a glimmer of consciousness piercing through the haze of pain.

His gaze falls on the bloody stump where his right arm once was. He attempts a weak, lopsided smile.

"At least... it wasn't my left arm…" he rasps, his voice a barely audible whisper. He lifts his left hand, the one bearing his wedding ring.

His breaths come shallow and ragged, each one a battle. I lean in closer, my hand finding his.

Tuyết crawls over to my side. Together, we attempt to administer first aid, but Van is too far gone.

Tears blur my vision as I grip Văn's remaining hand, my voice breaking. "Why? Why would you do something so fucking stupid?"

He coughs, a faint chuckle escaping his lips despite the agony he must be in. "Because... you can't throw for shit," he manages to say.

His fingers, still warm, squeeze mine."Tell... tell Hạnh..." he starts. But the words trail off, unfinished, as the light in his eyes dims. A final, labored exhale escapes his lips, and then nothing.

I gently remove Văn's dog tags, the metal cool and heavy in my hand. My fingers find the wedding ring on his left hand, slipping it off with a reverence that feels like a prayer. In his pockets, I discover a worn letter, the edges frayed from being read and folded countless times. Beside it, is a photo of Văn, his wife Lan, and their little daughter Hạnh, smiling, a moment of happiness frozen in time.

The whizz of a bullet, cutting through the air mere centimeters from my head, jolts me back to the present.

Scanning the room for any advantage, my gaze falls on a control panel mounted on the wall, its interface glowing dimly. A biometric scanner sits beside it.

I glance at the lifeless body of the scientist, an idea sparking amidst the despair. I drag his corpse closer, the blood from his wounds leaving a dark trail on the tiled floor. "Tuyết," I call over the din of gunfire, "I need his hand."

Her eyes wide with horror before nodding grimly. Without a word, she pulls out her machete, its blade gleaming under the harsh fluorescent lights. With a swift motion, she hacks at the scientist's hand, the sound of bone and sinew giving way under the blade echoing sickeningly.

"Cover me!" I shout, snatching up the severed hand and making a mad dash for the control panel. Bullets fly past, the air alive with the deadly song of gunfire. I can feel the heat of the shots as they slice through the space where I was just moments before.

Halfway to the panel, a bullet tears through my shoulder, the impact knocking me off balance. I stagger, nearly dropping the gruesome key to our escape. The pain is immediate and searing, a hot iron pressed into my flesh.

“Đụ mẹ nó!” (Motherfucker!) I curse, pushing through it.

Reaching the panel, I press the dead scientist's hand against the biometric scanner. The machine whirs, processing the grisly input. After a moment that stretches into eternity, the scanner beeps in affirmation, the light turning green.

My eyes frantically search the control panel's interface. Among the myriad buttons and switches, one stands out, marked with a series of numbers that correspond to the mutant elephant's enclosure. Without hesitation, I press it.

The heavy steel doors to the elephant's enclosure groan as they begin to slide open, the sound a harbinger of the chaos to come. The soldiers, momentarily distracted by this new development, shift their focus toward the source of the noise as they try to process the unfolding scene.

From the darkness of the enclosure, the mutated elephant emerges. The tumors and growths that mar its skin seem to pulse with a malevolent energy, and its tentacle-like limb whips through the air with a mind of its own.

As the creature steps into the light, a palpable sense of dread fills the room. The soldiers, trained to face human enemies, find themselves frozen in terror at the sight of this monstrosity. Their hesitation costs them dearly.

With a trumpeting roar that shakes the very foundations of the laboratory, the creature charges. Its massive body moves with a terrifying speed. The soldiers open fire, but their bullets seem to do little more than enrage the beast further.

The elephant's first victim is caught squarely by the charging monster, his body crushed beneath its immense weight with a sickening crunch. The creature's tentacle limb lashes out, wrapping around another soldier and tossing him aside like a toy. His screams are cut short as he collides with the wall, his body breaking upon impact.

Its trunk, split and lined with teeth, snaps up a third man, lifting him into the air before biting down. The sound of breaking bones and tearing flesh is almost drowned out by the chaos of the room.

"Move! Move!" I yell, firing a burst of covering fire.

We make our break for the service tunnel, elephant’s rampage providing the distraction we desperately need.

Tuyết grabs Luc, and we make a break for it, dodging between lab benches and equipment. Her movements are shadowed by Hùng and Lam, who fire off a suppressing volley towards the soldiers trying to regroup.

Then, a soldier, torn in half but horrifically alive, is hurled into our path, his eyes wide with shock and agony. Without pausing, I sidestep the dying man.

We dart into a narrow hallway, the sounds of its rampage a constant threat at our backs.

As we spill into the service tunnel, the chaos of the lab behind us, Hung catches sight of my shoulder. “Fuck, Thành, you're hit!" he exclaims, a note of panic in his voice.

I glance down, almost surprised to see blood soaking through my shirt, the fabric clinging to my skin. The pain, masked by adrenaline until now, flares into sharp focus, a white-hot lance through my shoulder. "I'm fine," I lie, gritting my teeth against the pain.

Tuyết, catching the grimace of pain that I can't quite hide, orders, "Sit, now!" Despite my instinct to keep moving, I find myself obeying, slumping against the cold wall.

Hung rummages through his pack, producing a first aid kit. Its contents are spilled out in a practiced motion, gauze, bandages, and small vials of morphine coming to rest on the concrete floor beside me.

Lâm kneels beside me, his fingers probing the wound with a gentle precision. "Bullet's still in there," he mutters, more to himself than to me.

Hùng and Tuyết work in tandem, cleaning the wound. The sting of antiseptic bites into my flesh, drawing a hiss of pain through clenched teeth. Tuyết's hands are steady as she bandages the wound.

As the adrenaline begins to ebb, the true extent of the pain crashes into me like a tidal wave. It's a searing, pulsating agony that radiates from my shoulder, each heartbeat a reminder of the injury.

I can't help but let out a muffled curse, my grip on the cold floor of the tunnel tightening.

"Sorry," Tuyết murmurs. "Almost done here."

"I need morphine," I demand, the words barely a growl through gritted teeth. My tolerance for pain has its limits, and I'm rapidly approaching them.

"Alright, but just a little bit," Lam says, prepping the syringe. "Don't need you passing out on us."

With a quick jab, he administers the shot, the morphine entering my system. The relief is almost immediate, a warm wave that dulls the pain to a manageable throb.

"Alright, can you stand?" Tuyết asks.

With a grunt, I push myself up, the tunnel swaying slightly around me. "Yeah, let's get the fuck out of here," I say, my voice steadier than I feel.

The cold hits us like a wall, the temperature plummeting as we delve deeper into the bowels of the cold storage facility. Our breaths fog in the frigid air, ghostly puffs that fade into the expanse ahead. The facility is a cavernous space, shelves stacked to the ceiling with ominous canisters, e...

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