James Lone immediately accessed his interface to check the new upgrade:

[Subspace Travel: 9 stars (max level, cannot be upgraded further)]

You can open subspace channels to travel to any location within 51,000 meters up to 12 times a day.

You can create subspace anchors with no range limit, up to 3 times a day, and maintain a maximum of 3 anchors simultaneously.

You can teleport to subspace anchors regardless of distance.

You can attach subspace anchors to any object.

Holy crap! This is incredible! With the subspace anchor's range limits removed, I can now teleport back to any anchor no matter how far away. This is the ultimate ability for long-distance travel!

And if I can attach an anchor to a moving object, what about a living one?

James called out, "Byakuga n!"

The dog jumped up, head tilted in curiosity.

With a thought, James placed a subspace anchor on the dog's head. Externally, nothing seemed to change. Those without subspace abilities couldn't see the subspace anchors.

Only April Jones gasped, incredulous, "You can place an anchor on a living creature?"

James didn't elaborate. Instead, he pulled a shiny new can of dog food from his dimensional backpack.

'Byakuga n' perked up instantly, eyes glued to the tantalizing treat, drool pooling. With a casual throw, James sent the can spinning through the air, and the dog leapt, catching it mid-air.

Crunch. With ease, the dog bit through the can's shell, savoring the meal inside.

James could sense the anchor firmly attached atop 'Byakuga n' 's head. Opening a window to the subspace, he clearly saw the anchor hovering above the dog's head.

"It works!"

James allowed a satisfied smile to slip across his face.

The bloody night passed, and dawn broke over Sunshine Garden Complex, restoring a semblance of peace. How many had perished overnight was unknown, and James cared not.

Lydia Johnson slept fitfully, barely clawing her way back from the heartache of losing her family. But James had little interest in her emotional recovery, focusing instead on the mutated frog while getting some target practice in.

As usual, James stationed himself in a room on the fifth floor, offering the perfect vantage of the pool below where the mutated frog still slumbered.

In no rush, he settled into the plush chair, procuring a bowl filled with Enlightenment Fruits. He patiently bided his time. After half an hour or more, the mutated frog leapt from the water, appearing to hunt.

James engaged his senses, piercing through layers of purple mist, revealing the unfolding scene below.

Standing promptly, he moved to the windowsill and flung open a window. From his dimensional backpack, he produced a police-issue rifle, taking aim toward the pool.

With sight obscured by the mist, he relied on his senses for targeting. His focus trained on a swiftly darting tadpole.

Again, that haunting sensation of time slowing enveloped him.

"Is this an extra effect of my enhanced physique?" James mused but shook the thought away, intent on seizing his target.

He squeezed the trigger lightly.

Bang! Missed.

Unperturbed, James continued firing. His goal was as much practice as it was a kill.

Bang! Bang!

Shot after shot veered closer until, inexplicably, James felt certain his next would land true. Steadying his breath, he pulled the trigger with deliberate care.

Bang!

The tadpole exploded into fragments!

"Hahaha, looks like I'm a natural sharpshooter!" he crowed, basking in momentary triumph before surveying the pool once more.

Despite the carnage, the other tadpoles swam obliviously, unburdened by fear.

"Just like the mutated frog, not the sharpest tools," James noted, splitting his attention between the scene and maintaining vigilance should the frog swiftly return.

Another tadpole in his sights.

Bang! Bang!

In no time, the pool swam red with dozens of slain tadpoles, practice paying off after the first lucky shot had opened the floodgates. His prowess amazed even himself.

"Maybe I really am a marksman?" James wondered aloud, examining the rifle with renewed appreciation, eager to test further.

Just then, a ripple in his perception marked the returning frog.

Gently closing the window, James ducked down.

Upon discovering its brood decimated, the frog roared in fury—a deafening cacophony. Even from his distance, James winced, hands moving instinctively to cover his ears.

"Damn, it's probably cursing up a storm," he quipped.

Eventually, anger gave way to a returning calm, the frog settling back into its aquatic home, apparently forgetting its fallen kin.

James chuckled. "Short memory span too, huh?"

At Peace Road Police Station, Teresa Taylor donned her tactical gear, stepping purposefully into the survivor's room, flanked by equally armed Lincoln Filed and Mike Brown.

All eyes were on them. Some survivors sat nervously with packed bags, while others remained grounded in uncertainty.

Teresa addressed them in a clear, steady voice. "Last night, the police broadcast briefly resumed, and I received orders. I've been directed to lead survivors to the TV station relief point. Those willing to join me, we depart now. There are about 5,000 survivors there, with resources and manpower to sustain us. Those who wish to stay, I won't stop you. Headquarters authorize survivors to utilize all station resources without legal repercussions."

Lincoln Filed rolled his eyes, resigned.

Mike Brown's gaze flitted nervously, dread pooling in his gut. He knew firsthand the terror outside—comfort lay within these walls, not in executing some ludicrous order. Yet the thought of remaining behind shook him to his core. Without Teresa's strength, the survivors were as good as doomed.

Suddenly, an elderly voice rang out in anger, "Officer Taylor, what happens to us if you leave?"

Her response was measured. "I'm sorry, but I have orders to follow. You'll have to fend for yourselves."

Another chimed in, indignation coloring their voice. "Fend for ourselves? How can we survive without you? You have powers! We're defenseless!"

"Yeah! You're abandoning us to die!"

"We paid taxes for safety, and this is what we get?"

"Please, Officer Taylor, don't go! We need you!"

"If I die, it's your fault! I'll haunt you!"

The room verged on a frenzy, emotions inflamed. Desperation clawed at reason.

Of the three empowered officers, Teresa was the most trusted—a beacon of hope in dark times. Many in her care owed her their lives, known well to the rest who feared grim prospects should she leave.

Steeling herself against their contorted faces, a storm of doubt clashed within her—had she been wrong to save them? But as the outcry crescendoed, she exhaled deeply, resolve hardening.

"I'm sorry, but I must fulfill my duty. I have my orders. Farewell, and good luck," she stated firmly, then pivoted, walking away with purpose.

Despair choked the room in her wake.

"You're dooming us!"

"Stay, at least another day!"

"Who'll feed my children if you go?"

Summoned by their needs, tearful, pleading choruses failed to stall Teresa's stride.

Descending the stairwell, she exhaled relief to find pale but determined figures shadowing her steps—Mike Brown and Lincoln Filed, alongside thirty-some survivors opting for the TV relief shelter, drawn to the promise of community.

The broadcasts spoke of sustenance, water, and life in numbers beyond their solitary struggles. It had to be better than the slow death here.

Addressing them all, Teresa outlined the plan. "It's fifteen kilometers—a five-kilometer march per day will bring us there in three days. I'll lead, Lincoln will cover the rear, and Mike will be our middle line. Maintain vigilance. Visibility in the mist is five meters tops—stick close! Move out!"

Brandishing a fire axe, she cast one last glance at the station, then led them resolutely into the sunless forest.