As Suyin and Mao step into the antechamber, they spot Mei lying on the floor. She breathes in ragged spurts, aiming a gun at them with a trembling hand, but she quickly notices something in Mao’s eyes—a vague look of triumph—that makes everything horrifically clear to her.

“Taikong…” she wheezes.

She turns the gun sideways and aims it at her own head, revealing dull scratches on the side of the weapon. But before she can squeeze the trigger, Suyin blasts her with the rifle. Her body collapses backwards and the gun slides from her hand.

The pair sees it in front of them: the [12] door. It’s metal surface seems to hum with a steady whine, like the scream of a dying fighter plane.

Mao walks over to the door and scans his bracelet. The door lets out a congratulatory beep as an automated voice begins to speak:

“As you continue, remember this advice: Third, recover the chain-breaking sword beneath it.”

Suyin and Mao exchange confused glances but decide to ignore the message. Suyin scans her bracelet as well and pulls the foreboding door open.

On the other side is a cramped steel room—little more than a closet. There’s no door out of the facility or button to call an elevator—just three cold walls.

“What…is this?” Suyin asks.

A message is written in red paint on the far wall, clearly by Cat. It reads:

“YOU REAP WHAT YOU FUCKING SOW”

“There was supposed to be a way out here,” Suyin continues, “Did Cat just lie to us?”

“No…” Mao mutters, “Look down.”

On the floor of the secret room is a table, on which rests a small metal revolver, loaded with one bullet in the chamber.

“Remember what Yang said at the beginning of the game?” Mao asks, “Its precise words.”

“As for the door with the 12…it contains an alternate means of exit from the game.”

“Clearly Cat thinks themself quite clever,” Mao continues, “They offered us a means for our soul to escape, but not our body. Cat is, of course, implying that whoever got this far would be better off shooting themselves in the head than returning to the outside world.”

“But, then…what the hell was the point of any of that?” Suyin shouts, “My sister, that doctor, your subordinate, we killed all those people!”

Mao stares at his wife as she starts to hyperventilate. He watches her grab the gun off the table and hold it up, finger hovering over the trigger, and in a brief bout of weakness he begins to consider that maybe there was no point to this—any of it, from the moment the first shot was fired.

But the moment doesn’t last. He regains his bearings and tightly grasps his wife’s shoulder.

“Put the gun down!”

“What?!”

“I said put it down!”

Mao slaps Suyin’s hand. The revolver falls to the floor with a pathetic clatter.

“I won’t be the punchline of Cat’s twisted joke,” Mao roars, “There must be another way out. We just have to work together.”

“But even with 12 CDP, we’re going to run out eventually!” Suyin says, “And how are we possibly going to escape?”

“I don’t know, but mark my words: we will not die here!”

“You’re kidding,” Suyin shouts, “That wasn’t strong enough?”

Suyin and Mao stand in front of the Meridian Gate, looking into the Armory. They’ve lost track of where Sunny is, though neither of them particularly care at the moment.

Clouds of ash cake the Armory, and soot covers every surface of the room. The sleeping pod where the strange body rests has been smashed open. The heavy shutters are twisted and warped, but they still hold fast, with only vague shafts of light shining between them.

“We detonated the huge bomb, several pounds of C4, and loads of grenades next to that gate,” Suyin shouts, “And it still held together?”

“The door must be reinforced,” Mao says, “A few blasts from that tank would have been enough, but not without the ignition key. Cat probably ensured that the other weapons couldn’t bust it down.”

“But it’s barely holding together,” Suyin says, “I can see the outside! It has to give way eventually!”

Hoisting her rifle, Suyin limps over to the shutter and brings the end of it down hard. The door buckles slightly but otherwise holds fast. Not to be dissuaded, Suyin strikes it again and again, letting out grunts of rage, but her efforts seem ineffective.

Suyin rears back one more time, only to feel something stop her. She turns her head and sees Mao tightly gripping the end of the rifle.

“This is a man’s job,” he snaps.

Mao pulls the rifle from his wife’s hands and steps over to the door. Taking deep, controlled breaths, he brings the rifle down on the door with precision, over and over again. Despite the move’s apparent uselessness, he refuses to let up. Suyin watches, resting her hand against the wall and feeling the pain shoot up her leg in full force once again.

“You’re…you’re gonna wear yourself to death,” Suyin eventually says.

Mao pauses and turns to her, revealing an inferno burning in his eyes.

“At least I’ll die fighting,” he replies, “Now Suyin…if we’re going to get out of here, I need your full support.”

There are several MREs stashed in the Armory. They’re the only sources of nourishment left for the group, and it’s up to Suyin to ration them until Mao can bust down the shutter. The food is dry and unappetizing, but she’d rather eat it than starve to death.

Per her calculations, it seems that the rations would last the group about two weeks. Any longer, and they’d be trapped in the facility forever.

Suyin decides that she’d rather not have any regrets if that happens.

She finds Sunny cowering in the Dungeon cell where Juanli woke up. It seems like he’s using up all his energy on tears. Suyin walks into the cell, holding a chunk of meat in her hands.

“Eat, Sunny,” she says, “Please.”

Sunny pushes the food away, but Suyin moves it closer.

“No, seriously,” she snaps, “If you don’t eat it, you’re going to starve. You know your Mama wouldn’t want that.”

Sunny whirls around to face her, tears streaming down his red face.

“What do you know?” Sunny shouts, “You killed her!”

Suyin pauses, realizing that she perhaps made a poor choice of words.

“I just don’t get it,” Sunny wails, “I thought you were both supposed to be heroes. I thought you were bravely protecting China, but you killed them! Your own sister too! Why?”

“I…I didn’t kill her,” Suyin explains, “That was Mao. By the time I knew what he was doing, it was too late.”

“What difference does it make?” Sunny shouts, “You could have said something! You could have stopped Mao, but you didn’t! You didn’t even try!”

“I was selfish,” Suyin says, “I wanted to go back home. I didn’t want her death to be for nothing.”

“Well it was for nothing, wasn’t it?”

“Sunny…I’m sorry.”

Suyin cries out as Sunny launches across the cell and delivers a sharp jab to the side of her face. She collapses to the floor of the Dungeon, dropping the food rations. They fly sideways onto the bed as the metal tray hits the ground with a clang. Sunny runs toward Suyin, raising his little fist high again.

Then he stops.

“No…” Sunny mumbles, “You’re right. I should do what Mama would have wanted…but not for you.”

Suyin gets to her feet, leaning on Amandi’s cane for support, and brushes off her dress indignantly. She watches as Sunny gets on the bed and begins to eat.

“That’s good. I’m sure she’s watching over you,” Suyin says.

Sunny curls up on the bed.

“Just leave me alone.”

“Here’s your food.”

Suyin throws two plates of rations onto a large green trunk. Mao drops the rifle, exhausted, and grabs the food to eat.

They sit in silence, like they had many times before, letting the clink of silverware take the place of a real conversation.

…

The next time they eat, Mao appears much more weary. He takes massive bites of the meat like it’s all he’s eaten in days.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” Suyin asks, “You wearing yourself out over that door?”

“What’s the alternative?” Mao asks, “I can’t have you do it—not with your leg.”

“You never let me do anything.”

“Because I don’t want you to get hurt,” Mao explains, “That’s the whole reason I fight. To protect all of China, but especially you.”

Suyin sets down her full plate and sighs.

“I just…feel like you don’t trust me,” Suyin explains, “I don’t feel satisfied watching you hog the spotlight. You never give me what I want.”

“Oh, you’ve never given me what I wanted. We’re supposed to start a family together. That was the whole point of this!”

“I would’ve done that if you ever treated me like-like, a wife! A partner. Not someone you were just tolerating!”

“Damn it, Suyin! We’ve had this conversation!”

The argument turns into an increasingly long and nonsensical shouting match. Mao says that love could come later, that it would blossom as they had a child. Suyin accuses Mao of loving the idea of a family more than her. And it goes on and on, Mao’s banging at the shutter only increasing with fury.

….

A few days later, they had run low on food. Not long after that, they were out. It has been a day without any of it, and Mao and Suyin simply lie next to each other on the floor.

They haven’t accepted they would die. Not for a moment. But they’re so hungry, and sometimes days could go by on the shutter without progressing a millimeter.

“That poor child,” Suyin says, sighing. “We really ruined his life. I guess dying here is our payback.”

“We’re still fighting for him. A life for the child out there is better than a death for him here.”

“Even without his mother?”

“The U.S. army has killed many mothers. It’s ultimately the child’s choice how he wishes to live.”

Suyin doesn’t challenge him on that. At this point, they’re both just so tired.

Mao oddly finds himself feeling a way he never had about Suyin. The truth is, he never loved her. He liked her and he respected her—that was enough for a marriage. And yet despite not loving her, she had fought for him. She had killed for him. And right now she was even willing to die with him.

“Hey Mao… I think maybe we’re both just complete assholes.” Suyin says, lying across Mao’s chest.

“I suppose that makes us perfect for each other,” Mao replies with a dry laugh.

“I wish I could do more for the boy,” She adds after a while. “But he doesn’t want my help. Besides, I don’t think I’m the one to give it to him.”

“You cannot bring people back from the dead. You can only seek to build a better world for those who are alive. Unfortunately, the cost of a better world can be quite steep.”

“You know, I don’t think we ever talked in our entire marriage as much as these past two weeks.”

“You’re right. We should do it more.” He brushes Suyin’s hair. “But I don’t want to talk right now. Right now I just want to rest. I like it when we rest.” Mao says, though he was so parched that he wasn’t sure could speak anymore.

It’s a quiet moment between the two of them—the most comfortable silence the two of them had ever shared in the past years.

“I think I know what I want,” Suyin says, staring at Mao. “I do want to raise a child. One who can…really make the world a better place.”

“Is that how you plan to atone?”

“It’s how I plan to…accomplish something. Though, I’m not really sure what.”

“That’s good enough.”

She had already given everything to him. Even now, on the brink of death, she’s still talking about their future together. The least he can do for her is to make sure they can do it.

He grabs the heavy rifle and resumes the mechanical motion that had wreaked havoc on his old body the past weeks. The only thing he has to do now is do it until the bitter end. His only atonement left in this life is to end this war.

“Suyin, once we escape, you’re going to be more than just a mother.”

He strikes the shutter once again.

“All of China will know your name.”

He slams it down—

CRASH!

As the shutter gives way, Mao collapses onto the grey grass outside. He lets out a wheeze of pain as he pushes himself off of the ground. He can feel the breeze. He can see the Sun shining down on him. Even the empty whine of no man’s land sounds beautiful now.

Suyin stands over him, equally surprised by what she’s seeing. Freedom is finally within sight.

Mao slowly rolls over to face his wife.

“Go…” he says, “Get the boy.”

Suyin nods and disappears into the facility.

And then, Mao is alone. His throat is dry, and fatigue rests on his bones. But he has escaped.

He stares up at the building that had housed him. Its architecture is marvelous, built of tireless effort by legendary Chinese artisans. He can’t help but smile as he admires the craftsmanship, the beautiful murals painted on the side by delicate hands.

In the air, he can smell rice fields hundreds of miles away. He feels the warmth of Chinese grit and solidarity in the face of threats. Like the pollen in the air, still flying to this distant wasteland with the hope of living on.

As he listens to the breeze, he hears the pluck of a gu zheng and the steady whine of a flute. A steady drumbeat courses through the Earth like a victory march.

But an unfamiliar sound approaches Mao through the breeze—the sputtering of helicopter blades. Mao watches a massive shadow pass overhead and come to a rest outside the hall.

Soon, steady footsteps approach Mao.

“Who was that? Where’s Suyin?”

A hand grabs Mao by the shoulder and pulls him up. He looks into the eyes of another uniformed man covered in medals, with sweeping golden hair and a ridiculous grin.

“Well, look what the squirrel dragged in,” he says, speaking in English. “You look like an enemy soldier, and judging by the flashy chest decorations, you must be a real important feller.”

Thanks to his knowledge as an ambassador, Mao understands some of the man’s speech. In a hoarse voice, he responds.

“Who…are you?”

“Eh? What makes you think you can go around speaking our language?” the man asks.

He deals a heavy blow to Mao, knocking the old man once more to the ground.

“The name’s General Williamson,” he continues, pulling out a gun. “And as of today, this is God’s country. You picked the wrong day to drag your Commie keister up here.”

“Wait,” Mao says, “I’m General Mao Delan. I’m worth far more to you as a prisoner than a casualty.”

“Way I see it,” Williamson says, smiling. “Only good Chinese general is a dead one.”

BANG!

A bullet pierces General Williamson’s head. He collapses to the ground, staining the cold ground red.

Mao watches him collapse and then looks into the facility. He sees Suyin holding the revolver in her hand, its single bullet gone from the chamber.

It had only taken one shot.

A young Chinese man picks up a history textbook. He smiles at the class as he flips toward a specific chapter, stopping at a photo of a bearded man.

“Today, we’re going to be studying a very special man,” he explains, “A true hero of China, with an extensive record, and not just in the military. Can anyone tell me what his job before the war was?”

A young man near the front raises his hand.

“Ambassador to the United States, sir.”

“Exactly!” the instructor says, “Of course, as you all know, not even he was able to prevent the war-hungry U.S. from invading. Fortunately, he was a skilled tactician, and a key player in leading the army to victory. He is highly recognized for his diligence, honor, selflessness, and is largely responsible for the culture of our country today.”

He steps away from the table, walking among the desks and carefully eyeing the students.

“That’s where you come in,” the teacher explains, “A lot has changed since the war ended, but Chinese military prowess remains significant. We’ll be closely studying Mao’s battles to learn from his excellence. Now, open your notebooks!”

A young man at a corner desk stares at the wall of the tent, one hand tightly clutching his fatigues. The teacher stops and glares at him, noticing that he isn’t touching his notebook.

“Where’s your head, Private?” he barks.

The Private turns to the instructor,

“Could you explain why the fuck we’re still here?” he asks, “The war ended nearly 40 years ago. Why are we still being drafted for military campaigns?”

The teacher narrows his eyes at the young Private.

“You will not speak to your superior officer that way,” he snaps.

“Alright. Why the fuck are we still here, sir?”

The teacher slams his hand on the private’s desk.

“Because Mao understands the role expected of world powers such as ourselves,” he explains, “It’s up to us to do our duty to continue a standard of excellence across the planet, and keep the world safe for Chinese citizens. Sometimes that requires intervention.”

The private scoffs.

“Yes, I’m sure those Japanese children we’re bombing are a massive threat to the world.”

“Talk like this could get you a dishonorable discharge, Private.”

“Oh, please discharge me, sir!” the private replies, “The sooner I get to stop hearing you heap praises on that coot of a general, the better off I’ll be.”

The teacher leans in close to the private, practically spitting in his face.

“Need I remind you, that’s my father you’re talking about.”

“I’m sure he’d be glad to know you’re the most senile old bastard to ever make Major at 35.”

The teacher grabs his subordinate by the neck and pulls him out of his chair. He escorts him out of the tent and slams him face-first in the mud.

The private would later swear he could taste the tears of his ancestors in the Chinese soil.

…

After electing not to drain Fujisaki’s points, the group plays the Battle of Wood. Thanks to Amethyst’s decision to Ally, the battle is won. Afterwards, Suyin takes the exit key and escapes with Sunny, X, and Monk. The others appear to be trapped inside.

Later, Juanli accidentally kills Snake with the hammer. Fujisaki freaks out and gets locked up for his troubles. Amethyst looks for information on the server, but she is soon found dead, with the computer destroyed. The group gathers in the Server Room.

In Server Room: Taikong, Mao, Amandi, Juanli, Mei
In Dungeon: Fujisaki

…

…Lucian Mei.

“What the fuck?” Mei shouts, “What are you pointing that thing at me for?”

“Everyone,” Mao says, stepping closer to Mei. “I’d like you to take a closer look at this gun. Notice anything?”

Amandi stoops, looking closely at the gun.

“There’s…some scratches in the surface. Is that what you meant?”

“I’ve seen this gun before,” Mao explains, “It was in that nurse’s hands!”

“What?” Mei shouts, “I’ve never even touched that thing!”

“Don’t lie to me,” Mao replies, “I bet you’ve had this gun hidden on you this whole time—probably somewhere in your medical bag. When Amethyst started looking on this computer, you realized you’d left something compromising behind, so you crawled into the vent and shot her in cold blood.

Reaching Mei, Mao shoves her against the wall and presses the gun to his head.

“Isn’t that right, Mei?” Mao asks, “Or should I say…Cat?”

Tension fills the air as the group stares at the frightened medic. Is this woman the cruel captor who had knocked them out and forced them into this dangerous game? Does she hold the secrets that had taunted them all across time? Had she murdered Amethyst?

“N-Now hold on, sir,” Taikong says, looking quite flustered. “You haven’t explained yourself fully. When did you see her with this gun?”

Mao pauses for a moment, as if not having considered the question.

“I’m not entirely sure…” Mao replies, “But that’s no doubt in my mind. We need to lock her up and decide what to do with her.”