He activated every backup transmitter he’d carried for years. The signal amplified. Millions more viewers — but still no response. Only Hollows, now at the door. The Hollows didn’t kill him. They surrounded him, heads tilted, listening to the static from his speakers. One stepped forward — larger, older. Its mouth opened, and instead of a scream, it formed a single word:

But as the timer counted down, the lead Hollow reached out and stopped it. It lifted the helmet, placed it on its own head, and began to speak — slowly, clumsily, but clearly:

Then to one million .

Tuga made a choice. He unclipped his helmet and placed it on the ground.

He pressed the final button: a self-destruct sequence for the building’s old gas mains. The explosion would wipe out the Hollows’ nest — and take him with it.