Here is a fan novel I created with AI, and then translated to English with AI, hope it works:
Jack Tanner stood in the central corridor of the White Lotus base, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Hundreds of female grunts lay sprawled in death, all wearing the standard White Lotus combat uniform: tight cropped tops, white mini skirts, white thigh-high stockings, and white boots. The enemy forces in the base had been completely wiped out; now it was just cleanup time.
He started with the nearest body. She was a girl named **Emily Carter**, 19 years old, her shoulder-length dark hair splayed in a pool of blood. She lay face-up, two bullet holes punched through the center of her white top at chest level. Blood poured from the wounds, soaking the fabric and outlining the full, youthful curves of her breasts. Her skirt had ridden up, her white-stockinged legs slightly parted; one knee had taken a bullet, the stocking torn open, blood trailing down the inside of her thigh. One boot still dangled from her foot. Jack prodded her carotid artery with the gun barrel—cold, no pulse. She was dead, eyes half-open, pupils dilated, her face frozen in the agony of her final moments.
Next to her lay **Sophia Hayes**, 26, with long straight dark hair. She was on her side, hands instinctively clutching her abdomen, but two rounds had punched clean through her lower white top, intestines spilling out. Her white-stockinged legs were curled, one boot missing, exposing a smooth ankle. Jack crouched and checked—she was finished.
A little farther was **Mia Thompson**, 21, with slightly wavy long hair. She had fallen to her knees as if seeking cover when hit. A bullet had entered the back of her head and exited the front, brain matter and blood splattered across her white stockings. Her skirt was hiked up, legs bent at the knees in a kneeling position, the stockings soaked translucent with blood. Jack confirmed she was gone.
Suddenly, he caught a faint gasp. Scanning the ID tag, it was **Lily Evans**, 18, a recent recruit. She leaned half against the wreckage of training equipment, her white top torn open at the right shoulder by a bullet. Blood ran down her arm and onto her white-stockinged legs, but it hadn't hit anything vital. Her skirt revealed two limp white-stockinged legs stretched out, one boot askew. She kept her eyes closed, playing dead, but the rise and fall of her chest gave her away.
Lily's mind was a whirlwind. She had joined White Lotus thinking it would lift her out of poverty, make her strong and beautiful like the senior sisters. But now all her sisters were dead, and this man moved through them like a reaper. Her chest burned; the bullet had grazed her lung, every breath like a knife. She thought: If I stay still, maybe he'll think I'm dead and move on. But if he finds me... will he do something first, then finish me? The organization's training said enemies were utterly ruthless. She regretted not listening to her mom, regretted believing the lies about "sisterhood." Fear made her whole body tremble; her white-stockinged legs quivered faintly, the silk rubbing with a soft sound.
Jack approached and nudged her white-stockinged calf with his boot tip. She couldn't help but open her eyes, tears flooding instantly. "Please... don't kill me... I surrender... I'll tell you everything..." Her voice shook as she tried to look pitiful, arms hugging her chest, white-stockinged legs curling up to shield herself. Jack's face remained blank as he raised the gun to her forehead. She screamed: "No! Please! I'm still young, I don't want to die..." Her mental defenses shattered, a flood of memories flashing through her mind.
Jack pulled the trigger. The first shot punched through her forehead, the bullet exiting the back in a spray of blood and mist. Her head snapped back, body convulsing, white-stockinged legs kicking wildly, blood splattering her skirt. The second shot went straight to her heart; her body spasmed, arms fell limp, eyes wide and glazing over, head lolling to the side as blood gushed from the wound, pooling beneath her.
Moving on a few steps, Jack checked **Ava Mitchell**, 22. She lay face-down, three bullets in her back, the white top riddled with holes. Her skirt was bunched at her waist, white-stockinged legs straight out—she was dead. Beside her, face-up, was **Isabella Reed**, also 22. A chest shot had soaked her white top pink, arms spread wide, white-stockinged legs splayed in a star shape. Jack confirmed her death.
Five White Lotus female grunts lay tangled together, their poses overlapping in a gruesome tableau. **Hannah Brooks**, 26, with shoulder-length dark hair splayed out, lay face-up on the outermost edge. A headshot had blood pouring from the wound, running down her cheeks into her ears, tongue slightly protruding with bloody foam. Her white top had a through-and-through at the chest, fabric dark red with blood, skirt hiked to her upper thighs, white stockings spread wide and torn, blood trailing down the insides of her thighs. One shoe had flown several feet away, the other dangled crookedly. Her eyes were half-open, pupils fixed—she was gone.
Right next to her was **Grace Larson**, 27, long straight dark hair draped over Hannah's shoulder. She lay on her side, half-pinning Hannah, three chest shots shredding the front of her white top, blood seeping from all three holes and staining Hannah's skirt beneath her. Her white-stockinged legs were bent, one draped over Hannah's waist, the other limp and extended, shoe off, ankle bare. Her tongue lolled from the corner of her mouth, marked by final twitches. Jack crouched and jabbed her neck roughly with the barrel—cold, no pulse.
**Chloe Parker**, 23, with a baby face, lay face-down across Grace's back, as if trying to shield her sister behind her. A bullet had gone through the back of her head and out the forehead, brain and blood splattered on Grace's white top. Her skirt was fully up, exposing blood-soaked white-stockinged hips and legs, lower legs twisted. Jack kicked her waist with his boot—no reaction, dead.
**Natalie Foster**, 21, ponytail still intact, half-kneeling and half-reclining, crushed deepest inside, arms instinctively wrapped around Chloe's waist as if trying to hold on in her last moment. One shot to the abdomen, one to the chest, blood pouring out, soaking her skirt and stockings. One leg extended across a nearby corpse, tongue protruding from her slightly open mouth, eyes wide but unfocused. Jack grabbed her hair roughly, lifted her head, checked the pupils—fully dilated.
Deepest of all was **Zoe Bennett**, 19, straight black hair. Completely buried under four bodies, only her upper torso and one leg visible. A chest shot had gone through her heart and out the back, blowing a large exit wound in her white top, blood surging from both holes and soaking the ground. Her white-stockinged leg extended limply, one high-heeled boot still on perfectly, the other long gone. Her tongue peeked out slightly, blood at the corner of her mouth.
Jack checked a dozen more nearby female grunt bodies before finding another survivor: **Ella Sullivan**, 19. Hidden under several corpses, her white top grazed at the abdomen, blood staining the hem of her skirt, her lovely legs curled up. The wound wasn't severe, just enough blood loss to weaken her.
Ella's heart filled with despair. She wanted to crawl away, but her legs felt like jelly. Footsteps drew closer, her heart pounding: It's over, he's here. Will he check bodies first, then find the living? Will he torture me slowly? She remembered the organization's "die rather than surrender" propaganda, but now she just wanted to live. Maybe play dead, maybe beg... She decided to gamble and feign unconsciousness.
Jack pulled the bodies off her, exposing her. She opened her eyes, tears streaming: "Spare me... I was wrong... I don't want to die..." She tried crawling toward him, kneeling to beg. Jack stared coldly, gun aimed at her chest. She sobbed, trying to speak more, but the shot rang out. Her body jerked back, blood spraying, white-stockinged legs kicking hard a few times before going still.
Jack's cleanup was meticulous. He roughly kicked or stomped suspected survivors to check for signs of life. If he heard breathing, he finished them—sometimes shoving the barrel into their mouths or pressing it to their bodies for certainty. Some girls hadn't even been hit, just frozen in terror and played dead at their sisters' screams, but nothing escaped his eye. It took hours, but amid the scattered corpses across the base, he found and executed dozens more survivors—more time than it took to wipe out these fragile female grunts in the first place:
- **Madison Wright**, 29, two chest shots but still clinging to life. She whispered pleas; Jack ended her with one more.
- **Scarlett Adams**, 18, leg wound. She tried crawling, white stockings dragging blood trails; Jack shot her from behind.
- **Harper Nelson**, 20, head graze. Fake death failed; discovered screaming, then finished.
- **Evelyn King**, 27, abdominal through-and-through, near death. She struggled weakly; Jack put her out of her misery.
- **Aria Scott**, 22, face-up with head graze. Tongue out, playing dead; Jack flipped her, stepped on her chest, then shot.
- **Layla Green**, 24, side-lying abdominal wound. Jack kicked her long legs; she moaned involuntarily and was finished.
- **Penelope Ross**, 20, no bullet wounds, pure fake death. Discovered begging; barrel in mouth, gruesome end.
- **Aurora Hill**, 19, face-down, leg hit. Jack stepped on her hips; she writhed as he fired twice.
- **Sienna Young**, 25, tried sneaking away while he was distracted—took over a dozen rounds, blood everywhere.
- ...
The very last survivor was **Olivia Brooks**, 18. Curled beside a pile of bodies, her white top untouched, skirt down, white-stockinged legs pressed tightly together, boots neat—she hadn't been hit at all, just dropped and played dead, hoping to slip through. A few months earlier she had been the prom queen at a prestigious local high school, freshly brainwashed and recruited into White Lotus, dreaming of luxury. But when the fight started and she watched hundreds of her "sisters" slaughtered, terror locked her in place. She hid, even evading Jack's first sweep.
This time her chest's subtle rise and fall stood out amid the dead. Jack seized her hair, yanking her upright. The former prom queen whimpered in pain, eyes opening, tears pouring. "No... I surrender..." She trembled as she rose to her knees, hands reaching for his legs in supplication. Jack frowned, shook her off roughly, kicked her in the stomach, then grabbed her head again and shoved the gun barrel straight into her open mouth.
Olivia instinctively pressed her tongue against the barrel, sobbing in refusal—no, I'm so pretty, I'll do anything, why humiliate me like this... The shot fired. The bullet tore through; her body convulsed violently, legs spasming and kicking, eyes rolling back, white stockings soaked, then she went still.
The base fell completely silent. Hundreds of white uniforms were drenched in blood, boots scattered everywhere. Jack took one last look at the white graveyard, holstered his weapon and gear, and walked away.
Jack Tanner stood in the central corridor of the White Lotus base, the air thick with the smell of gunpowder and blood. Hundreds of female grunts lay sprawled in death, all wearing the standard White Lotus combat uniform: tight cropped tops, white mini skirts, white thigh-high stockings, and white boots. The enemy forces in the base had been completely wiped out; now it was just cleanup time.
He started with the nearest body. She was a girl named **Emily Carter**, 19 years old, her shoulder-length dark hair splayed in a pool of blood. She lay face-up, two bullet holes punched through the center of her white top at chest level. Blood poured from the wounds, soaking the fabric and outlining the full, youthful curves of her breasts. Her skirt had ridden up, her white-stockinged legs slightly parted; one knee had taken a bullet, the stocking torn open, blood trailing down the inside of her thigh. One boot still dangled from her foot. Jack prodded her carotid artery with the gun barrel—cold, no pulse. She was dead, eyes half-open, pupils dilated, her face frozen in the agony of her final moments.
Next to her lay **Sophia Hayes**, 26, with long straight dark hair. She was on her side, hands instinctively clutching her abdomen, but two rounds had punched clean through her lower white top, intestines spilling out. Her white-stockinged legs were curled, one boot missing, exposing a smooth ankle. Jack crouched and checked—she was finished.
A little farther was **Mia Thompson**, 21, with slightly wavy long hair. She had fallen to her knees as if seeking cover when hit. A bullet had entered the back of her head and exited the front, brain matter and blood splattered across her white stockings. Her skirt was hiked up, legs bent at the knees in a kneeling position, the stockings soaked translucent with blood. Jack confirmed she was gone.
Suddenly, he caught a faint gasp. Scanning the ID tag, it was **Lily Evans**, 18, a recent recruit. She leaned half against the wreckage of training equipment, her white top torn open at the right shoulder by a bullet. Blood ran down her arm and onto her white-stockinged legs, but it hadn't hit anything vital. Her skirt revealed two limp white-stockinged legs stretched out, one boot askew. She kept her eyes closed, playing dead, but the rise and fall of her chest gave her away.
Lily's mind was a whirlwind. She had joined White Lotus thinking it would lift her out of poverty, make her strong and beautiful like the senior sisters. But now all her sisters were dead, and this man moved through them like a reaper. Her chest burned; the bullet had grazed her lung, every breath like a knife. She thought: If I stay still, maybe he'll think I'm dead and move on. But if he finds me... will he do something first, then finish me? The organization's training said enemies were utterly ruthless. She regretted not listening to her mom, regretted believing the lies about "sisterhood." Fear made her whole body tremble; her white-stockinged legs quivered faintly, the silk rubbing with a soft sound.
Jack approached and nudged her white-stockinged calf with his boot tip. She couldn't help but open her eyes, tears flooding instantly. "Please... don't kill me... I surrender... I'll tell you everything..." Her voice shook as she tried to look pitiful, arms hugging her chest, white-stockinged legs curling up to shield herself. Jack's face remained blank as he raised the gun to her forehead. She screamed: "No! Please! I'm still young, I don't want to die..." Her mental defenses shattered, a flood of memories flashing through her mind.
Jack pulled the trigger. The first shot punched through her forehead, the bullet exiting the back in a spray of blood and mist. Her head snapped back, body convulsing, white-stockinged legs kicking wildly, blood splattering her skirt. The second shot went straight to her heart; her body spasmed, arms fell limp, eyes wide and glazing over, head lolling to the side as blood gushed from the wound, pooling beneath her.
Moving on a few steps, Jack checked **Ava Mitchell**, 22. She lay face-down, three bullets in her back, the white top riddled with holes. Her skirt was bunched at her waist, white-stockinged legs straight out—she was dead. Beside her, face-up, was **Isabella Reed**, also 22. A chest shot had soaked her white top pink, arms spread wide, white-stockinged legs splayed in a star shape. Jack confirmed her death.
Five White Lotus female grunts lay tangled together, their poses overlapping in a gruesome tableau. **Hannah Brooks**, 26, with shoulder-length dark hair splayed out, lay face-up on the outermost edge. A headshot had blood pouring from the wound, running down her cheeks into her ears, tongue slightly protruding with bloody foam. Her white top had a through-and-through at the chest, fabric dark red with blood, skirt hiked to her upper thighs, white stockings spread wide and torn, blood trailing down the insides of her thighs. One shoe had flown several feet away, the other dangled crookedly. Her eyes were half-open, pupils fixed—she was gone.
Right next to her was **Grace Larson**, 27, long straight dark hair draped over Hannah's shoulder. She lay on her side, half-pinning Hannah, three chest shots shredding the front of her white top, blood seeping from all three holes and staining Hannah's skirt beneath her. Her white-stockinged legs were bent, one draped over Hannah's waist, the other limp and extended, shoe off, ankle bare. Her tongue lolled from the corner of her mouth, marked by final twitches. Jack crouched and jabbed her neck roughly with the barrel—cold, no pulse.
**Chloe Parker**, 23, with a baby face, lay face-down across Grace's back, as if trying to shield her sister behind her. A bullet had gone through the back of her head and out the forehead, brain and blood splattered on Grace's white top. Her skirt was fully up, exposing blood-soaked white-stockinged hips and legs, lower legs twisted. Jack kicked her waist with his boot—no reaction, dead.
**Natalie Foster**, 21, ponytail still intact, half-kneeling and half-reclining, crushed deepest inside, arms instinctively wrapped around Chloe's waist as if trying to hold on in her last moment. One shot to the abdomen, one to the chest, blood pouring out, soaking her skirt and stockings. One leg extended across a nearby corpse, tongue protruding from her slightly open mouth, eyes wide but unfocused. Jack grabbed her hair roughly, lifted her head, checked the pupils—fully dilated.
Deepest of all was **Zoe Bennett**, 19, straight black hair. Completely buried under four bodies, only her upper torso and one leg visible. A chest shot had gone through her heart and out the back, blowing a large exit wound in her white top, blood surging from both holes and soaking the ground. Her white-stockinged leg extended limply, one high-heeled boot still on perfectly, the other long gone. Her tongue peeked out slightly, blood at the corner of her mouth.
Jack checked a dozen more nearby female grunt bodies before finding another survivor: **Ella Sullivan**, 19. Hidden under several corpses, her white top grazed at the abdomen, blood staining the hem of her skirt, her lovely legs curled up. The wound wasn't severe, just enough blood loss to weaken her.
Ella's heart filled with despair. She wanted to crawl away, but her legs felt like jelly. Footsteps drew closer, her heart pounding: It's over, he's here. Will he check bodies first, then find the living? Will he torture me slowly? She remembered the organization's "die rather than surrender" propaganda, but now she just wanted to live. Maybe play dead, maybe beg... She decided to gamble and feign unconsciousness.
Jack pulled the bodies off her, exposing her. She opened her eyes, tears streaming: "Spare me... I was wrong... I don't want to die..." She tried crawling toward him, kneeling to beg. Jack stared coldly, gun aimed at her chest. She sobbed, trying to speak more, but the shot rang out. Her body jerked back, blood spraying, white-stockinged legs kicking hard a few times before going still.
Jack's cleanup was meticulous. He roughly kicked or stomped suspected survivors to check for signs of life. If he heard breathing, he finished them—sometimes shoving the barrel into their mouths or pressing it to their bodies for certainty. Some girls hadn't even been hit, just frozen in terror and played dead at their sisters' screams, but nothing escaped his eye. It took hours, but amid the scattered corpses across the base, he found and executed dozens more survivors—more time than it took to wipe out these fragile female grunts in the first place:
- **Madison Wright**, 29, two chest shots but still clinging to life. She whispered pleas; Jack ended her with one more.
- **Scarlett Adams**, 18, leg wound. She tried crawling, white stockings dragging blood trails; Jack shot her from behind.
- **Harper Nelson**, 20, head graze. Fake death failed; discovered screaming, then finished.
- **Evelyn King**, 27, abdominal through-and-through, near death. She struggled weakly; Jack put her out of her misery.
- **Aria Scott**, 22, face-up with head graze. Tongue out, playing dead; Jack flipped her, stepped on her chest, then shot.
- **Layla Green**, 24, side-lying abdominal wound. Jack kicked her long legs; she moaned involuntarily and was finished.
- **Penelope Ross**, 20, no bullet wounds, pure fake death. Discovered begging; barrel in mouth, gruesome end.
- **Aurora Hill**, 19, face-down, leg hit. Jack stepped on her hips; she writhed as he fired twice.
- **Sienna Young**, 25, tried sneaking away while he was distracted—took over a dozen rounds, blood everywhere.
- ...
The very last survivor was **Olivia Brooks**, 18. Curled beside a pile of bodies, her white top untouched, skirt down, white-stockinged legs pressed tightly together, boots neat—she hadn't been hit at all, just dropped and played dead, hoping to slip through. A few months earlier she had been the prom queen at a prestigious local high school, freshly brainwashed and recruited into White Lotus, dreaming of luxury. But when the fight started and she watched hundreds of her "sisters" slaughtered, terror locked her in place. She hid, even evading Jack's first sweep.
This time her chest's subtle rise and fall stood out amid the dead. Jack seized her hair, yanking her upright. The former prom queen whimpered in pain, eyes opening, tears pouring. "No... I surrender..." She trembled as she rose to her knees, hands reaching for his legs in supplication. Jack frowned, shook her off roughly, kicked her in the stomach, then grabbed her head again and shoved the gun barrel straight into her open mouth.
Olivia instinctively pressed her tongue against the barrel, sobbing in refusal—no, I'm so pretty, I'll do anything, why humiliate me like this... The shot fired. The bullet tore through; her body convulsed violently, legs spasming and kicking, eyes rolling back, white stockings soaked, then she went still.
The base fell completely silent. Hundreds of white uniforms were drenched in blood, boots scattered everywhere. Jack took one last look at the white graveyard, holstered his weapon and gear, and walked away.
