The road ahead stretched endlessly beneath pale morning light. Buildings had thinned into distant silhouettes, replaced by wild hedges and quiet fields. A mist clung to the landscape like the world itself was holding its breath.

The car rolled on, the tires crunching over scattered debris. Rolen blinked, eyes heavy. The adrenaline was fading. What was left behind was something more dangerous—exhaustion.

The engineer’s eyes flicked over to the car radio. Maybe a soft melody might ease his mind. Just as his trembling fingers started messing around with a few of the buttons, Rolen tried his best to shake off the thoughts—the same thoughts that had been haunting him ever since that Type 2 launched itself at the windshield.

Nathan hadn’t said much. He sat back with one elbow against the door, the other hand holding his cracked phone. The signal bar barely hung on for dear life—much like their situation.

The wind whistled softly through the shattered side window Nathan had elbowed open earlier. It carried with it a mix of smells—smoke, rust, and the faint sting of decay.

“Still no service?” Rolen asked, voice dry.

Nathan shook his head. “You’d think satellites would last longer than one day when the world goes to hell.”

Rolen shook his head at the other’s words, giving up on the dead radio. “It’s not the satellites—otherwise Google Maps wouldn’t be working either,” the goth stated.

A small frown started to form on his face as something unexpected emerged through the morning dew: a military truck. A crashed military truck, to be exact, still halfway across the road. His foot eased off the gas slightly, letting the car slow down to get a better look.

Nathan looked up—about to question Rolen’s statement—only for his eyes to land on the truck. His jaw tightened, body tensing up.

Rolen glanced over at him, finding his sudden silence unsettling. “You think there’s still military out here?”

“There was,” Nathan said. “We were deployed to assess a situation in the city and to set up checkpoints. This was supposed to be one of them.”

The goth raised an eyebrow. Assess a situation? That’s oddly vague. Yet he didn’t press for more. Instead, the car came to a slow stop beside the truck.

Nathan glanced out the window, making sure nothing was about to jump at them, then reached for the door.

“And we’re going out there because...?” Rolen asked, not really wanting to leave the safety of their getaway just yet.

“Might still have supplies. Batteries. Maybe a working comm link,” the combat medic replied, then proceeded to exit the car.

The metal groan of the car door closing felt louder than it should’ve.
Rolen watched Nathan step out, hesitant but eventually doing the same. Looking down, he watched the mist curl around his boots, giving the scene vibes like they’d stepped into a horror movie—except this was real life.
The air smelled like scorched plastic and oil. The military truck loomed before them, its frame dented and smashed at an angle like it had swerved to avoid something—and lost.

Rolen looked around nervously, still standing next to the humming car, the doors still wide open.

“Looks recent,” Nathan stated, brushing past the hood of the car toward the truck. His boots crunched over broken glass and pebbled asphalt as he approached the side of the vehicle.

Rolen silently approached the back. One of the truck’s tires had exploded, the black rubber shredded, leaving black skid marks on the asphalt where it had dragged like sandpaper.
Scattered along the roadside were crates—some cracked open, others still sealed with yellow tape marked: [UNS-CLASSIFIED EQUIPMENT - PROPERTY OF DEFENSE FORCE].

He crouched beside one, his eyes scanning over the box until he found the lid and pried it open. Inside were thick metal cuffs with blinking ports, and a blackened headset with the screen shattered.

“What the hell is this?” Rolen whispered to himself, picking up the cuffs and inspecting them. He had never seen these before, but the design was similar to the old military equipment his dad used to have—just more modern. This, in particular, looked like a lot of expensive materials were used to make it—for a set of cuffs, no less.

Were they trying to capture someone… or something insanely dangerous?

Rolen looked over. Nathan lingered near the open passenger-side door, staring at something half-buried in the grass.

“Nathan?”

Nathan’s jaw tensed. He reached down and pulled free a field medical bag—torn and burned along the side—but the strap bore the same insignia stitched onto Nathan’s sleeve: a winged serpent coiled around a hexagonal gear. Military medical division.

Rolen walked closer. “Yours?”

“No,” Nathan said too quickly. He ran a thumb along the patch, his voice quieter. “But this was my unit.”

Rolen narrowed his eyes. If this was his unit, then why was he alone in the city when people were eating each other in the streets?

“What was your unit doing here?”

Nathan avoided his gaze. “Surveillance,” he said. The answer came short and fast. Almost too fast.
Something about this whole situation gave the engineer a familiar knot in his gut—that sense that something was wrong here.

Before Rolen could press further, something thumped from inside the truck—causing both of their heads to snap toward the sound.
They froze.

Nathan’s hand went to his knife instantly, already moving between Rolen and the truck protectively. The two exchanged a look.

Nathan gave a subtle nod and started circling toward the back of the truck while Rolen edged toward a stack of crates for cover, his eyes never leaving either Nathan or the truck.

Another loud thunk, followed by scratches and visible movement, ratcheted the tension.
Something alive was inside.

Knife raised and ready, Nathan yanked the back door open.

...Nothing.

Just a few tossed helmets, some left-behind gear, and a ration crate tipped on its side. A raccoon scurried out, squeaking as it vanished back into the wilderness.

Rolen exhaled shakily. “Fuck me… I thought—”

“Me too.” Nathan didn’t relax, although he did lower his knife.

He examined the inside of the truck. The seats were covered in dried blood.

“No bodies,” he said. “Or they got dragged out. We need to stay vigilant.”
He attached the medical pack to his belt, then rummaged around for other necessities.

Rolen looked toward the wrecked cab. A comms device was smashed near the driver’s seat—its antenna bent, half the buttons melted.

“You think anyone might still be alive?” Rolen asked.

“If they are, they didn’t go far,” Nathan replied. “Chances are, they’re already one of them.”

There was a long silence.

Then Rolen’s gaze landed on a loose metal wristband lying in the dirt, just beside the road. It looked like a high-tech smartwatch—except its surface glinted strangely in the light, like oil swirling under glass.

He bent down, fingers brushing over it before picking it up.
The moment his skin touched the band, a faint buzzing sensation crawled across his hand. Not painful. Just... wrong.

His vision swam for a second—static across his thoughts, like the beginning of a radio transmission. But just as quickly as it came, it vanished.

He was probably just too tired.

Nathan noticed. “What is it?”

“Some kind of… reader?” Rolen said, though his voice cracked slightly.

Nathan approached and looked it over. “Huh… that’s new.”

“No shit,” Rolen muttered. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Nathan reached out, gently pulling the object from Rolen’s hand and slipping it into the pocket of his cargo pants.
“We’ll look at it later.”

After a short moment, Nathan let out a small sigh, turning to the truck once more before glancing down at Rolen.

"The truck has been cleared. If you go check the truck for supplies, then I will check the crates." There was little room for argument judging by his tone—not that the engineer disagreed on the matter. The quicker the search was done, the quicker they could leave.

Rubbing his eyes to try and focus on the task at hand, Rolen crawled into the backseat of the truck first, rummaging through the seats for anything of use—technology, medkits, weapons, food, anything.

Nathan, meanwhile, moved over to one of the crates sealed shut with nails. Taking out his knife, he tried to wedge it open by moving it in between the wood.

It didn’t take long for the wood to give way, causing the combat medic to unexpectedly shoot out with his knife, cutting his hand in the process.

Nathan hissed out a breath as he pulled his hand back from the now open crate.

The knife had sliced through his palm. The cut wasn’t deep, but it bled quickly—crimson streaks smearing over his fingers. Pulling at the medical kit on his waist, Nathan quickly pulled out some bandages and professionally bandaged up his hand, stopping the bleeding. He refrained from using more, not wanting to waste any more valuable resources.

A few seconds later, Rolen came back out of the truck, wearing a bulletproof vest that was clearly a bit too big for him. It hung awkwardly off his frame, a strange contrast to the danger around them. Nathan found himself pausing, some soft part of him imagining how Rolen might look wearing something of his instead.

Nathan shook the thought out of his head, focusing on what the goth had in his arms—he was holding a few ration packs, some half-smashed radio equipment, and another vest, this one meant for Nathan himself.

Just when Nathan reached out to take the vest from him, Rolen’s eyes quickly flicked over to the white bandages around his hand.

“You alright?” the engineer asked, nearly dropping the stuff in his arms to make sure Nathan was okay.

“Yeah,” Nathan said, giving a small smile. “Just a scratch.”

Rolen didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t press either. He handed the vest over to Nathan before walking over to the still-running car and stuffing the stuff onto the backseat.

Meanwhile, Nathan put on the bulletproof vest, fastening it to his chest before looking inside the box he’d cut himself opening.

His face actually lit up for a moment. Reaching inside, he pulled out an almost-new assault rifle, as well as a few handguns.

"Weapons!" he exclaimed, almost excited, before checking the magazines. Sure enough, they were full and unused.

Quickly attaching one of the handgun holsters to his upper leg, Nathan walked over to the car, handing the rifle and the other gun to Rolen.

The goth didn’t move for a moment, his expression unreadable. He had never touched a gun before, let alone fired one. He felt his hands tremble a little as he gently grabbed the weapons from Nathan, who quickly noticed the other’s apprehensive behavior—his smile faltering.
Right. Rolen wasn’t a soldier. This was far from normal for him.

“It’s important that you can protect yourself. I hope you’ll never need to use it. But you should have it nonetheless.” His words were gentle, and even though the engineer didn’t like it, he knew the combat medic was right.

With a slight nod and a deep breath, Rolen put the rifle in the back of the car and attached the holster with the handgun to his side as well.

Nathan nodded in response and gave a comforting smile before walking over to the next crate. Already holding his knife, he was about to plunge it into the wood—but stopped himself. His eyes caught half-dried blood on the grass inches from his feet.

His gaze followed it, the blood creating a trail deeper into the forest. A frown formed on his face as he put the knife away, now grabbing his gun. His eyes scanned the woods until something caught his attention.

Something moved in the treeline.

A shape, slumped and still, half-hidden in the fog.

Rolen—now standing next to Nathan after noticing his tense form—saw it too. Nathan was already moving before Rolen could say a word, hand gripping his gun more tightly as he approached. As they got closer, the figure came into view—a man, slouched against the base of a twisted old tree. Camouflage fatigues. A blood-soaked vest. Dog tags tangled in the collar.

Nathan slowed, lowering his aim.
His expression cracked.

“Fuck…” he whispered.

The man was still breathing. Barely. His face was pale, lips dry, and his eyes flickered open just enough to reveal dull, glassy red beneath. He was infected.

Red veins spidered out from a bite wound in his side—angry, pulsing, already blackening. The infected corpse that had caused it lay sprawled in the grass a few feet away, its skull bashed in with a nearby rock.

Like any soldier, he had fought back and won.
But not in time.

“…You know him?” Rolen asked, voice low.

Nathan didn’t answer. He dropped to his knees beside the man, already reaching for the field med bag he’d salvaged earlier. His hands trembled just once before he took out a small dose of morphine and a gauze pad.

“I trained with him. Martinez.” His voice cracked around the name. “He was… my friend.”

Martinez stirred, jaw slack. His hand twitched. “N-Nate…?” he gasped.

Nathan leaned in, pressing a gauze pad to the wound even though they both knew it was useless. “I’m here, man. Just hang on. I’ve got you.”

Rolen stood frozen a few feet away, unsure whether to intervene or give space. The sight of Nathan’s bandaged hand gripping the other man’s vest made something cold settle in his gut.

Nathan worked quickly, but his movements were tense. He gritted his teeth as he tied gauze around the wound—some of Martinez’s blood trickling down over his fingers and into the bandages… into the cut on his palm.

He didn’t notice.
Or didn’t care.

But Rolen did.

“Hey, your hand—” Rolen started.

“I know. It’s nothing. Just let me finish.” Nathan cut Rolen off, not even looking at him, his attention focused on Martinez.

The man was slipping fast. His breathing hitched. Muscles tensed and twitched in odd, jerking spasms. His mouth opened but no words came out—only a deep, low groan. The same type of noise the blonde woman made before she went nuts.

Nathan’s face went rigid. He knew what was coming.
Still, he looked him in the eyes. “I’m sorry, my friend.”

Martinez was no longer blinking.

Nathan grabbed his knife, eyes hard.
And plunged it deep into the soldier’s skull, killing him with one single blow.

He simply couldn’t watch him become one of those things.

The silence didn’t last long.

The body jerked once.

Then slumped.

Blood, dark and thick, spilled in a slow trickle down the tree trunk.
Nathan didn’t say anything. He didn’t move for a few seconds.

Rolen finally stepped forward. “You okay?”

Nathan pulled the knife free, cleaning it on his pant leg. “Yeah.” A beat. “Just hate wasting time.”

But his hand was shaking.