A deepfelt silence hung in the air, the kind where the tension is thick enough to cut.

While Nathan cleared his blade of blood, he walked over to the corpse a few feet away from Martinez, crouching beside it. The infected soldier lay crumpled in the grass. The combat medic gently turned the body over, revealing a combat knife still clenched in the soldier’s dead hand and deep scratch marks gouged into his vest—like he’d clawed at himself during his final moments.

Its skull caved in beside a bloodied stone. What was left of its face barely looked human anymore—just shredded muscle and bone. Nathan reached down, pulling the metal tag from the soldier’s neck. The name ‘Timothy Anderson’ shimmered on the engraved metal.

“Dammit, Timmy…” Nathan whispered under his breath.

Meanwhile, Rolen couldn't stop staring at the lifeless body of Martinez. Despite only knowing Nathan for a short time, he could tell the combat medic was grieving. He’d just killed his own friend, for fuck’s sake. Yet the young goth’s thoughts only went back to Damon.

Would he be forced to kill his own boyfriend before he turned into a monster? Was the sliver of hope—that Damon was still alive and well, barricaded in their apartment—just that? Hope? Wishful thinking?

The idea left a heavy feeling on his chest. One of his hands slowly went up, reaching for the black choker around his neck once more, his fingers coiling around the dragon pendant resting against his skin.

Flash.

Both men flinched as lightning fractured the sky, followed by the boom of thunder rolling in like distant artillery. The scent of rain hung heavy in the air. It was coming fast. And with it, a storm they weren’t prepared for.

Nathan got up from the ground, taking in a sharp breath before going back to Martinez, grabbing the tag around his neck as well and stuffing both of them in a small pocket on his bulletproof vest.

“No time for a proper burial. Stay sharp. The rest of the unit is still out there—most likely infected.”
Nathan didn’t sound sad. Not exactly. Just… pulled too tight. His words were clipped. Mechanical.

Rolen lingered behind him, arms now folded over his chest, unsure if he should say anything.

Just as the two started to walk back to the supply crates, Rolen turned his head, looking back at the corpses one final time. Something resonated in the back of his mind, giving him goosebumps.

He shook off the feeling and followed Nathan back to the street. The excitement was now long gone, a heavy feeling taking its place.

The fog had faded, allowing a better view of the situation.

Flash!

Another bolt of lightning danced through the sky, followed by a loud rumbling. Only a few seconds passed before cold water droplets rained down from the darkening heavens.

Facing up at the sky, Rolen took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath, letting the calming scent of wet wood flow through his nose and the water pour down his face.
He had always found the rain relaxing—although it didn’t give that same effect now, much to his dismay.

The engineer opened his eyes, his gaze landing on Nathan, who was quietly checking out more of the supply crates. The combat medic was fumbling with what appeared to be a scope of some kind, perhaps a sniper attachment?
What he was holding wasn’t what caught Rolen’s attention, though. What caught his attention was the way Nathan was moving—less calm than he had before. More… twitchy.

Perhaps it was the rain, clouding his vision? The emotional baggage that just got added to his shoulders probably didn’t help either. Rolen shook his head a little, trying to shake off the thoughts before turning toward the truck. He had yet to actually check the back storage of the vehicle.

Just when Rolen reached it, another flash put the heavens ablaze. This time, though, something reflected it. The goth’s eyes flicked down to the ground. A small shard of what looked to be a reflective piece of glass lay just inches from his feet, half tucked away behind one of the back tires of the truck.

Tilting his head in curiosity, Rolen bent down, wanting to pick it up, only to pause. It was hard to tell through the rain, but a faint metallic smell lingered under the truck… a familiar but unique smell.

Looking closer, Rolen furrowed his eyebrows into a frown before gently picking up a broken glass tube with reflective glass on the inside. Residue of a black liquid still clung inside, faint curls of smoke rising from it in unusual designs. The smell now ten times stronger—it was definitely coming from the broken vial.

Where did he recognize that scent from? It reminded him of the day before, when he and Damon were still moving boxes to the new apartment complex.

Of course! It was the same stench coming from that military vehicle they passed!

His eyes widened at the sudden realization, his hands recoiling from the vial, letting it fall back onto the ground with a clatter as he stumbled away from it.

His fingers tingled, like something was buzzing under his skin. Whatever was in that vial, his body wanted nothing to do with it.

Nathan looked up from what he was doing, eyes narrowing as silent alarm bells went off in his head. Dropping whatever he was holding, he marched over to Rolen, one hand resting on his pistol while the other immediately reached down, grabbing Rolen’s arm and pulling him behind him.

“Nathan, wait—!”

“Infected?!”

“No!”

Rolen scrambled to his feet and grabbed Nathan by the arm. The wet fabric of his shirt clung to his skin, causing the combat medic’s muscles to stand out even more. He looked stronger. More dangerous…

Nathan turned his head, their eyes meeting. Rolen felt that strange sensation again, like the white noise of static playing in the back of his mind.

“It’s not an infected,” the engineer said. He tried to sound calm, but the hairs on his arms were standing on end.

“Then what is it?”

Nathan raised an eyebrow, eyes flicking toward the vial. That same twitch was in his jaw now—barely there, but visible.

“Fuck if I know. I’m not a scientist—it’s black, gooey, and looks like something out of a horror flick. Whatever it is, we’re not touching it, end of story”
Rolen let go of Nathan’s arm, surprising them both. He wasn’t one for outbursts. Yet that strange static feeling, this odd half-crashed truck, the stormy weather, and the fact that from the whole unit only two people were accounted for… everything about this made his stomach churn.

Nathan was quiet for a moment. The wind was picking up now, a full-on storm clogging his senses as it howled past his ears, nearly drowning out the sound of his own heartbeat. Not from fear—but from anger.

“Let’s get one thing straight.”
Nathan’s tone was soft. Almost emotionless.

He grabbed Rolen’s wrist with an iron grip and yanked him forward. His other hand caught Rolen by pressing into the base of his throat, not choking, but holding him firm, pinned between anger and intimidation.

Rolen’s eyes widened, breath caught in his throat, trembling hands clinging to Nathan’s arm.

Flash.

Lightning split the sky again, and for a breathless heartbeat, Rolen saw it—Nathan’s eyes glinting red.
Not bloodshot. Not tired.
A bright, unnatural red.

And then it was gone.
Just brown again. Like always.

“You will NEVER talk to me like that again. Do I make myself clear?!” Nathan’s voice cracked like a whip, his face mere inches from Rolen’s terrified one.
The engineer felt it then—Nathan’s skin was burning hot. A fever?

Then, suddenly, the combat medic blinked, as if waking from a dream. The scowl faded, confusion returning in its place. He let go, and Rolen dropped back onto the pavement with a dull thud, stunned.

“Shit… I didn’t mean to…” Nathan muttered, not even looking at him as he took a step back.
“I’m sorry. That wasn’t me. I—just give me a minute.”

Nathan didn’t say another word.

He climbed into the driver’s seat of the still running car, slamming the door harder than necessary, and for a moment he just sat there, gripping the wheel like it might ground him.

Rolen slid in beside him a few seconds later, his black clothes sticking to his body like glue, the cold air from outside whistling past the broken window on his right. The storm outside was raging, yet it did nothing to ease the tension between them.

Silence.

The engine rumbled quietly beneath their feet. Nathan turned the heater on but Rolen still felt cold.

Nathan stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, steam rising faintly from his soaked clothes like heat bleeding off a fever.

Rolen opened his mouth to speak—then closed it again. Just as the combat medic started to drive, this time, back in the direction they came.

He turned his head, eyes flicking toward the truck  and the emotinal that this rollercoaster had been now fading in the rearview mirror. Martinez. Timmy. That strange, cursed vial still lying in the grass like a trap waiting for its next victim.

The car felt too small. Too quiet. Too full of everything unsaid.

Then Nathan spoke his voice, Low and distant.

“We need to find shelter.”

Rolen didn’t respond. He just nodded.

Outside, the rain poured harder, the thunder of the storm roaring right above their heads.