Act 2: The director's cut
The first thing they felt was the cold. Not the biting chill of night, but a pervasive, unmoving cold that clung to the air like a shroud. A musty scent of decay and damp stone hung heavy in the silence. Arthur Dusk blinked, the grit of concrete against his cheek a harsh reality. He sat up, groaning, his head swimming in a disorienting fog. The air was thick with the scent of dust, decay, and a metallic tang he couldn't place. He was in what looked like an abandoned warehouse, the vast space lit by weak shafts of sunlight piercing through shattered skylights.
"What in the hell...?" a voice rasped. Rex Kenway, his jacket torn, sat up a few feet away, pushing a shard of glass from his hair. Across from them, Zane Grants was already on his feet, his gaze sweeping the dilapidated surroundings.
Zane: Where... Where are we? (He asked, his voice low with confusion. He glanced over to the rusted, skeletal remains of shelves that lined the walls and the overturned, dust-covered crates littering the floor.) Are... Are we dead?
Rex: Whoa, now, how did we even die?
Arthur: I.. don't know, (he replied, getting to his feet and brushing himself off.) What even happened?
A metallic clink-clack echoed from the shadows. The three men froze, their eyes darting towards the sound. From between a stack of empty crates, a woman appeared, her stance wide and her movements fluid. Her face was grim, hardened by what looked like years of struggle, with a few fresh bruises marring her fair skin. Her short, choppy blonde hair was matted with sweat and dirt, but her dark blue eyes were sharp and focused. She was clad in a grey and black gym attire, a thick ballistic vest covering her torso, and padding on her elbows and knees. In her hands, a long-barreled shotgun, its barrel glinting in the pale light, was aimed squarely at Arthur's head.
"Drop your weapons," she ordered, her voice a low, gravelly rasp.
Rex, his eyes narrowed, instinctively moved to his side, but stopped as the shotgun's barrel shifted to follow him. Arthur, seeing the glint of steel, slowly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender.
Arthur: Whoa, WHOA... We don't want any trouble, (he said calmly, trying to de-escalate the situation.)
The woman's knuckles whitened around the shotgun's grip. She took a step closer, her eyes blazing with an ice-cold fury.
"I said drop them! Now!" she snarled, the sound of a round being chambered into the shotgun echoing ominously in the silent warehouse.
Rex: Lady, we don't have any weapons!
Zane: Uhm, Rex.
Rex: What?
Zane glances down at Rex's pants and he looks down aswell, seeing a gun in its on holster attached to his hip. The rest also carry various weapons that they had once not carry before ending up here.
Rex: Great...
Recognizing the deadly seriousness in her tone, the three men slowly and simultaneously placed their hands into their pockets, removing their knives and sidearms, and dropping them onto the dust-covered floor with a series of dull clangs.
Arthur: Okay, (he said, keeping his hands raised.) They're on the ground. Can we talk now?
"Put your fucking hands down," she spat, her tone leaving no room for argument.
Arthur's hands dropped instantly.
Rex: Hey! We mean no harm, Lady, even put down our weapons. (He blurted out roughly, his anger simmering beneath the surface.) So would you mind stop pointing that thing at my friend?
"Shut your mouth," she snapped, her eyes flickering to him for a fraction of a second before returning to Arthur.
A flash of anger flared in Rex's eyes. He clenched his fist, a faint purple aura beginning to shimmer around his knuckles. "That's it."
Before he could act, Zane's hand shot out, a firm, restraining grip on Rex's shoulder, "Wait.." Rex shot a furious glance at Zane, who simply shook his head, a silent command in his eyes.
Zane then turned to the woman, his demeanor instantly calming the volatile air between them.
Zane: Ma'am, (he said, his voice soft but clear.) You need to relax. We're not here for any trouble. We're just lost.
The woman's gaze, sharp and unwavering, shifted from Zane's calm expression back to the three men's unarmed forms. Her grip on the shotgun loosened just enough for her to lower the barrel a fraction, though it remained pointed in their general direction.
"I find that hard to believe," she said, her voice a low, gravelly rasp. "You don't look like lost boys to me."
Arthur took a cautious step forward, his hands still raised in a non-threatening manner.
Arthur: But we not being hostile though. I mean, we literally dropped our weapons on the ground instead of keeping them, aiming straight at your head, waiting for a chance to present itself, " he said, gesturing with his head.
Rex: Yeah, so chill out, sunshine.
The woman's eyes flickered to the abandoned knives and sidearms on the dusty floor, then back to their faces, a hint of grudging consideration in her gaze. She was a seasoned survivor; she knew the cold logic of the situation. Her sole shotgun against three capable-looking men was a gamble, and they had just shown her a courtesy no one in this world gave lightly.
A sudden, inhuman groan, long and guttural, echoed from the street outside. It was followed by a scraping sound, as if something heavy and uncooperative was being dragged across the concrete. The sound made the hair on their arms stand up.
Rex: The fuck was that? (he said, his eyes darting toward the nearest broken window.)
The woman's head snapped around, her face losing its hardened edge and twisting into something far more grim. Her full attention was on the windows as she spoke.
Woman: They're coming...
Rex: Who? (he asked, taking a hesitant step toward the woman as if to help.)
The woman's glare was a mixture of annoyance and disbelief. She didn't look at them as she raised her voice.
Woman: What else?! The fucking Zombies! Pick up your shit and get ready.
Rex's eyes widened in disbelief. His mouth hung slightly agape as he turned to look at Zane.
Rex: I'm sorry... Zombies? (He said, his voice laced with confusion.) Did she just say Zombies?
Zane slowly nodded, his expression one of a silent shock, his eyes shifting from Rex to the woman.
Arthur: You serious?
The woman's glare was like a physical blow, filled with annoyance and cold fury. "Of course, I'm fucking serious. Who the hell would joke about something as serious as this?!" she spat, the finality in her voice silencing them all.
A sudden, thunderous roar ripped through the silence, a sound that was less a groan and more a seismic event. It was deep, guttural, and filled with a raw, brutal fury that shook the very foundations of the warehouse.
Woman: Oh fuck, fuck, fuck, (she whispered, her eyes wide with a frantic fear that contradicted her earlier composure. She tore her attention from the windows and scrambled backwards, a new, desperate energy in her movements.) A brute... We need to move, now!
She spun, her hands moving with an impossible speed as she yanked a tattered backpack from behind an overturned crate and began stuffing things into it. A few cans of food, a half-empty water bottle, and a stack of what looked like worn-out clothes were crammed inside.
Zane, his face pale, ignored her warning. He moved to the nearest shattered window, his head craning to look out. The world outside was a dim mosaic of broken concrete and crumbling asphalt, but from a distance, a massive, lumbering silhouette was emerging from the fog. It was impossibly large, its shoulders broad as a truck, its head low as it shuffled and dragged its immense bulk with a heavy, scraping gait.
Zane: Holy shit… that thing's massive, (he breathed, his voice a disbelieving whisper.)
The woman, was by his side in an instant. She grabbed the collar of his shirt, her grip surprisingly strong, and yanked him back from the window. Her voice was a low, urgent hiss, a sound barely audible over the growing groans and scraping outside.
Woman: The fuck are you doing? Trying to get us all killed?! Step away from the window! (She snapped, her eyes burning with a desperate intensity.)
She straightened up, tossing the strap of her backpack over her shoulder.
Woman: Fucking idiot, now, you three, listen up! (Her voice was a fierce, low command that cut through their shock.) We're going to use the back entrance. It's our only way out without drawing attention to ourselves. Follow me, and don't make a sound. If I stop, you stop. If I whisper, you whisper.
She didn't wait for a reply, just spun on her heel and began moving with a practiced, fluid grace through the maze of crates and rubble.