The four figures burst out of the back of the warehouse, their feet skidding on wet, moss-covered concrete. The world outside was a jagged landscape of shattered concrete and skeletal, half-collapsed buildings, silent save for the ragged gasps of the survivors.
Rex was in the rear, his face pale as he supported a winded Zane, who was running on fumes after the strain of his powers.
Rex: Come on! They gaining on us! (He yelled, shovinf a frantic Arthur forward.)
In the lead, The woman, her survival instincts honed over years in this nightmare, navigated the wreckage with desperate, practiced grace.
But the silence was short-lived. A fierce, high-pitched whistling sound—the sound of air being violently displaced—slashed through the urban decay, followed by a chorus of snarling roars. The Runners were closing in.
Grrraaah!!
You feel the thrill of the chase. You are a Runner, a perfect blend of speed and hunger, your muscles burning with the radioactive fuel of the enhanced breed. Your sole purpose is to hunt. The soft, rhythmic thudding of the prey's feet—meat, meat, meat—is a siren song you can smell from thirty meters away.
You and your brethren are the apex predators of this cityscape. You are the ghost: fast, agile, and able to hit speeds of 60 mph or more, easily dodging the clumsy bullet-fire that used to trouble the lesser infected. The jump you just made effortlessly cleared a rusted-out bus. They are fast for humans, but to you, they are moving in slow motion. Go faster. Don't stop.
The woman scrambled over a rusted car hood, her empty shotgun held low. My mind is screaming. These aren't just the shamblers I've spent the last six years running from. The sheer speed of those runners is impossible, and the way Rex and Zane just… performed miracles. Are they even human?
She felt the vibrations in the soles of her worn boots, the frantic drumming of feet—too many feet—right behind them.
Rex: Zane, focus, man! Can't stop now. (He grunted, the exhaustion in his voice clear as he glanced back.)
Zane, his face pale and slick with sweat, struggled to keep up. The immense strain of the Precognition had sapped his strength.
Zane: I… I can't… (He gasped, his leg catching on a piece of twisted rebar.)
He pitched forward with a cry, his body slamming heavily onto the rough concrete. The entire group was forced to skid to a halt.
Rex: Shit! Guys!
The woman instinctively raised her empty shotgun, the click of the hammer falling on an empty chamber echoing in the sudden quiet.
Rex: Hey. I gotcha'. (He pulled Zane up, his eyes darting from the incoming Runners to the smoky sky.)
The Runner at the head of the pack, a gaunt, sprinting thing with limbs that blurred, shrieked a sound of pure, hungry triumph. It closed the final ten meters in a flash, its claws extended for Zane's throat. Rex roared, throwing a piece of charged rebar that was far too slow.
Then, the world changed again.
A sound, a high-pitched, mocking whistle, finally caught up to them. It emanated not from the ground, but from directly above.
The sound intensified, becoming a deafening sonic boom as a figure plummeted from the darkness above. It struck the ground with explosive force directly in front of the group, sending up a massive cloud of dust, smoke, and fine particulate matter. The force of the landing cracked the entire street and blasted the lead Runners backward like leaves.
The woman threw her arm up to shield her eyes from the cloud of dust and steam. She heard Rex's voice, thick with relief:
"Yes! We got the freaking Sentinel with us!"
But as the dust settled completely, the hope drained from Rex and Zane's faces. The figure was revealed not to be a familiar face, but a horrifying new abomination. It was roughly the size of a Brute but lean and sinewy like a Runner. Its skin was a sickly grey, scarred by what looked like deep, jagged fissures of purple light that pulsed along its arms and chest. Its eyes were not the milky white of the Brutes, nor the crimson of the possessed, but a chilling, empty black. It stood motionless, its immense, clawed hands hanging loosely at its sides.
It wasn't a Brute, and it wasn't a Runner. It was a fusion of something worse.