The footage opened with a slow pan across crumbling concrete and half-collapsed walls, the kind of scenery too familiar to carry shock.
Bunker remains sat in the background, crates stacked like forgotten bones. The feed's static tugged at the frame's edges, but the center remained clear.
It wasn't the debris that mattered. It was the sound that followed—a low, steady thrum that didn't crack or snarl, but rolled through the space with weight.
Not threatening. Not random. It was controlled. A signal with intention behind it.
Then the first figure stepped into view.
It didn't shamble. It didn't stomp.
It moved like it had been taught to move. Each step balanced with eerie poise, its limbs shifting smoothly like it had trained to walk that way.
This wasn't some wild creature born out of panic and bloodlust. It was built—or raised—to be precise. Its armor was not a patchwork.
