The deep roar of Hazil's motorbike cut through the morning fog as they tore down the wheat-covered hill toward the city's outer perimeter. Cold wind slapped Anzel's face, still flushed and raw from rebirth, but his thoughts were too entangled to register the sting. Every bump in the road made his stomach churn. Hope was gone, and the clock was already counting down.
As they descended into a layer of smog, the city's border loomed ahead, a jagged black boundary stained with rust and soot. Towers connecting to the border hunched like rotting flesh, mounted with floodlights and long-barreled rifles that tracked every movement from above. The checkpoint ahead flickered under faulty lighting, its reinforced gate covered in warning sigils and propaganda placards proclaiming "Security is Order."
Hazil quickly reached into the pouch at her side and pulled out two gas masks, slamming one into Anzel's chest before the bike came sputtering to a stop in front of the gate, two armored guards stepped forward as they threw on their masks. Unlike he and Hazil's gas masks, which only covered the lower half of their face, theirs covered its entirety, adding an air of dehumanization to their stature. One of them extended a hand.
"Identification," the guard barked. His voice was cold as iron, almost digitized in nature.
Anzel reached into the side pouch of the clothes Hazil had thrown at him earlier, fumbling for his worn ID badge. He held it out with trembling fingers.
The guard scanned it, then scoffed. "What's bottom feeder waste like you doing out of rotation?"
Anzel didn't answer, rather he couldn't. Rage and fear twisted his tongue into knots as he felt his mind beginning to slip. The second guard began to move forward, fingers tapping the side of his gun.
Then Hazil stepped between them, her own ID in hand.
Her voice was calm but firm. "Peacekeeper Warrant by order of Northern Quarter. This man is under my immediate jurisdiction. We're answering a lockdown alert flagged from inside city district 12." That, of course, was a lie yet the guards did not have the power to protest.
They paused, scanning her ID for extra measure. One of them tilted their head slightly, and after a beat of radio static, the gate creaked open just enough for the motorbike to squeeze through. As they rolled past, Anzel didn't miss the way the guards cocked their heads to look at Hazil—curious, almost cautious. They let her through, but not without a smear of reluctance.
"Thanks," Anzel muttered as they pulled inside, the gate clanking shut behind them.
Hazil gave him a slight nod.
They abandoned the bike in an alley and continued on foot as the cluttered mess of debris the city harbored would make it nearly impossible to push through. The deeper into the city they went, the more unbearable it became. The streets were choked with garbage and half-collapsed vendor stalls. Dirty-faced children watched them from the shadows of crumbling brickwork, their cheeks sunken, ribs visible beneath their thin shirts. Adults stood slumped in corners or leaned against burnt-out vehicles, their eyes empty and haunted.
Then the Peacekeepers arrived.
Rows of them, white-armored and masked, marched through the streets like heavenly reapers. They barked in a harsh dialect, dragging citizens to their feet, and shoving them forward in lines. Old women, children, and sickly men were all herded like cattle toward the heart of the city. Toward the execution grounds.
Anzel's chest tightened. "We're running out of time."
Before Hazil could reply, a thick gloved hand suddenly landed on her and Anzel's shoulder.
Both he and Hazil spun around, hands halfway to their belts, but the man standing behind them wore the same black uniform as them—just with a red insignia across the chest and a scuffed silver badge at his collar.
Co-Commander Lersh.
He was extremely tall, stocky, and held a face like cracked leather plastered with a wide, toothy grin. His eyes flicked between the two of them like a dealer watching his set of cards.
"You're not scheduled for this route," Lersh said cheerfully, though his grip didn't loosen. "What are you doing out of rotation?"
"We're not—something came up, my sister—" Anzel began.
"Yeah, yeah," Lersh interrupted, waving a hand. "Save it. I'm gonna need both of you to come with me. Report says we're running light today, and I need warm bodies to assist with the executions. You two look warm enough."
He didn't wait for a response. Lersh turned on his heel and walked down the street, gesturing casually for them to follow. The moment felt like glass cracking underfoot. Hazil looked at Anzel, her expression unreadable.
They had no choice but to follow.
The base was barely a building—just a cylindrical metal shell with racks of rifles along the walls, oil stains greasing the floor. A dozen other soldiers were already inside, some arguing, others silently loading magazines. The stink of oil and metal stung Anzel's nostrils. Usually, executioner duty fell upon only those who either volunteered or misbehaved. Anzel, being targeted by his higher-ups, had taken part in countless executions, each one leaving him broken for weeks.
"Gear up," Lersh called over his shoulder as he vanished into another room.
Anzel stared at the weapons array. His eyes landed on a battered Axis set about his size. The kind used for internal ops, designed for speed over armor and endurance. Hazil's fingers hesitated over the wall of rifles before she finally picked one, slow and deliberate, like it was a choice between sins. Then for a moment, she paused before eyeing a large cabinet labeled "Grafts." She stalked over and opened the latch with her ID, something only someone the rank of lieutenant could do.
"You don't have to. This is my problem you—" Anzel began.
Her voice was venom yet mixed with a slight ting of concern. "Don't."
They didn't speak again as they marched out to join the array of peacekeepers filing into the execution perimeter.
The city center had been converted into a plaza of death. Giant floodlights cast a cold white glare over the hundreds of citizens who had been deemed infected as they corralled into a circular holding space. Anzel's hands shook as they took their positions on the perimeter, ready to assist in the executions. Peacekeepers stood between them evenly spaced, rifles ready, a wall of silent obedience.
More peacekeepers filed in behind with the other denizens of the city at their sides, forced to watch the procedure. Anzel strained his eyes through the smog, desperately looking into the crowd of infected in front of him for any sign of his sister. For a moment, he thought that she would be clear from the crowd, maybe she was somewhere among the gathering of onlookers. His mind rested at ease for a moment.
But then in a brief flash, he saw her.
Hope.
She stood near the perimeter of the infected crowd, her face half-obscured by the bodies scrambling around her. Her dark black hair was disheveled but unmistakable. She wasn't crying—she simply looked too stunned to even blink. Just staring forward with wide green eyes, waiting for something to happen.
Anzel's breath caught in his throat.
His vision narrowed, tunneling around her. He wanted to scream. To run into the crowd, to throw her over his shoulder and tear a hole through the wall of bodies if he had to. His fingers hovered over the trigger of his rifle. His pulse thundered so loud he couldn't hear the voice giving orders through the speakers.
Hazil let out a soft whistle from his right, trying not to alert the peacekeeper between them.
She looked at him deeply. Her eyes locked to his, and she slowly shook her head. Just once. Her free hand hovered near her rifle, not threatening him, not stopping him. Grounding him.
He clenched his jaw. Gritted his teeth until they ached.
His mind boiled with panic but he trusted Hazil's judgement.
"...Execution sequence commencing in sixty seconds."
The voice over the plaza's speakers was emotionless. A digital tone announcing genocide with the same flair as an elevator chime.
The crowd beyond began to murmur, some collapsing to their knees in prayer, others pressing closer together in blind hope. Anzel turned back to the crowd to find that Hope had noticed him now, and for a split second her eyes met his across the square. His little sister. The only reason he truly had to keep on living in the hellscape he was faced with. Her mouth slightly trembled as tears fell from her soot-stained face at the sight of him. A brief moment of silence ensued before she let out an ear-piercing scream for his name between broken sobs.
Tears welling up in his eyes and the timer counting down to its final seconds, Anzel raised his gun toward the crowd.