Three days after the successful defense of the trade town fresh troops were assigned to bolster the lines; a diverse mixture of regular and conscripted soldiers.
Came dawn, when the mist still clung low over the shattered streets. Joseph and Hector found themselves at the head of a small squad of conscripts - fresh faces, barely out of training, rifles carried too high or too loose. Their boots lined up side-by-side, facing the veterans who will be their supervisor in the next few hours.
Joseph adjusted his sling and gave them a once-over. Kids, most of them. Dirt under nails, mismatched boots, armor held together with wire and tape, dented helmet and ration tin cans. He could see the nervousness in each of them..
Hector whistled low and shook his head. "Replacements, huh? Guess we're the lucky babysitters."
That earned a few uneasy looks until one stepped forward. He was thin, sharp-nosed, with a patched jacket too big for his frame. "Marco," he said quickly, raising a hand as if introducing himself in class. "Uh...tinker, I guess. My old job was keeping water pumps going."
Another voice followed, steadier. A woman with cropped hair and a satchel marked with a faded red cross shifted her rifle behind her shoulder. "Irene. Field Medic. I know how to bandage wounds, a-and use hemostatic patches."
At the rear, a broader man with lines at the corners of his eyes leaned on his rifle like a walking stick. He gave a short nod. "Darius. Hydroponics farmer before conscription. I know how to wait things out."
The rest mumbled names - Callen, Jovert, Esau, Mina, Oleg, twins named Farid and Farel, their voices quick, eager to get it done.
Joseph tapped the side of his helmet and gave a small nod. "Joseph. That's Hector. We're regulars, which means we're here to keep you from dying. Stick close, do as told, and you might see tomorrow."
Hector added, "And if you don't listen, I'm not carrying your ass back. So keep your heads down, eyes open."
That earned a few nervous chuckles, but it broke the tension just enough.
Only then did Joseph gesture toward the ruins of a dead city ahead, where the silhouettes of the long gone skyscrapers looms. "Alright. Introductions done. Let's move. Stay sharp, and don't touch anything that looks like it's been waiting centuries for a fool to kick it."
Hector followed through, "Uh-huh and a strange, shiny can in the middle of the road can be an I.E.D. waiting for someone to give it all the will it needs to explode."
That earned a ripple through the conscripts. Marco frowned, whispering, "People still left those lying around?"
Joseph shot him a look over his shoulder. "Not people. Wars. And wars don't end just because the soldiers are dead. The ground remembers."
Irene adjusted the strap of her satchel, her eyes scanning the uneven floor ahead. "Point taken."
Darius just grunted, shouldering his rifle a little tighter. "Sounds terrifying, really. I really wish people would just consider farming and keep the peace."
Joseph let out a deep sigh, "Me, too. I'd love to just farm in an unmarked bunker, sell goods and sleep my nights away...Unfortunately the Vektorians would rather shell the shit outta you than plant crop for peace."
The group fell into an uneasy silence as they advanced into the ruins, boots crunching over sand and brittle glass. Shafts of light from the fractured ceiling painted them as wandering shadows, swallowed piece by piece by the dead atrium. The air smelled of rust, smoke, and something faintly sweet that none of them wanted to name.
"How did this all start anyway?" Marco asked. He glanced at Joseph and Hector, his expression of curiosity. "The school minister said it was the Asraesians who attacked us first - said the Vektorians just got dragged into the war. That true?"
Joseph's jaw tightened, his eyes flicking over house rubbles as if expecting ghosts to rise from behind them. Hector gave a low grunt but said nothing, his fingers tightening on the worn grip of his rifle.
"The ministers say a lot of things," Joseph muttered at last, his tone flat. "Depends which one you're listening to."
Marco frowned. "So it wasn't the Asraesians?"
Before Joseph could answer, Hector finally spoke, his voice low and sharp. "Doesn't matter who threw the first stone. Once blood's spilled, everyone's guilty." He paused, his eyes narrowing at the ground, looking for something out of place. "Besides... no one really knows how it all started - or what year we're even living in anymore."
Marco didn't press further. In the distance, a beam gave way with a tortured groan, its collapse echoing through the hollow chambers of the dead city until it faded into stillness.
Joseph checked his battered watch, its face scored with scratches. "Hector," he said quietly, "we should make camp here."
Irene frowned. "It's still afternoon. Shouldn't we try to make it back to base while there's light?"
Hector shook his head, eyes scanning the darkening streets. "Joseph's right. By the time we turn back, dusk will catch us. And when night falls, flesh-tearers prowl these ruins."
That word hung in the air like a curse. One of the younger conscripts, Callen, swallowed hard. "What's… a flesh-tearer?"
Hector shot Callen a look in the eye before lowering this camping kit. He let the silence drag a moment, making sure every wide-eyed recruit was listening. "Vektorian science experiment. Their war-dream of chaos made of flesh. Once human, twisted into things that don't know friend from foe. All they see is life... and all they do is rip it apart."
The squad sought refuge inside a tilted garage, half-buried in sand and started to make their camp, uneasily, boots scuffing against stone. No one spoke after that.
---
The night matures further and the only source of light; the campfire in their center and the faint moonlight.
The fire had burned low, throwing more shadow than light. Most of the squad had drifted into uneasy sleep, curled against their packs, rifles clutched like talismans. Hector leaned back against the slanted wall, eyes half-lidded but awake, while Joseph kept his gaze fixed on the dying flames, jaw set tight.
Marco waited, breathing slow, listening to the quiet. When Hector's chin dipped and Joseph looked away, he shifted. One careful step. Then another. The crunch of sand under his boot was swallowed by the sigh of wind threading through the collapsed beams above.
He slipped past the firelight and into the open ruin.
The night air was colder here, the silence heavier. Marco's heart hammered as his eyes adjusted to the gray wash of moonlight spilling over the dead atrium. He swallowed, telling himself it was nothing, just stone and dust. Just silence.
Then he saw it.
A silhouette ahead, half-shrouded in shadow. A man—or something shaped like one—dragging another body by the arms. The limp form bumped over stone, head lolling at an angle that made Marco's stomach clench. The thing doing the dragging moved with a jerky rhythm, too smooth at times, too stiff at others.
Marco froze, breath caught in his throat. His rifle hung forgotten at his side. The figure stopped. Slowly—too slowly—it began to turn its head toward him.
A loud, sharp shriek split the night like metal raked across glass, so sharp it rattled Marco's teeth. He stood rooted, terror locking his muscles as the thing dropped the limp corpse with a wet thud. In one savage motion, it tore the arm free from the body, meat and sinew snapping like twine.
Then it came for him.
Its gait lurched — stumbling, jerking — but the speed never faltered. Every stagger was caught by some grotesque burst of momentum, propelling it forward like it didn't care what bones broke in the process. Moonlight caught its face as it closed the distance: half-human, half-wrong, mouth smeared red and eyes empty of anything but hunger.
"Son of a bitch!" The shout cracked from behind Marco, followed by three deafening bangs. The rounds punched clean through the thing's skull, snapping its charge mid-step. It collapsed in a tangle of limbs, the severed arm still clutched in its claws, twitching once before going still.
Hector stormed up, smoke curling from his rifle's barrel, his face hard as stone. "I'm quite sure we told you what these things are?!" His brows met in a deep scowl, voice rough with fury.
The echo of the shots rolled off into the ruins, leaving only the sound of Marco's ragged breathing. Behind them, the camp stirred awake, recruits fumbling for weapons, eyes wide at the corpse lying half in shadow.
Hector's hand shot out, bunching Marco's collar in his fist and hauling him half off his feet. "You want to get us all killed, you little shit?" His voice was low, but shaking with rage, hot breath cutting through the cold night air.
Marco stammered, wide-eyed, too terrified to speak.
"Hector, cut it out!" Joseph's voice cut sharp through the camp. He closed the distance in two strides, hand on Hector's shoulder. "Let him go."
Hector's glare didn't waver.
"Tearers are drawn to noise," Joseph pressed, keeping his tone measured. "And right now, thanks to all these shouting and gunfire, we've rung a dinner bell across half this sector. We've gotta preapre."
For a beat, the only sound was Marco's choked breath and the crackle of the dying fire.
Slowly, Hector let his grip slip free, shoving Marco back with a final growl. "Stay in line or next time, I won't waste bullets saving you."
Hector's eyes flicked from Joseph to the wide-eyed conscripts, their faces pale in the wavering glow of the fire. His jaw clenched. "The campfire's all we've got. We hold here until dawn. Defend this position with everything you've got."
He turned, pointing a finger toward the darkened shell of the garage looming behind them. "Joseph. Get up top and fire a flare. With luck, the quick-reaction force will see it before these bastards overrun us."
Joseph gave a tight nod, slinging his rifle and checking the flare gun at his belt. He spared one last glance at the recruits, some clutching their rifles too tightly, knuckles white, others staring into the dark as if expecting it to lunge at them any second. Then, without a word, he started for the leaning ladder of rusted rebar that led up the garage wall, the flare gun heavy in his hand.