[Tarnaxis (Earth-IX Variant)]
[2192 (Year 92 After Collapse (AC)]
[Ashkelon Federation]
The convoy thundered down the cracked highway, six armoured rigs in ragged formation, engines coughing black diesel into the heat-shimmered dusk. Dust plumed behind them in choking ochre clouds, thick enough to taste rust and bone-meal on the tongue. Every rut in the asphalt sent a jolt through the chassis; every jolt rattled the medical crates stacked like coffins in the back of Elias's truck.
He knelt over a soldier whose left leg ended in a pulped ruin just below the knee. The man's boot was still on, laces snapped, sole flapping like a loose tongue. Blood pulsed in rhythmic arcs, painting Elias's forearms in glossy crimson.
"Motherfucker," Elias growled, voice gravel-rough, yanking the tourniquet strap so tight the nylon squealed. He looped it twice, cinched it with his teeth, then knotted it with a savage jerk.
The soldier whimpered. It sounded high.... like an animal, the sound a kicked dog makes when it knows the next boot is coming.
Too bad.
"Knock it off. You're not going to die." Elias yelled it loud enough to be heard over the engine roar, then rolled his eyes sideways, scanning the cramped cabin. "Unless I screw up..."
He wiped his hands on his pants. The fabric was already stiff with layers of dried blood, fresh blood, someone else's sweat, his own piss from three hours ago when the convoy had refused a piss-stop. His rifle... a battered M32A1 with the serial numbers filed off... leaned against the bench beside him, muzzle clattering against a crate of plasma bags with every pothole.
This wasn't a mission.
It was a fucking death march. Plain and simple.
"Get the President's daughter to Haven Base," the briefing officer had said, voice crisp over encrypted holo.
"She's the cure."
"You're all humanity's last hope."
Fuck that. Humanity had rolled over and died the day Ashkelon Prime fell... ninety-two years of rot since. They were just picking through the bones now, pretending the marrow still tasted like hope.
The radio bolted to the dash crackled, static slicing through the engine drone.
"Entering Red Zone. Weapons hot, boys."
Elias didn't bother looking up. He just reached left, fingers closing around the rifle's grip, and yanked the charging handle back with a satisfying 'click-clack' that echoed inside his skull like a promise.
The dead were always waiting in the Red Zones.
Always hungry. Always looking for someone to rip the warmth out of.
The truck slowed. Tires crunched over broken glass... windshields, bottles, the crystallised remains of a thousand Molotovs. Through the canvas slats, Elias glimpsed the city: blackened shells of skyscrapers leaning like drunks, their windows empty eye-sockets. Cars lay burned out and rusted, doors yawed open, seats spilling foam and bone. The streets were painted in dried blood... layer upon layer, flaking in the wind like rust-colored snow.
It looked like hell had decided to settle down, start a family, and teach the kids how to scream.
Then he heard it.
'Ugh.'
The low, rumbling moan started somewhere deep in the ruins... a thousand dying throats trying to sing the same off-key note. It rolled across the asphalt, vibrated in Elias's teeth, and settled in his gut like spoiled meat.
"Here we fucking go."
The first body hit the hood of the lead truck with a wet 'thud'... a Tier-2, skin sloughing in wet sheets, jaw unhinged and swinging by cartilage. Its fingers scrabbled across the windshield, leaving smeared handprints of black ichor.
Then all hell broke loose.
Gunfire erupted in overlapping thunder... 5.56 ripping from barrels, casings tinkling like wind chimes made of brass. Screams layered over screams: human, zombie, metal grinding against metal as trucks bucked and jerked. Drivers swerved hard, tyres squealing, trying to thread a path through the tide of bodies spilling from every alley, every sewer grate, every collapsed parking garage.
"Contact left! Fucking left!" someone screamed over the radio, voice cracking into puberty mid-sentence.
Elias slammed the side door open with his shoulder. The canvas flap whipped back, hot wind slapping his face. He levelled the rifle and fired without thinking... three-round bursts that punched through rotted skulls, sprayed black blood in pressurised arcs like busted ink pens. The recoil hammered his shoulder, steady, familiar, almost comforting.
The truck jolted hard. Elias stumbled, caught himself on a nylon cargo strap that bit into his palm.
Some other poor bastard wasn't so lucky. A zombie... Tier-2, spine protruding like a broken ladder... hooked claws into the gunner's vest and yanked him out of the turret ring. The man's scream cut short with a wet crunch, boots kicking air as he vanished into the swarm.
"Fuck this," Elias growled.
He jumped down into the chaos.
His boots hit the asphalt slick with oil and blood. Burning vehicles lit the scene in strobing orange... tyres melting, fuel hissing into blue flame. Screaming soldiers formed ragged knots, muzzle flashes strobing their faces pale. And zombies... hundreds of them, a moving carpet of gnashing teeth and reaching arms, tearing through flesh and steel like wet paper.
"Fall back!" someone shouted, voice raw.
"Protect the package!"
"Cover the retreat!"
Elias staggered forward, coughing acrid smoke that tasted of burning plastic and cooking meat. Through the haze, he spotted the President's van... a sleek, white, armoured like a vault on wheels... speeding away down the main arterial. Alone.
They'd abandoned them.
He cursed, spun, boots skidding in gore, searching for anyone still breathing. A trio of soldiers fought back-to-back beside a burning APC, faces grim under cracked helmets, magazines clattering empty to the ground.
And in the middle of it all, pinned against an overturned jeep, was Lira Vex.
Elias's heart did a goddamn backflip... hard enough to crack a rib.
She was trying to reload her rifle, fingers trembling so violently the magazine rattled against the well. Blood ran down the side of her face from a gash above her eyebrow, tracing the line of her jaw, dripping from her chin in fat crimson beads. Four zombies closed in.
"No fucking way. Not her."
Adrenaline hit him like a shot of pure fire... liquid sunlight in his veins, every nerve screaming 'GO'.
He ran straight toward her, shoulder-checking a shambler out of his path, rifle barking from the hip. Bullets stitched across grey torsos, punched exit wounds the size of fists. One zombie reached for him, nails like broken glass; Elias hammered it in the face with his pistol butt so hard he felt the orbital bone shatter under the impact, fragments spinning away in slow motion.
Another lunged. He shot it straight through the eye without breaking stride... the round entered with a wet 'pop', exited in a spray of curdled brain.
He reached Lira just as the biggest bastard tackled her, claws ripping at her tactical vest, shredding Kevlar threads like cobwebs.
Elias roared and yanked the zombie off her by the scruff of its neck, throwing it to the ground with enough force to crack pavement. He stomped its head until it was paste, boot sole grinding bone into gravel, grey matter oozing between the treads.
"Move, goddammit!" he barked, grabbing her arm... fingers closing around the lean muscle of her bicep, slick with sweat and someone else's blood.
In the chaos, his hand slipped... palm sliding down, cupping the soft weight of her chest through the torn vest.
'Soft. Fucking hell, soft.'
Elias blinked, heat rushing to his face even as bullets whined past his ears, stitching sparks off the jeep behind them.
"Not the fucking time, dumbass!"
He shoved her behind him, spine to spine. Another zombie leapt... Tier-2, jaw distended, tongue lolling like a pink slug. Elias caught it mid-air by the throat, slammed it into the side of the truck hard enough to dent the metal. Cartilage crunched under his grip.
Lira stared at him, wide-eyed, pupils blown wide with shock and adrenaline.
"You saved me..." she started, voice cracking.
"Move your sexy ass, Vex!" he barked, shoving her again... this time his hand landed squarely on the firm curve of her ass, fingers splaying over tactical fabric stretched tight.
Another accidental grab.
Elias swallowed a groan, throat raw from smoke.
"Goddamn, she feels even better than I dreamed."
He turned, rifle up, firing controlled bursts... 'thump-thump-thump'... covering her as she limped toward the retreating convoy, one hand pressed to her side, secretly hiding the flush creeping up her neck.
He watched until she disappeared around the corner... safe swallowed by the smoke and the dying light.
And for a second, even in all the fucking madness, Elias felt something weird bloom in his chest.
'Pride.'
"Saved her. I saved my goddamn crush. Guess there are worse ways to kick the bucket."
Because dying was exactly what was about to happen.
The horde turned on him... ten, twenty, thirty of them, a closing ring of snarling faces and glowing coal eyes. The air thickened with the stench of rot and ozone.
He tried to reload. Fingers fumbled the magazine... dropped it. The aluminium clip clattered away under trampling feet.
"Eat crap!" he growled.
No time.
He flipped the rifle around, gripping it by the barrel like a club. Swung it two-handed... cracked open skulls with the stock, sent teeth spinning like chipped dice. Kicked ribs into mush, felt them cave under his boot with wet pops.
But they just kept coming.
Claws tore down his back... five furrows of fire that peeled skin and muscle in wet ribbons. Teeth sank into his shoulder, ripping a chunk free with a sound like tearing canvas. Blood... hot, metallic... filled his mouth.
He screamed, swinging blindly, rage and fear and stubbornness blending into one white-hot roar.
But it was a losing fight.
A zombie latched onto his side, jaws clamping on the meat of his obliques, ripping a fist-sized chunk away with a wet 'schlorp'. Another slammed him down onto the pavement... spine met asphalt with a crack that spider-webbed through his ribs. Blood filled his mouth, copper and smoke.
He still fought, like a true idiot.
He didn't know how to fucking quit.
But even he had limits.
As the weight of the dead crushed him down... knees on his chest, elbows, throats... as teeth and claws tore him apart in wet, methodical bites, Elias looked up at the burning sky.
Lira's face flashed through his mind... smirking, brave, fucking gorgeous even covered in blood.
"At least she made it."
A final breath left his lungs... rattling, wet.
A final thought.
"Fuck this world."
And then...
Darkness.
---
[SYSTEM INITIALIZING...]
[Soul Binding: 87%]
[Detecting Host Soul: Confirmed.]
[Mortality: Confirmed.]
[Critical Damage Detected. Searching for Compatible Vessel...]
[Vessel Found: Vark Draven — Sovereign-Class Zombie.]
[Injecting Core Protocols...]
[Warning: Morality Sync Detected.]
[Forcibly Uploading Consciousness... 5%... 23%... 47%...]
Everything around Elias changed.
He wasn't dead. Not really. But he wasn't alive either.
Somewhere, deep in the dark, something old stirred... ancient, patient, hungry. It was watching and waiting.
The system's voice whispered into the abyss, velvet and venom:
[Welcome back, Elias.]
[Let's tear this fucking world apart.]