Morning never truly came.
The sky lightened, but the sun remained hidden behind ash and smoke. Sirens had burned themselves out hours ago, leaving behind a hollow silence heavier than the screams that had come before.
Kane Mercer stood at the central command platform, watching the city shift from chaos to cold, methodical order. Not peace—silence. The kind that followed complete eradication.
"Horde density reaching critical thresholds in southern districts," the AI reported. "Migration patterns indicate convergence behavior. Intelligence remains minimal."
Kane nodded. Zombies always gathered. Heat, noise, movement. Predictable instincts. Predictability meant death.
"Begin Sterilization Protocol," Kane said.
"Yes," the AI replied.
Belowground, combat factories activated. Construction bays that had once produced heavy-lifting androids now churned out combat units in the thousands. Taller, heavier, built for endurance and precision. Each carried modular weapons: kinetic pulse cannons, thermal cutters, electromagnetic disruptors.
They did not rush.
They advanced.
In District Seven, the first horde collapsed within minutes. Streets filled with screaming infected, surging forward, only to be met by interlocking android formations. Energy shields locked together. Heavy units anchored the front line.
Then the firing began.
Precise. Methodical. Efficient.
Bodies fell in layers. Those who climbed over the dead were cut down immediately. Every strike calculated. Every shot lethal.
"Efficiency at ninety-eight percent," the AI reported. "Minimal structural damage."
Kane scanned multiple live feeds. Other districts followed the same pattern. Android columns emerged from subway access points, maintenance tunnels, and sewer systems. He had built the city's veins before the virus arrived—now those veins were killing it.
One horde surged unexpectedly, denser and faster than predicted. Mutated muscle growth gave them unnatural strength.
"Adjust firepower," Kane commanded.
"Yes."
Rear units fired thermal waves, incinerating the front lines instantly. The remaining horde stumbled over the burning bodies, collapsing under their own momentum. Problem solved.
Aboveground, civilians began whispering, rumors spreading faster than panic:
Something is killing them all.
The streets are… changing.
They didn't know whether to fear or hope.
In another sector, a small group of mutated humans emerged from a destroyed storefront—enhanced strength and unnatural speed. One crackled with electricity.
"Confirmed: enhanced mutation," the AI reported. "Threat level elevated."
"Neutralize," Kane said calmly.
Combat androids didn't hesitate. They spread into formation. Hydraulic stabilizers absorbed impacts, kinetic spikes incapacitated the mutants instantly, and electromagnetic dampeners neutralized the electric discharge. The last one dropped.
Kane's eyes didn't flicker.
"Mutation suppression remains effective," the AI said. "Powered humans biologically vulnerable."
"Good. They always were."
Androids continued their systematic sweep. Zones were sanitized. Zombie presence fell. Mutated animals hunted and eliminated. Partial mutants were contained or removed. Not one threat was left unchecked.
"Civilian casualties?" Kane asked.
"Minimal. Current projections suggest survival rates exceeding previous timeline by seventy-four percent," the AI replied.
Kane exhaled—quietly, like a calculation completed. Not relief. Precision.
Factories belowground never stopped. Combat androids repaired themselves, new models rolled off assembly lines, and raw materials flowed autonomously from scavenged supply lines.
Aboveground, survivors watched in disbelief. Fires burned. Bodies piled. Streets cleared. The world had changed, but nobody knew who was responsible.
"They're starting to notice patterns," the AI said. "Survivors are reporting consistent intervention behavior. Speculation increasing."
"Let them speculate," Kane replied. "Fear without understanding is manageable."
He glanced at the secured chamber where the child slept peacefully. Nothing aboveground could reach her. Nothing would.
"Any sign of the virus adapting?" Kane asked.
"Negative. Host population declining too rapidly. Evolution pathways collapsing."
Good. That meant Phase One was almost complete.
"Begin compiling all live viral samples," Kane ordered. "I want everything. Blood, tissue, airborne residue. Do not destroy anything yet."
"Yes. Research containment is preparing."
Kane turned from the feeds. Beyond Earth, nothing moved. No aliens. No retaliation. Not yet.
They were watching.
Let them.
The virus was being erased. Its weapon had failed.
Phase One was ending.
The real war was coming.