The city was eerily quiet.
Not the quiet of peace, but the quiet of precision.
Kane Mercer watched from the central command hub as the final pockets of chaos were systematically erased. Streets once flooded with mindless screaming had become empty corridors, scorched and sterilized. The fires burned under calculated control, smoke curling into the gray sky, while the underground factories hummed with relentless activity.
"Remaining zombie clusters in city limits: two thousand, concentrated in industrial sectors," the AI reported. "Estimated time to elimination: forty-eight minutes."
Kane did not blink.
"Deploy final wave. No exceptions," he said.
Massive combat androids rolled out through hidden tunnels, emerging in perfect formation. These were not the standard infantry units—they were upgraded, faster, heavier, smarter. Their sensors scanned every alley, every abandoned vehicle, every shadow. Not one infected would survive.
Aboveground, survivors continued to watch from shattered windows. Some whispered of divine intervention. Some thought the military had returned. They did not understand that no human hand controlled this.
Not yet.
The first horde collapsed within minutes. Androids moved in formation, energy shields locking together, hydraulic limbs absorbing brute force attacks. When zombies piled against them, the machines adjusted, stepping aside strategically, crushing and incinerating the dead as if performing a grim ballet.
A small cluster of mutated humans tried to resist. Kane had marked them days ago.
"Suppress and contain," he said.
The humanoid androids approached slowly, almost cautiously, guiding survivors out of harm's way while neutralizing any who posed a real threat. One mutant, crackling with volatile electricity, charged a barricade. The androids adjusted instantly: one emitted an electromagnetic pulse, another delivered a precision kinetic strike. The mutant's twitching body collapsed in silence.
"Mutation suppression complete," the AI confirmed. "No uncontrolled threats remain."
Kane allowed himself a small, almost imperceptible nod. Phase One—eradication of immediate threats—was nearly finished.
But he did not celebrate. There was no victory in destruction, only in preparation.
"Begin collection protocol," Kane ordered. "Every viral sample, every trace of infection, gather it for research. Nothing can be lost."
"Yes, Commander," the AI responded.
Belowground, research androids moved with efficiency impossible for any human mind to track. Containers were filled with tissue samples, airborne residue was captured, and automated labs began analysis immediately. Kane had calculated every mutation, every variation, every weakness in the virus. By the end of this process, he would have what no human in history had: a blueprint to reverse the apocalypse.
He turned his gaze toward the child's secured chamber. She slept, safe from all of this destruction. The world above would be rebuilt, protected, and ultimately hers—but only under Kane's careful design.
They are watching, Kane thought.
The words were unspoken, but the thought lingered. Even as he prepared the planet, even as he cleansed it, he remembered the truth he had seen in the future: the virus had not been a natural catastrophe. It had been a weapon, a trial, an observation. The architects were still out there, waiting to see what survived.
But he was ready.
In the industrial district, the last horde screamed its final death song. Fires, pulses, and energy blasts erased them in layers. Androids methodically stacked the remains, sealed them, and prepared to incinerate them in controlled burn zones.
"City-wide zombie presence: zero," the AI reported.
"Confirm viral sample containment is secure," Kane ordered.
"All samples secured. Containment stable. No breaches detected."
Kane exhaled slowly, though it was not relief—it was calculation. Phase One was complete. The planet was almost ready for Phase Two: research, cure development, and preparation for the real enemy.
The survivors began to notice patterns. Reports came in through hijacked communication lines: streets cleared mysteriously, food and water redistributed, guidance given by unknown hands. The humanoid androids ensured the flow remained controlled. None could guess who—or what—was orchestrating it all.
And that was precisely the way Kane wanted it.
"Prepare for planetary sweep," he told the AI. "Expand the extermination protocol to other cities and continents. Begin mapping high-risk zones for containment and cure research."
"Yes, Commander. Probability of full global sterilization without civilian interference: seventy-nine percent. Adaptive measures in progress."
Kane did not look at the screens anymore. He looked forward, beyond the planet, beyond the virus, beyond the ruined cities he had begun to cleanse.
The aliens had underestimated humanity once. They would not make that mistake again.
He had seen the future.
And he would rewrite it.
Phase One was complete. Phase Two was imminent.
The real war was coming.
And Kane Mercer would be ready.