--
Huff— Huff— Huff.
My lungs burned as we sprinted down the corridor, our shadows stretching thin beneath the pale, flickering emergency lights. The harsh glow slid across the drab concrete walls, catching on the exposed conduit pipes snaking along the ceiling. The fox lady ran beside me, steps uneven, one arm pressed tightly against her side.
"I thought—" I managed between ragged breaths, "we'd burst outside the moment we left the warehouse!"
"No," she hissed, pushing forward despite the limp worsening in her stride. "That was just internal storage. We're still deep inside the bunker."
"Just how big is this place?" I muttered, tightening my grip on the gun as we pushed further down the corridor.
She didn't answer, stopping abruptly instead.
I skidded to a halt and turned just in time to see her brace one hand against the cold concrete wall, the other clamped over her bleeding side, as a sharp, muffled groan escaped her lips.
"Hey." I stepped toward her, quickly pulling her arm over my shoulder. "We need to keep moving."
"I'm fine," she rasped—the strain in her voice making the lie obvious.
"No, you're not." I shot back, my tone stern.
She went silent.
We started moving again, slower now, our limping footsteps and uneven breathing echoing through the concrete hall.
"There should be an infirmary nearby," she murmured against my shoulder.
"Good," I said, shifting her weight. "Then let's make it there."
We pressed on, maintaining an uneven momentum. The corridor stretched endlessly ahead, its emergency lights flickering just enough to be irritating.
Then—
Skssksskssk…
A faint scraping echoed from the darkness ahead.
I froze.
She froze with me, her hand tightening slightly on my shoulder.
"What now…" I whispered, raising the shotgun as my knuckles whitened.
We crept forward until the hallway opened into a wider junction—three paths branching off.
And standing in the center…
Three figures.
Tall, unnervingly twisted, their silhouettes warped by elongated limbs and hunched, broken backs. Under the red-tinted exit signs, their skin was a sickly, pale gray, and their eyes glowed faintly like dying coals. All three turned toward us slowly, shoulders rising as low, guttural growls vibrated from their throats.
{'Level One Embers, sir,'} Nox reported.
"…Great."
"Don't stop," she murmured, shrugging my arm off. She swayed slightly but brought her blades up, resolve hardening her jaw. "We can't outrun them."
"Can you fight?" I asked, raising the shotgun.
"No." She ground her teeth, stepping forward. "But we don't have a choice."
...
The closest mutant let out a growl, then lunged.
BANG!
The blast punched it backward, its chest bursting open in a spray of dark fluid. My eyes narrowed as the recoil rattled my arms, but I held the gun steady.
The second shrieked and charged. She met it head-on despite her injury, steel hissing through the air. She dropped low, carving a slash across its knee that buckled the joint, immediately driving her weapon upward into its throat. It clawed uselessly at the hilt, staggering backward before collapsing in a choking heap.
The third came from my blind spot.
"Max!" she snapped.
I spun, jerking the shotgun up in one desperate motion. The muzzle met the thing's face as my finger clenched the trigger.
BANG!
The sound was deafening, the recoil violent. The blast tore half its face away, flinging the creature backward into immediate, silent collapse.
Silence returned—except for our ragged breathing, loud in the confined space.
She slumped against the wall, gripping her side harder. "We need to go. More will come."
"I know." I pumped the shotgun, chambering another shell. "Let's move."
We started moving again, slower now, my arms aching as the heavy recoil finally caught up with me. Her steps were shaky, driven purely by willpower.
After a few minutes, another sound echoed—this one different.
Not scraping.
Not growling.
A distinct, heavy shuffling.
Multiple, uncoordinated footsteps.
I cursed beneath my breath. "Level Zeros."
The hall tightened into a cramped stretch as five—no, six—misshapen mutants rounded the corner. They were twitching, mouths hanging open with broken teeth, driven by instinct alone.
We were exhausted—dangerously so.
But they were slow.
I aimed down the narrow corridor, steadying my hands.
BANG! BANG!
Two dropped instantly. The others surged clumsily forward.
The fox lady stepped in front of me, her blades cutting tight, defensive arcs. Her movements weren't clean—her injury stealing their fluidity—but she remained precise. A mutant's head rolled on the floor before the creature even registered the attack.
Another lunged at me.
I kicked it squarely in the chest, the impact creating just enough space for me to fire.
BANG!
The blast tore through its chest at close range. It twitched violently, then collapsed into stillness.
The last one managed to grab her—but with a snarl she jammed her blade straight into its skull. A spray of fluid erupted everywhere, splashing across her broken mask. The corpse twitched slightly, then slowly slid off her blade with a wet thud.
Silence returned, heavier this time.
Her breath hitched. "We're almost there."
"How do you know?"
She gave no answer. We just kept moving.
Finally—a reinforced door came into view.
Above it, a faded sign read:
INFIRMARY – SECTION C
We limped toward it, every step a painful effort.
She staggered the last few meters and slapped the access panel. The mechanism groaned—a sound easily a decade overdue for maintenance—before the heavy door slid open with a sluggish, reluctant hiss.
Musty, still air drifted out. Rows of outdated infirmary beds. White tiles stained by time. Equipment scattered from some long-ago evacuation.
Empty.
Safe enough.
We slipped inside. She sagged against the wall immediately, breathing hard. I locked the door behind us.
For now—just for now—we were safe.
She raised a trembling hand, pointing deeper inside. "Medical wing. Red door."
At the far end stood a thick metal door painted with a faded red medical cross, emergency lights flickering across its surface.
We dragged ourselves toward it, each step heavier than the last.
She reached for the keypad and punched in a sequence with shaky fingers. A beep sounded, followed by another groan from the door's tired mechanism.
Then—slowly—it slid open with a soft hiss.
We stepped inside.
And behind us, the door rumbled shut, sealing off the dim corridor… and everything still wandering it.
----
The ward air hung thick with the sterile, metallic sting of dried antiseptic and old blood—a stark contrast to the fresh gore we'd just escaped.
I drew in slow, ragged breaths, my back pressed against the cool wall. The adrenaline that had carried me this far was burning out, leaving exhaustion to settle over me like lead.
The fox lady wasn't faring any better. She sat on the cold floor a few feet away, head bowed, her gaze unfocused and fixed on the stark white tiles.
My eyes drifted to her side, where blood had soaked through her suit completely, forming a wide, sticky patch of deep red against the fabric.
I forced myself upright, wincing as pain flared through my ribs. Reaching into my bag, I pulled out a fresh set of clothes, then picked up one of her fallen daggers. She flinched at the movement but didn't bother to look up—too drained even for that.
The sound of tearing fabric broke the silence.
"Take it," I said, holding out the improvised pressure bandage. "Wrap it around your waist. It'll slow the bleeding."
She didn't answer.
Instead, her hand lifted to her face—hesitant, trembling slightly. Her fingers touched the shattered remains of her mask. For a moment, she held it there as if unsure, then slowly peeled it away.
I stayed quiet, watching.
She stared into the fractured interior of the mask, motionless… then finally raised her head to meet my eyes.
Her face...unmasked.