"Master."
The voice came from behind.
Marcus turned sharply, instincts on edge—only to find six figures kneeling before him on one knee, their heads bowed in deep reverence. Three men and three women, each of different ethnicities—Asian, Caucasian, and African. That wasn't unusual; Queens had always been a melting pot of cultures.
What was unusual, however, was the aura they radiated—an otherworldly, inhuman energy that set them apart from any ordinary person.
Marcus could tell at a glance.
They were infected.
"Welcome, Master!" the six said in unison, their voices solemn and echoing across the rooftop.
Marcus studied them silently for a moment before asking, "So… only six of you have regained your minds?"
He had already guessed as much. If he could retain his human memories and consciousness after infection, it stood to reason that others might eventually awaken in the same way—recovering fragments of their past selves through viral evolution.
These six fit the profile perfectly. Though their bodies bore traces of transformation, their mannerisms and expressions remained distinctly human—too refined, too self-aware. They dressed stylishly, carried themselves with composure. Those were habits learned long before their infection.
A young man in a brown hooded jacket and gray jeans—clearly the leader—spoke respectfully, "Yes, Master. Out of the 1,504,800 infected within Queens, only the six of us have evolved beyond the stage of ordinary zombies. We recovered our human memories and became what you might call Mutant Infected."
"I see," Marcus said thoughtfully. "So, if you still remember what it was like to be human… shouldn't you hate me for what you've become?"
The hooded man immediately bowed lower, his voice firm. "No, Master. The moment we regained our sanity, we understood that we were no longer human—and that you are our creator. Your will is absolute. You could erase our minds at any moment, return us to mindless husks, and we would have no right to resist."
Marcus chuckled softly, eyes gleaming. "So if I told you that the only way to save this world from destruction was for all of you to end your own lives—what would you do?"
"Obey, without hesitation!" all six answered at once.
"Hah." Marcus let out a low laugh, walking toward them. "Relax. You're the only kin I have left in this world. I'm not so eager to lose you."
He reached down and lifted the chin of one of the girls—a strikingly beautiful woman with pale eyes and dark hair. Her lips parted slightly as her gaze softened under his touch, like a cat being gently stroked.
Marcus smiled faintly, then withdrew his hand. His tone shifted, almost melancholic. "It's a shame… You're so close to humanity, and yet the two of you can never coexist."
The hooded man tilted his head, frowning slightly. "Do you mean, Master, that we should not oppose humanity?"
Marcus chuckled and waved dismissively. "Not at all. Tell me—when humans wiped out the smallpox virus, did they think it was wrong? Of course not. For both mankind and the virus, it was simply a matter of survival. Right and wrong have nothing to do with it—it's nature. The strong endure; the weak perish. What's happening now is merely history repeating itself. The only difference is that this time… the virus is smarter."
"Our will is your will, Master," the six intoned together, their voices cold and resolute.
Then Marcus noticed something peculiar.
The hands he was looking at… were not his own. Nor was this his true body.
He flexed his fingers, testing the strange sensation. "This isn't my body. My consciousness was transferred here… How did you manage that?"
The hooded man answered at once, "This vessel was prepared using viral reconstruction, my lord. It allows your consciousness to manifest within it as a host. You may leave it freely whenever you wish. However, the vessel's biological structure cannot withstand the full might of your power. At most, it can channel one-tenth of your true strength. My apologies, Master."
"One-tenth…" Marcus mused. "That's more than enough for a disposable body."
A body at one-tenth his true strength meant the physical limit of a peak human, coupled with a weakened version of his metallic transformation. For reconnaissance and indirect command, it was perfect.
He nodded slightly. "Good work. What's your name?"
"Alex, my lord."
"Well done, Alex. Now, tell me about the current state of Queens."
Alex straightened, his tone turning serious. "As of now, the U.S. military has completely sealed the district. Three layers of defense encircle the perimeter. Ordinary infected can't break through—they'd be slaughtered before reaching the outer ring. Fortunately, the military isn't launching an assault either. Political pressure, fear of viral spread, disputes over vaccines… the bureaucrats are too busy arguing to act. For now, there's a stalemate."
Marcus listened silently as Alex continued.
"Under your prior command, all infected have gone into hiding. They avoid direct contact with survivors and stay underground or within abandoned structures. A few survivor enclaves still exist, unaware of the scale of the outbreak. Occasionally, private military contractors enter the quarantine zone to capture live infected for experimentation—presumably for pharmaceutical or military research."
Marcus frowned. "I see." He tapped his chin thoughtfully before issuing his first command as the ruler of the infected.
"Gather the horde. Erase the survivor enclaves before they draw attention. I won't have self-righteous heroes showing up here uninvited. As for those mercenary teams—kill them all. No survivors, no specimens."
"Yes, Master!" the six responded in unison. They dispersed immediately, moving with the unnatural grace of predators on the hunt—leaving only Alex behind.
Marcus turned his gaze on the hooded man, studying him. There was something about Alex—something unnervingly calm, even mysterious. For a being who had once been an ordinary zombie, he carried himself with an intelligence that Marcus found… unsettling.
"Alex," Marcus said at last, "you seem to know quite a bit. Tell me—what must I do to evolve into a Progenitor Virus?"
Alex bowed deeply. "The key, my lord, lies in the virus itself."
Marcus's eyes narrowed. "Go on."
"To evolve, you must consume and assimilate other viruses—pathogens capable of altering human biology as profoundly as the zombie virus. By merging their advantageous genetic traits with your own, your infection strain will mutate… and ascend into the next stage of evolution. That, my lord, is how you become the Progenitor Virus."
Marcus's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
"Interesting."
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T/N:
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