Third POV.
The underground bunker was quiet except for the static from the radio. It was their main base now, a place that felt both safe and suffocating. The air smelled like old coffee and gun oil. Before the world ended, the people here had been part of something dangerous. Now they were trying to build their own version of order from the ruins.
The leader stood looking at a large map on the wall. Red marks showed the areas they controlled. He was a big man with a stare that could make anyone look away.
"Anything to report?" he asked, his voice flat.
A younger man named Kael shifted in his seat at the radio console. "Sir, we have a problem."
"What kind of problem?"
"The supply team we sent out - Gamma unit. They were supposed to be back from the west side over an hour ago. We haven't heard from them in forty-five minutes. No response on any channel."
The leader turned slowly. The room seemed to get colder. "That was a four-man team. They knew what they were doing."
"I know, sir. We've tried calling them every five minutes. Nothing but static."
A nervous quiet filled the bunker. Losing people was normal these days, but losing them without any warning or distress call was different. It felt wrong.
Before the leader could respond, Kael spoke again, his voice quieter. "And sir... there's something else. We can't reach Evans. The lookout in the tall building."
All movement in the room stopped. Evans wasn't just another member. He was their best sniper, their eyes on the city. His regular check-ins were something everyone depended on.
"He's missed two check-ins now," Kael said. "His channel is completely silent."
The leader's face hardened. One team disappearing could be bad luck. But his best sniper going silent at the same time? That was a pattern. This wasn't the work of zombies. Zombies didn't take out experienced fighters without a sound. This was someone else. Someone smart.
He walked to the map and looked between where the supply team had been and where Evans was posted. Someone was moving in his territory. Someone challenging him.
He turned back to the room, his voice cutting through the silence.
"Get a team ready. Call them Alpha squad. Full combat gear. I want them to follow Gamma's exact route, then check Evans's position." He looked at each person in the room. "I want to know what happened to my men. No excuses."
---
Later, the leader sat alone in his small room off the main bunker. He held a glass of cheap whiskey, the last from a bottle he'd been saving. He couldn't stop thinking about the missing men. No contact. No signs of a fight. Nothing.
The first thought that came to him was betrayal. Had they found something valuable and decided to keep it? Had another group made them a better offer? The idea made him angry. He had built this organization from nothing. He demanded complete loyalty.
"If they've turned against me," he muttered to himself, his voice low and dangerous. "I'll make them wish the zombies got them first. I'll feed them to the dead myself."
He felt the anger building inside him. He focused all his rage into his hand, into the glass. He would make it shatter. He would show his power.
He squeezed.
The glass didn't break.
He squeezed harder, his arm shaking with effort. The cheap glass just sat in his hand, not even cracking. It should have broken easily, but it didn't.
The failure made him even angrier. With a loud yell, he threw the glass at the metal door as hard as he could.
CRASH!
The sound was satisfying. Glass went everywhere, whiskey splashing on the wall and floor. He stood there breathing heavily, looking at the mess. It wasn't the powerful display he wanted. It was just him losing his temper.
The noise brought two guards to the door, weapons ready. "Sir? Are you okay?"
He didn't look at them. He kept staring at the broken glass. The mess helped him focus. This wasn't about pride anymore. It was about solving a problem.
"Get the team moving now," he said, his voice cold and calm. "Alpha squad. Full gear. Follow Gamma's route and check the sniper's post."
He finally turned to look at the guards. The expression on his face made them step back. It was the look he had right before someone got punished.
"I don't care if it's another group, soldiers, or some kind of monster," he said quietly. "Find what did this. And when you find it, kill it. I want proof."
The guards nodded quickly and left. The leader stood alone again in his room, the smell of spilled whiskey mixing with the other smells. He looked at the broken glass on the floor. Someone was challenging his authority, and he would make them pay. The silent treatment wouldn't work for long - he would find them, and he would make an example of them.
He took a deep breath and walked out of the room. He had work to do. The search was beginning, and he would not rest until he had answers. The world might have ended, but his rules still applied. Anyone who forgot that would learn the hard way.
---
The squad moved through the empty streets with careful steps. There were five of them, all dressed in similar dark clothes and armed with rifles. Their leader kept his eyes moving, checking every window and doorway.
"Stay alert," the leader said into his radio. "The missing men were professionals. Whatever happened to them could still be here."
They found the supply truck right where it was supposed to be, but the scene around it was all wrong. A handful of zombies were crouched on the ground, feeding on the remains of their comrades. The bodies were a mess, but even through the damage, something seemed off.
"Pathetic," one of the men scoffed. "They got taken out by these slow, stupid things?" He lifted his rifle and fired, dropping the nearest zombie. The rest of the team quickly followed, putting bullets into the heads of the other shuffling creatures.
Another man kicked at a dead zombie. "I thought these guys were supposed to be tough. And they got killed by this garbage?"
"Enough talking," the squad leader ordered, though he felt the same confusion. It didn't add up.
Then they saw the truck. Or more accurately, what had been done to the truck.
One of the men, who was looking at the vehicle, suddenly froze. "Uh, boss? You need to see this."
The large supply truck was sliced cleanly in half, just behind the cab. The cut was perfectly straight, as if made by a giant, impossibly sharp blade. The metal edges were smooth, not twisted or burned like an explosion would cause.
The squad leader walked over and ran his gloved fingers along the cut edge. "What in the world could have done this?" he muttered, his earlier confidence fading.
He looked more closely at the bodies of their fallen comrades. Now that the zombies were gone, he could see the truth. These men hadn't just been eaten. They had been cut apart with the same terrifying precision as the truck. Limbs were severed cleanly. One man was cut diagonally from shoulder to hip. These weren't bite marks or claw wounds. They were cuts. Perfect, surgical cuts.
A cold feeling settled in the pit of the squad leader's stomach. This was no ordinary attack.
"Get your phone out," he said to one of his men. "Record all of this. The truck, the bodies, everything. The boss needs to see this."
The man pulled out a smartphone and started recording, panning slowly over the horrific scene. The camera focused on the sliced truck, then on the cleanly dismembered bodies, capturing every chilling detail.
"Base, this is Alpha Squad," the leader said into his radio, his voice now tight with tension. "We found Gamma unit's vehicle and... their remains. Sir, you're not going to believe this. The truck has been cut in half. I repeat, the truck is sliced clean through. The men... they've been cut to pieces. It's not the zombies. Something else did this. We're sending video now."
As he spoke, another team was arriving at a different location across the city. This second team had been sent to check on the missing sniper. They entered the tall apartment building, moving quietly up the stairs to the top floor. They found the door to the sniper's nest already open.
The scene inside was just as strange and unsettling as the one with the truck. The sniper lay dead on the floor, his body also showing clean, precise cuts. His rifle was still by the window, and his pistol lay nearby, but his hand... his hand was severed from his arm, lying a few feet away as if it had been removed before he could even fire a shot.
One of the men in this second team radioed back to base. "We're at the lookout post. The sniper is down. He's... he's been cut apart, just like the others. Whatever did this, it got the drop on him up here. In his own nest."
Back at the scene of the truck, the Alpha Squad leader received the update over his radio. He looked at his own men, their faces pale in the morning light. They had all heard the report.
"It's the same thing," one of his men whispered. "Whatever did this is fast. And it's using a blade of some kind. Something that can cut through a truck like it's nothing."
The squad leader nodded slowly, the reality of the situation sinking in. They weren't just looking for another hostile group. They were hunting something new. Something that moved with terrifying speed and power, something that could cut through metal and men with equal ease.
"Pack it up," he told his team, his voice grim. "We have what we need. Let's get this video back to base. The boss needs to see what we're really dealing with."
As they prepared to leave, all of them kept looking over their shoulders, their weapons held a little tighter. The city, which had once been dangerous because of the dead, now felt threatening for a completely different reason. Something was out there. Something that made the zombies seem like the least of their problems.
Down on the road, two young women were running for their lives. A small group of zombies shambled relentlessly after them. Seeing the armed men spilling out of the building's entrance, their faces lit up with desperate hope.
"Soldiers! Please, help us!" one of them screamed, changing course to sprint directly toward them.
The squad leader hesitated for only a second before nodding. "Take out the zombies," he commanded.
His men raised their rifles. The sharp cracks of gunfire filled the air, and the pursuing zombies crumpled to the ground. The two women stumbled to a halt, gasping for breath, their bodies trembling with adrenaline and relief.
"Oh, thank God... thank you," the first woman panted, leaning forward with her hands on her knees.
It was then they noticed the details. The lack of proper military insignia. The cold, assessing looks in the men's eyes. The way they held their weapons not with discipline, but with a casual threat.
The second woman's eyes widened in dawning horror. "You're not soldiers..."
One of the men smirked. "Figured that out, did you? Don't worry. You'll be... useful." He stepped forward and grabbed her arm roughly.
Panic erupted. The women fought back, scratching and kicking, but they were hopelessly outmatched. More men moved in, easily subduing them and binding their wrists with plastic zip ties. The men laughed, a harsh, ugly sound, as the women were forced to their knees.
"Let us go!" the first woman yelled, struggling against her restraints.
As this was happening one of the supposedly dead zombies near the truck twitched. It had been shot in the shoulder, not the head. With a sudden, jerky movement, it lunged upward and sank its teeth into the neck of the closest man.
A choked scream, wet and terrible, tore through the air. Blood sprayed. The sudden violence created a moment of perfect chaos.
Seeing their chance, the two women acted as one. The first one threw her weight backward, slamming into the man holding her and breaking his grip. The second one, despite her bound hands, shoved another man hard in the chest, sending him stumbling into his comrades.
"Run!" the first woman screamed.
They didn't run back into the open street. Instead, they dashed for the nearest cover—the entrance to the very apartment building the second team had just exited. They slammed through the door and sprinted down the dark, dusty hallway, their hearts trying to beat their way out of their chests.
Behind them, the squad leader was roaring orders. "After them! Don't let them get away!" But more zombies were already shambling into the area, drawn by the gunfire and the scent of blood. The remaining men were forced to form a defensive perimeter, firing in controlled bursts.
"There's too many! They're coming from everywhere!" a man shouted, his voice tight with panic.
The leader keyed his radio, his voice sharp. "Base! We need immediate backup at our location! We have multiple casualties! The horde is converging on us!"
Inside the building, the two women ran blindly. They took a flight of stairs, then another, putting as much distance between themselves and the entrance as possible. On a higher floor, they found a door that was slightly ajar. They slipped inside, pushing it shut and leaning against it, gasping for air.
The room was pitch black, the windows boarded up. The only light was a thin sliver coming from under the door. They stood there in the oppressive darkness, listening to the muffled sounds of gunfire and snarling from below.
"We... we need to find a weapon. Something," the first woman whispered, her voice shaking.
Her friend just nodded, unable to speak. As their eyes adjusted to the near-total blackness, they began to make out shapes. It was a storage room of some kind, filled with boxes and old furniture.
Then, the first woman froze. Her breath hitched in her throat. She was staring into the deepest, darkest corner of the room.
There, in the shadows, were six points of faint, golden light.
At first, her mind refused to process it. Then, the points shifted slightly, and the horrifying realization dawned on her. They weren't lights. They were eyes. Six of them, arranged in a way that was utterly wrong, all focused on them.
A wave of pure, primal terror washed over her. Her limbs began to shake uncontrollably. Her breathing became fast and shallow, her throat so tight she couldn't make a sound. Her heart pounded against her ribs with such brutal force it was physically painful. She was drenched in a cold sweat in an instant.
The second woman noticed her friend's petrified stance. "What? What is it?" she whispered, her own fear spiking.
She turned her head to follow her friend's gaze.
And she saw them too.
The six golden eyes, glowing softly in the absolute dark. Just staring. Unblinking.
A small, choked whimper escaped her lips. Her body locked up, every muscle screaming at her to flee, but she was utterly paralyzed. She could only stand there, trembling from head to toe, trapped in the gaze of whatever monstrous thing was sharing the darkness with them.
The thing didn't move. It didn't make a sound. It simply existed in the corner, its presence filling the room with a cold, heavy dread that was far worse than any zombie or armed thug. They had found a place to hide, but they had stumbled into a far greater terror.