Gunfire no longer echoed on base.
It pulsed.
Short bursts. Controlled fire. Then screaming—cut off too fast to be training exercises or warnings. The sounds bled through the walls of the research building, vibrating through glass, steel, and bone. Ellis could feel each report in his chest, like the base itself was being punched from the inside out.
"This is inside the perimeter," someone whispered.
Ellis didn't correct them.
They all knew.
The lab lights flickered, dipped, steadied. Monitors continued to scroll data no one was looking at anymore. Neural maps. Blood work. Progression curves. All of it useless if the building fell.
Ellis stepped to the weapons locker embedded in the wall—one most of the scientists pretended didn't exist.
He didn't hesitate.
The rifle came out smooth, familiar in his hands. The weight settled into his shoulder like muscle memory waking from sleep. He checked the chamber, clicked the safety, slung it properly.
Someone stared. "Doctor—"
Ellis turned. "I'm not just a doctor."
That was the part they always forgot.
Before the lab.Before the clearance levels.Before the endless meetings and redacted briefings—
Ellis Leesburg had been trained to survive chaos.
He had learned how to clear rooms before he learned how to write grant proposals. He had learned how to move under fire before he learned how to teach.
That was how he'd met Sharon.
Not in a hospital.Not at a conference.
On a joint humanitarian-military extraction in Central America.
She'd been knee-deep in blood, sleeves rolled up, face calm as she stitched a child while gunfire rattled the walls outside. No flinching. No shaking. Just steady hands and steel nerves.
Ellis had covered the door.
When it was over, she'd looked up at him and said, "You're blocking my light."
He'd fallen in love right there.
A crash snapped him back to the present.
The reinforced lab doors at the far end of the corridor buckled inward.
"CONTACT!" someone shouted.
The door burst open.
The thing that came through had once been an officer.
Ellis recognized the uniform instantly. Rank insignia torn. Name patch half-ripped away. The man's face was gray, slack, jaw hanging wrong—but his eyes locked onto the nearest living body with horrifying precision.
The officer moved fast.
Not smart.
Just relentless.
Ellis fired once.
The round took the man through the upper chest. It didn't slow him.
"Head!" Ellis barked.
He fired again.
The second shot snapped the officer's skull back hard enough to crack bone. The body collapsed mid-stride, skidding across the lab floor and slamming into a workstation.
Silence followed.
Heavy. Stunned.
Ellis lowered the rifle, breathing hard. "Get it on the table."
No one moved.
Ellis's voice dropped to iron. "Now."
They rushed forward then—soldiers and techs together—hauling the body onto the steel examination table where Evan had once lain. Blood smeared across stainless steel, dripping onto the floor in slow, obscene trails.
Ellis rounded on the room.
"Why the fuck isn't this building locked down?"
No one answered.
That answer was enough.
He turned to the nearest soldiers. "You. You. And you. With me."
They moved without question.
The corridors beyond the lab were chaos contained by architecture. Smoke curled from a ruptured vent. Emergency lights cast everything in sickly red. A body lay slumped against the wall—alive or dead, Ellis didn't stop to check.
They cleared room by room.
One scientist tried to run past them screaming.
A hand grabbed her from the darkness.
She was gone before Ellis could react.
They lost two soldiers sealing the west stairwell—one dragged down, the other firing until the clicks echoed empty.
Ellis didn't look back.
He couldn't afford to.
By the time they returned to the lab, sweat soaked through his shirt, blood spattered his sleeves, and his hands shook—not from fear, but from restraint.
The outer lab doors were sealed.
Inner blast doors followed.
Manual locks slammed home one by one.
Finally—silence.
Not peace.
But containment.
Ellis leaned against the glass wall and looked out.
Beyond it, the base burned.
Figures slammed against reinforced windows. Hands slapped glass. Mouths opened in soundless screams. Fires lit the night in orange pulses. Smoke turned the stars invisible.
They were trapped.
Or protected.
That depended on what they did next.
Dr. Michael Wallace appeared at his side like he always did—too calm, too sarcastic, blood on his shoes like he hadn't noticed.
"Well," Mike said, peering at the body on the table. "Guess it's cutting time."
Ellis huffed once. "You're an asshole."
Mike grinned thinly. "Keeps me sane."
Ellis turned to the room. Survivors. Injured. Scientists. Soldiers. Women pressed into corners, clutching wounds and each other.
"We secure this building," Ellis said. "Or we die slow. No running. No hero shit. We move as one unit."
No one argued.
"We leave the injured and non-combatants here," he continued. "Guard rotation. Ration food. No noise unless necessary."
He paused.
"And from now on—we check everything."
Mike raised an eyebrow. "Bites?"
Ellis shook his head. "Scratches. Blood exposure. Open wounds. If it touched you—we need to know."
The weight of that settled hard.
They began checking.
Hands shaking. Sleeves rolling up. Faces turning away in shame or fear.
Ellis stood by the table, staring down at the dead officer.
The lab was locked.
The base was falling.
And the truth was finally undeniable.
This wasn't something they could outrun.
This was something they would have to understand.
Or die trying.
Ellis closed his eyes briefly.
"Sharon," he whispered into the silence.
Then he opened them again and went to work.