As the armored ambulance pushed forward, Malisha's vitals slowly began to stabilize. The frantic edge in the air dulled—not into relief, but into something quieter. The crew's fear shifted, no longer centered only on whether she would live, but on what waited ahead.
Raghav finally broke the silence.
"How is it that the zombies aren't reacting?" he asked the driver. "The engine's loud enough."
The driver didn't answer.
No one did.
Their eyes turned instead toward Ashish—as if words themselves needed his permission.
Ashish adjusted his gloves calmly. "The sound output is tuned to a controlled frequency," he said. "It doesn't trigger zombie response patterns. And most of the infected around here are freshly converted—there's still residue of human instinct left in them. They avoid heavily armed vehicles like this."
Siya leaned closer to Malisha, watching her chest rise and fall. "Is she… okay?"
Ashish followed her gaze. "For now," he said honestly. "I've stabilized her. Nothing more. To properly assess the damage, we need the hospital."
"But she'll survive, right?" Dweep asked, unable to keep the edge out of his voice.
Ashish was quiet for a moment.
"She's been exposed to a complicated mix of chemicals," he said finally. "In normal circumstances, I wouldn't make promises." Then, softer, almost thoughtful—"But if she were meant to die from this, she already would have. Her body is fighting. Constantly." A faint smile touched his lips. "With a little help, she'll live. She always does."
The words settled over the crew—not relief exactly, but permission to breathe.
Aditya hadn't looked away from Malisha once.
"Please," he said quietly, voice tight. "Save her. If there's anyone who can… it's you. I'm not doubting that."
Ashish studied him for a moment, then spoke, careful, deliberate.
"How did you find out," he asked, "about her being Queen Conquera?" A pause. "She kept that identity sealed. At least—that's what I knew. We haven't spoken in a long time, but—"
"She had to tell us," Aditya said, still not looking at him.
The ambulance continued forward, its path unchallenged, its destination unseen.
And somewhere ahead, the Ghost Hospital waited.
Malisha took a few deep breaths—strong enough to draw Ashish's attention, and soon after, the focus of the entire crew inside the ambulance.
Aditya finally let out a faint smirk.
"Such an attention seeker. Always," he muttered.
Only Siya, seated beside Malisha, heard him.
"Well," she said quietly, "I doubt this one's her fault."
Aditya's expression broke.
"No… no, it is my fault. If I had listened to her—if I had just let her go to the checkpoint—this wouldn't have happened. She wouldn't be like this—"
His voice cracked. Tears rolled down his cheeks, but his eyes never left Malisha.
"I don't think this is anyone's fault," Siya said gently, her voice steady.
Ashish picked up another syringe.
"I shouldn't be giving this," he said, hesitating for a fraction of a second, "but I don't have a choice."
He injected it carefully.
"Driver," Ashish called sharply, "how long till we reach?"
"Within a minute, doctor," the driver replied. "It's only been six minutes since we left."
Ashish shot him a sideways glance.
"Just do what you're told," the nurse whispered to the driver.
"Don't try to be oversmart."
In moments, their ride veered off the main path toward what looked like an old, abandoned private hospital.
The surroundings were crawling with zombies—too many to maneuver around.
The driver pressed a red button.
Instantly, mounted machine guns on the vehicle came alive, firing with brutal precision. Any zombie that crossed their path was cut down before it could come close.
They reached the hospital's main gate.
Two guards rushed forward, pulling it open just wide enough for the ambulance truck to storm in. The gates slammed shut behind them—but not before two zombies slipped through.
One was dropped immediately, a single clean shot from a guard.
The second didn't make it two steps.
A sharp red beam sliced across its chest—the laser detection system had triggered. Automated guns, embedded across the hospital walls like CCTV cameras, fired in unison. The body hit the ground before anyone blinked.
The vehicle finally came to a halt.
The doors burst open.
A wave of hospital staff rushed in like a storm.
"ICU. Now," Ashish ordered, jumping out. "Run her blood tests immediately. She's not stable—at all. We don't have time. Move, fast!"
Malisha was wheeled out at once, Ashish running alongside her as they disappeared into the building.
The crew was guided out by the remaining medical staff.
"Come on," one of the nurses said firmly. "It's safe here. No zombies. No ranks either. You're okay."
Reha hesitated, summoning all the courage she had before stepping out. Her voice trembled.
"Isn't your doctor… a ranked person?"
"Yes," the nurse replied calmly. "But he's neutral. He holds a rank—he doesn't use it."
She softened, offering a small, reassuring smile.
"You can trust us. I'm his first nurse. I was a survivor once too—just like you."
She held out her hand.
"I'm Neha."
The entire crew stepped out of the ambulance truck and followed Neha into the building.
She stopped midway through the corridor and turned to them.
"You're OGs," she said calmly. "How many of you are survivors?"
One by one, the survivors nodded.
Neha smiled slightly and gestured to a nearby ward boy.
"Take them to the survivors' area. Check for any injuries—no matter how small. Treat them, help them freshen up, and arrange food."
Then she turned back to the group.
"And do the same for the OGs here—in the warriors' section."
The ward boy led the survivors down a different corridor, while the rest of the team followed Neha.
Siya looked around, taking in the clean corridors, the quiet efficiency.
"How is this place still operational? It's completely off the OG radar."
Neha nodded.
"That was the idea. This hospital never shut down. People have been working here continuously. It's a neutral place—we help anyone in need. Survivors, ranks… anyone. As long as they're alive."
She paused briefly.
"Ashish sir makes sure of that."
Another nurse arrived and began treating the crew. Every small cut, every bruise was cleaned and dressed with care. Brunch was arranged soon after, trays placed neatly in front of them.
No one touched the food.
Finally, breaking the silence, Raghav spoke, his voice tight.
"Where was Malisha taken? Is she… is she okay?"
Neha didn't flinch or rush her answer. She simply pulled a small tablet from the pocket of her scrubs, glanced at the screen, then looked back at them with the same calm, practiced gentleness she'd carried since their arrival.
"She's in observation," Neha said evenly. "Not because she's dying—Ashish sir would never allow that—but because she needs more than stabilization."
She spoke like someone listing facts she'd repeated many times before.
"The cyanide caused internal stress. The adrenaline surge she forced on herself pushed her heart beyond safe limits. The wrist cut—even though shallow—introduced an infection risk in a body that was already compromised. And the gas exposure…" She exhaled softly. "It's a miracle she stayed conscious long enough to release the gas cylinders."
Siya's hands clenched at her sides. "How long?"
Neha met her eyes without hesitation.
"Four to six hours for the main procedure. Another twelve to twenty-four for recovery monitoring. After that, she'll be moved to the high-dependency unit."
A pause.
"No visitors."
Aditya finally spoke, his voice low, almost raw. "Can we… see her after?"
Neha studied him for a moment—not just his face, but the weight he carried behind it.
"You can," she said gently. "But not today. And not until she's awake and lucid. Ashish is very strict about that."
Her tone softened slightly.
"He doesn't want her waking up to a room full of guilt and questions before she's ready to answer them."
Before anyone could respond, footsteps echoed down the corridor.
Ashish appeared—expression blank, posture composed, exhaustion hidden behind discipline.
"So," he said calmly, looking first at Neha, then at the crew, "have our guests been taken care of properly?"
His gaze lingered on them.
"Are you all okay? Get some rest. That place wasn't easy on anyone—was it?"
"Why are you here?" Dweep asked suddenly. "Is she okay? What happened?"
Everyone else held their breath.
Ashish didn't rush his reply.
"Yes," he said. "She's alive. But I'm not operating—yet. Her condition is fragile, and I won't risk making it worse."
A faint, tired smile crossed his face.
"I've done what needed to be done for now. You can't push a body that hard and expect it not to protest. She's pushed hers enough."
Then, quieter but firm:
"Don't worry. I know what I'm doing."
"She's not out of danger," Aditya said softly.
"No," Ashish agreed. "She isn't. But now we wait. We give her time to respond to the medication."
Aditya nodded. One by one, the others did too.
After a moment, Aditya spoke again, hesitant.
"I remember you—as an intern surgeon. Before the apocalypse."
He didn't look up.
"How did you become… this? Rank Twenty. Neutral. This place."
A bitter breath escaped him.
"I know there's a lot I don't understand. I'm probably an idiot, but—"
Ashish looked at him steadily, not unkindly.
"Well… I was that intern surgeon," Ashish said slowly. "In fact, I was promoted. I was a full surgeon—here, in this hospital."
His eyes drifted briefly down the corridor, as if the walls still remembered him.
"Then the apocalypse broke out. We tried to help everyone. Anyone who came through those doors."
A pause.
"And we paid for it. Consequences don't disappear just because your intentions are good."
He folded his arms loosely.
"So we picked up weapons. Me. The staff. Not because we wanted to kill—but because we wanted the hospital to stay standing. Because we wanted people inside to be safe."
"And how did you become Rank Twenty?" Aditya asked quietly.
His gaze sharpened.
"Zombies weren't the only thing you killed, were they?"
Ashish smiled faintly—not offended, not amused. Just tired.
"Malisha's secret didn't sit well with you, did it, Mayank?"
Aditya didn't answer.
"It's fine," Ashish continued. "I get it. Really."
He exhaled.
"I became Rank Twenty because of a failed surgery. The former Rank Twenty—the Don—was brought here. I tried to save him."
His voice lowered.
"But I couldn't."
Silence settled between them.
"I never wanted this rank," Ashish said. "But it turned out to be… useful. For this place. For keeping it neutral."
His eyes hardened, just slightly.
"But don't mistake that for innocence."
He met Aditya's gaze directly.
"I would never argue that my hands are clean."
Aditya scoffed softly.
"Well," he said, "neither are mine."
Then, after a beat, "How is this place even functioning? Food, water, power—everything. Where is it coming from?"
Ashish answered calmly. "We have farms. The river connects to a nearby reservoir. Most of the systems—we maintain them ourselves."
His tone stayed even, but he looked away. His fist tightened, just for a second.
Then he shifted, deliberately.
"I don't suppose you still use the names Mayank and Kavya," he said. "So what are the pseudos now?"
A pause.
"I assume Malisha replaced Kavya."
"Yes," Aditya replied. "She goes by Malisha now. And I'm Aditya."
"Very well, then, Aditya."
Ashish straightened. "I have other patients to attend to. And I need to check on Malisha again."
He nodded once and stepped out.
Only then did the room exhale.
Plates were lifted. Food was touched, then actually eaten—slowly, mechanically. None of them had eaten since the previous night, and now it was almost night again.
Aditya didn't join them.
He sat still, guilt pressing heavier than hunger.
Then the phone in his hand vibrated.
The frequency wasn't fixed.
It shouldn't have connected.
Absent-minded, distracted, he answered.
"Is she okay?" a male voice asked urgently. "Is she alive?"
"She's alive," Aditya said. His voice cracked. A single tear slipped down his cheek.
"She's in danger."
"I thought so," the voice said, softer now. "I was worried."
The line went dead.
Aditya froze.
Raghav choked on his food, coughing hard before managing, "Why did you pick that up? Who was it?"
"I… I don't know," Aditya whispered. His hands began to tremble.
"Was it Raj?" Dweep asked sharply. "Or Rank Eight's people—"
No one spoke after that.
Siya's spoon slipped from her fingers and clattered onto the plate. She didn't move. She didn't breathe.
Neha frowned. "That shouldn't be possible. OG frequencies—even supervisors—don't overlap with ours."
She hesitated. "Rank Eight is dead. His men calling makes no sense either."
She held out her hand. "Give me the phone. I can trace the number."
Aditya swallowed and handed it to her.
"Note this down," he said quietly.
And for the first time since they arrived, the hospital didn't feel safe.
Aditya let Neha write the number down—but he didn't hand over the phone.
"Our siblings will call," he said quietly, fingers tightening around it. "I need to keep this. It's already going to be hard enough handling them."
Neha hesitated, studying his face, the way his grip never loosened.
Then she nodded.
"Alright," she said softly.
She stepped out of the room without another word, closing the door behind her.
The silence she left behind felt heavier than before.