The air in downtown Los Angeles (DTLA) was thick with tension and confusion.
Sirens blared and red-blue lights bounced off glass skyscrapers like fireworks without celebration. A perimeter had already been set around the MidasTech office building, a sleek tower of mirrored glass now silhouetted by chaos. Yellow caution tape fluttered in the breeze like torn ribbon from a party gone violently wrong.
News vans lined the sidewalks. Drones hovered overhead capturing shaky aerial footage. Civilians crowded behind barricades, phones out, voices buzzing.
KCLA 9 NEWS – LIVE
The camera light flicked on, illuminating a well-dressed reporter as she pressed a finger to her earpiece.
"We're coming to you live from the scene of an active Incursion in the heart of LA's financial district. Reports are still coming in, but officials have confirmed an outbreak of Blights." she paused, a little breathless, "Inside the MidasTech tower, the type of blight is still unknown. So far, no civilian casualties have been confirmed, but eyewitnesses say they've seen people being attacked."
Behind her, a man in a baseball cap yelled, "They're eating people! They're eating 'em!" before being gently pulled back by a nearby officer.
More sirens wailed in the distance. Black SUVs marked with the official logo of the ABTF — Anti-Blight Task Force — pulled up to the front line, and out stepped men and women in sleek navy-and-black tactical armor. Visors flipped down. Orders were shouted. Pulse rifles were locked and loaded.
A different news station cut to a wide shot.
LIVE – KTMC 12
"...as you can see behind me, ABTF units have just arrived to begin containment. Witnesses say the first emergency call came through a Hero Phone just fifteen minutes ago. But strangely, someone else beat the authorities to the scene."
The anchor tilted her head. "A cape."
Another cut. A woman in workout clothes was being interviewed.
"He went in there!" she said, eyes wide. "Some kid. Like, really young. Hoodie. Had a backpack, I think. Just ran in before anyone could stop him!"
"Did you recognize him?" the reporter asked.
"No. Never seen him before."
More murmurs erupted in the crowd. Speculation ran wild.
"Was it Crosswind?"
"No way, he's in Atlanta right now."
"I think it's one of Solar Girl's new sidekicks!"
"Didn't he look kind of small to you?"
Meanwhile, behind the ABTF line, a junior field agent tapped away at a tablet and glanced up at the captain.
"That Hero Phone call sir... It came only minutes before the cape ran in," she said. "You don't think it's him do you?"
The captain grunted. "That kid?"
"Yes, sir."
"Its gotta be, dammit!" he muttered. "Its every damn week with this kid. When's he gonna realise this shit isn't a game."
A sharp, single gunshot echoed from deep within the building.
The camera panned in tight on the glass tower.
All the armed forces and even some of the officers immediately pointed their weapons at the building entrance, expecting monsters to come rushing out, it was instinct. They were all well trained.
The captain narrowed his eyes.
"Single gunshot," he muttered. "That's gotta be him."
More orders were shouted. Officers began to push the barricade further back, working to move the civilians to safety. Tensions rose. Drones dipped lower for a better angle.
Inside MidasTech's inner lobby.
He stood still, masked, breathing heavily. His chest rose and fell under the patchwork of armor pieces strapped to his hoodie and cargo pants. A makeshift hero costume if ever there was one, homemade shoulder plates, a scratched-up domino mask, fingerless gloves and shin guards duct-taped at the seams. He looked like a cosplay reject. But he was here. And he was trying.
In his right hand, he held a 9mm pistol, smoke still drifting from the barrel, but the zombie barely flinched.
The shot had landed. Square on it's forehead, but it barely even left a mark as the bullet clattered to the floor.
The zombie, a former security guard, badge still glinting under blood and rot, staggered forward.
"I knew that wouldn't work!" the boy shouted, voice cracking slightly under pressure. He was young. Too young. But already far too deep into something most adults would run from.
He darted sideways, weaving past the groaning man and breaking into a sprint across the spacious marble lobby. Overturned desks. Shattered glass. Papers fluttering like feathers. A pool of blood under the reception desk.
He leapt over the check-in barriers with surprising agility, almost slipping mid-air but regaining his balance with a skid.
The elevator was ahead.
He slammed the button. Once. Twice. Again and again and again.
The elevator finally chimed as it began it's descent.
5…
4…
3…
The groans behind him grew louder.
The zombie had turned. It was following him. Slow, relentless.
It reached the waist-high barrier he had just jumped. Slammed into it once. Twice. Then leaned too far.
CRASH
It toppled over, landed in a heap, and slowly pushed itself up again.
The boy hit the button harder. "Come on, come on!"
The elevator chimed.
The doors slid open.
Without thinking, he dove inside and slapped the number 15 as fast as he could, jabbing it over and over. But before the doors could close, the zombie reached the threshold, its arms swinging wildly as it began to step inside.
"Aw, heck no!"
With perfect timing and every ounce of strength he had, the boy kicked hard,
WHUMP
His boot collided with the zombie's chest.
"This is NOT how I die!"
The zombie flew backward, crashed against the marble floor, and twitched in a pile of limbs. The elevator doors closed with a soft ding.
Silence. Then the elevator music began, slowly, old-timey and light-hearted.
He slid down against the elevator wall, landing in a seated position, legs stretched out in front of him. He exhaled slowly, and the pistol in his hand slowly evaporated in a faint mist before disappearing completely
"That was close…"
He stared at the digital floor numbers as they slowly climbed.
2…
3…
4…
"Zombies huh… This has gotta be a first in history, and I'm actually first on the scene."
He smirked faintly, then shook his head.
Focus.
His expression shifted, determined now.
"I gotta make sure there's nobody else left in here."
The elevator doors slid open with a muted ding, spilling a square of dim yellow light into the dark, cavernous expanse ahead. A sea of cubicles stretched out before him, dozens of identical workstations filled with silent monitors, tipped-over chairs, half-empty coffee mugs, and computer mice left mid-drag.
It was eerily quiet.
The boy stepped out slowly, back pressed to the wall. The elevator light cast long shadows that reached across the floor like fingers. The second he left that pool of light, it was pitch black ahead. Shapes merged, depth vanished, and every breath he took sounded too loud.
With cautious steps, he began to head towards the cubicle maze. Rows upon rows like a modern-day labyrinth, filled with abandoned pens, overturned keyboards, the occasional family photo still propped up on a desk. His footsteps were careful. Silent.
But as he turned into a new row, something grabbed his ankle.
In one fluid, instinctive motion, a gun materialized in his hand, clanging into existence with overlapping parts snapping together in milliseconds. He spun the weapon downwards, finger already on the trigger.
"Don't shoot! Please, don't shoot!"
His eyes adjusted just in time.
It was a woman, mid-thirties maybe, dressed in a once-pristine blouse now wrinkled and streaked with dust. She lay curled under a desk, shaking. Her mascara ran like ink down her face.
He exhaled. Lowered the gun.
"It's okay, ma'am," he said, his voice calmer now. "I'm here to help."
He knelt, offering her his hand. She took it with trembling fingers, and he gently helped her to her feet.
"You… you're one of them," she said between shaky breaths, brushing her hair behind her ears. "A hero?"
He straightened his back just a little. "The name's Arsenal miss. I'm glad you're safe."
The woman turned, cupping her hands over her mouth like a whisper would still be too loud.
"Guys, there's a hero here! We're saved!"
Then,
Rustling.
From under desks, side rooms, closet doors.
Click. Slam. Shuffle.
One by one, people began to emerge, silent, hopeful, exhausted. Some limped. Some sobbed quietly. A man wore a shoe on one foot and barefoot on the other. They all had the look of survivors clinging to a single moment of hope.
"Really? Is it Crosswind?"
"There's a hero here?"
"Oh thank God…"
"We're saved!"
Arsenal's eyes widened as the crowd gathered, at least fifteen, maybe twenty. Too many.
"Shit…" he muttered under his breath, already doing the math in his head.
---
MEANWHILE – A FEW FLOORS UP
Thalia stood hunched over, hands on her knees, panting. Her back throbbed. Her clothes were drenched in sweat. The elevator doors had just closed behind her, the soothing hum of that same elevator music playing softly through dusty speakers.
She finally exhaled.
"I can't just keep running like this, damn if only I still had that sword."
The two zombies from before were left behind, but barely. If she hadn't made it into the elevator in time.
DING
A system window blinked to life in front of her.
BONUS OBJECTIVE
RESCUE THE GROUP OF SURVIVORS ON THE 18TH & 15TH FLOOR (OPTIONAL)
Thalia groaned. "You've gotta be kidding me…"
Somewhere in the Mojave Desert a few miles outside of Las Vegas a sword just tore a hole through a car roof and is currently hurtling it's way at lightning speed towards California.