The moment I heard "No witnesses," my decision was made.
I slipped out from the treeline like a shadow, using the brush to mask my movement. My heart slowed, breath controlled—training kicking in. Funny how muscle memory doesn't care if the world's gone to hell.
The squad of six was spread out lazily, too comfortable for a world already dead. The leader stood near the truck, barking orders while fiddling with the radio like a man trying to tune in his favorite apocalypse playlist. The others were scattered: two near the tailgate loading supplies, one smoking a cigarette, and two pacing casually with rifles slung low.
Perfect.
I drew my blade, tightened my grip, and moved behind the smoker. In one smooth motion, my arm hooked around his throat, yanking him back as the blade sliced deep across his neck. He gurgled silently, body going limp as I eased him down into the grass. One down. He'll quit smoking now… permanently.
The sound of his rifle clinking against the dirt made the next guy glance over—too late. I lunged forward, slamming the machete into his clavicle before twisting violently. Bone cracked, blood sprayed. He screamed, but my hand clamped over his mouth as I dragged him behind the truck. Two down. Look at that—teamwork makes the dream work.
"Hey, you hear that?" one of the others called out.
Yeah, buddy. You heard "early retirement."
I grabbed the fallen soldier's rifle, switched it to burst, and popped up from behind the tailgate. Tap-tap-tap! Three controlled bursts dropped the three who were pacing, bullets punching through armor into flesh. They hit the ground twitching before going still. Guess they're taking a dirt nap.
"Contact! Contact!" the last man shouted, scrambling for cover—too slow. I charged, ducking under his panicked spray, feeling rounds whiz past my ear. Close, but not close enough. A+ for effort, though.
I slammed into him, shoulder-first, knocking the rifle from his hands. He hit the dirt hard, and I followed with a vicious knee to the ribs, hearing the crunch. His breath left him in a wheeze that sounded like a dying accordion.
I planted my boot on his chest and aimed my pistol between his eyes. "Move, and you die. Actually, scratch that—you move, you die faster."
He froze, eyes wide, chest heaving. His buddies lay dead around us, the forest now quiet except for his ragged breathing.
I holstered my gun, crouched down, and grabbed him by the collar. My voice dropped low, calm, almost friendly.
"You and me—we're going to have a little chat about Cobalt. And if you're lucky… you'll leave this conversation alive. If not… well, let's just say the walkers love fresh meat."
I smiled thinly, leaning in closer.
"So… ready for story time?"
I dragged the last soldier into the shadow of the truck, pressing him against the cold metal. His eyes darted between the corpses of his squad and the barrel of my gun.
"Operation Cobalt," I said, voice low and sharp. "Tell me everything."
He hesitated, throat bobbing as sweat streamed down his face. "I—I can't… That's classified."
I cocked the hammer, letting the click echo in the silence. "Classified? Buddy, look around you. Your whole world's gone classified. Talk. Now. And maybe… maybe I let you walk out of here."
His breathing hitched. Then, finally, he broke. "Cobalt… it's a kill-switch. Full-scale extermination protocol. If containment fails, we eliminate everything. Civilians, infected—everyone."
My jaw tightened. So it's starting already…
He kept talking, desperate now. "We were supposed to regroup at the fallback point, but… we didn't want any part of that. We deserted. We were gonna start over, make our own thing. No more orders, no more killing innocents…"
I stared at him, silent. Then I lowered the pistol slightly. He exhaled, shaky. "So… you'll let me go, right? You said—"
I leaned closer, locking eyes with him. My voice dropped to a whisper. "Yeah… I did say that."
For a second, hope flickered in his face.
Then I smiled coldly. "I lied."
BANG.
The shot cracked like thunder. His body slumped to the dirt, blood pooling beneath him.
I stood there for a moment, staring down at the corpses. Deserted or not, they were soldiers. Dangerous. And if they knew about Cobalt, they couldn't be allowed to spread it.
I wiped the blood from my blade and grabbed a rag to clean my hands. "No loose ends," I muttered, before dragging the bodies deeper into the brush.
Thankfully, before this world went to hell, me, Jessy, and Ray. We trained—hard. Martial arts, self-defense, and sometimes even sparring sessions with the professional bodyguards I hired back then. It wasn't just for fun; I liked knowing how to protect myself, and those guys didn't go easy on us.
Those sessions taught me more than just throwing punches. They drilled one thing into my head: neutralize a threat before it becomes a problem. No hesitation. No second-guessing. If you hesitate, you die.
Over time, I learned to read people, anticipate their moves, and when necessary, end a fight fast by targeting vital points—throat, knees, joints, pressure points. A fight isn't about looking cool; it's about survival. That mindset? It's what's keeping me alive right now.
And out here, in this new world? Those lessons aren't just useful—they're the difference between going home alive or ending up as one of those walking corpses.
"Operation Cobalt… so it's already in motion, huh?" I muttered under my breath, piecing the information together. If that's true, then this should line up with the timeline where Madison and her family board the Abigail with Victor and Daniel.
I paused, gripping my rifle as another thought crept in—a dangerous one.
What if I absorb those people in the safe zones before everything falls apart? Thousands of survivors, soldiers, resources… all under my control. The Federation would grow into something unstoppable. Hell, I could build a damn empire. The last kingdom on Earth—with me on the throne, and my army of zombies as royal guards. King Marcus. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Maybe I'll get a crown made out of walker teeth. Very chic.
But then reality hit me like a cold wind—and not the refreshing kind. The kind that smells like rot and disappointment.
It's probably too late. By now, those so-called "safe zones" are nothing but powder kegs waiting to blow, just counting down the seconds until the dead pour in. The government's already crumbling faster than a cookie in milk. And we all know how that ends: screaming, blood, and one guy trying to reason with a zombie because 'maybe it remembers me.' Spoiler: it doesn't.
I let out a bitter laugh, shaking my head.
"Safe zones… yeah, that's a good joke. Safer than what, exactly? A meat grinder?"
My fingers tightened around the sword as I started walking.
If I want a future for the Federation, I can't rely on their walls or their promises. Those are already rotting. No… if I want control, I need to take it before someone else does. And if that means ripping Cobalt apart piece by piece… then so be it.
"After all," I muttered with a smirk, "what's one more corpse on the pile?"
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