Location: Urban Fringe Zone – Sector 3C, Rooftop FOB "Echo Point"
Time: 22:03 | Day 1 of Infection Collapse
The wind moaned low across the rooftop like a warning.
Logan Hale stood just behind the sandbag line, the cold metal of his HK416 pressed against his vest as he surveyed the ramp leading into darkness. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead, painting the cracked concrete in pulses of ghostly white. Every gust stirred dust, paper, and a smell thick with gasoline and blood.
"Generator's holding at 68%," Hammer muttered, hunched over the field generator's control panel. "If the storm rolls back in, we could lose lighting."
"We'll fight in the dark if we have to," Logan replied, his eyes still locked on the shadows below.
Wraith stood at the far edge of the rooftop with night vision monoculars, his form ghostlike in the dim light. Alexandru Petrescu was crouched behind a reinforced barricade, his Type 56 rifle at the ready. Sofia sat cross-legged under a piece of corrugated metal, fingers white around the steel pipe she still clung to like a lifeline.
And just behind the barricade—silent, massive, immovable—stood Reaper One.
The heavy infantry unit's armor gleamed dull in the low light, painted in faded digital camo. His six-barrel rotary Gatling gun rested across his chest like a serpent coiled to strike. The quiet hum of his onboard diagnostics added an ominous rhythm to the night.
> [SYSTEM ALERT…]
Threat Level: Escalating
Proximity Sensor Triggered
Infected Contacts: 8–12 (Unconfirmed)
Variant Class: Unknown
WAR CREDITS: 9.2
Logan opened the Summon Interface but saw nothing within budget that would change the field.
"Deploy barricades on the secondary access," he ordered.
> [Field Barricade Set – 6 WAR CREDITS]
[Summoning…]
A shimmer pulsed by the southern stairwell. Hammer sprinted down, setting up collapsible mesh-and-metal barriers in a zig-zag pattern. Petrescu joined him, muttering a Romanian prayer under his breath as he braced the final panel.
Then came the sound.
Low, dragging footsteps. Metal against concrete.
All movement stopped.
A figure appeared down the ramp—then another. Half a dozen infected, maybe more, hunched and crawling low. Not mindless. Not screaming. These ones moved like trained scouts, keeping distance, zigzagging between broken cover. One wore a paramedic vest. Another, fireproof trousers with a torn security badge still pinned.
"They're recon," Logan muttered.
Reaper One's optics flared red.
"Targets identified. Clearance requested," came the synthetic voice.
"Hold," Logan said.
They waited.
Then, the lead infected charged.
A scream echoed across the rooftop—sharp, primal. Logan dropped the lead target with a single headshot. Wraith and Petrescu fired in tandem, catching two more as they vaulted the barricades. A fourth crawled low and fast, nearly slipping past.
"Corner—left!" Sofia shouted.
Before Logan could react, the Gatling gun roared to life.
Reaper One stepped forward and swept the flank in a blistering arc of gunfire. Concrete chipped, blood sprayed, and the crawling infected was vaporized in a mist of gore.
> +40 WAR CREDITS Earned
Remaining: 43.2
"Contact right!" Wraith snapped.
An infected burst from behind a delivery van, moving like a soldier in urban cover. Petrescu adjusted too slow. Logan fired—but missed.
Reaper One moved with shocking speed, stepping between them and absorbing a claw swipe to his armored shoulder. His rotary cannon spun again—point-blank. The infected's chest collapsed like a crushed can.
"Confirmed kill," Reaper One stated flatly.
"Target on the rooftop vent!" Hammer called from the stairwell.
Logan turned. A thin, wiry shape was wriggling through the air duct near Sofia.
She screamed—but not in fear this time.
With a sharp yell, she brought the pipe down hard, slamming it into the creature's head. It spasmed, shrieked—and died.
Sofia dropped the weapon, panting, her arms trembling.
"You alright?" Logan called.
She didn't answer—just gave a silent nod and wiped the blood from her cheek.
More infected surged up the ramp—but then froze at the top, just out of light. One peered out with a shattered police visor still strapped to its face.
"Hold the perimeter," it growled. "Hold... the... perimeter…"
Everyone stopped.
Wraith whispered, "Did it just speak?"
"Yes," Logan replied grimly. "And it remembers what that uniform meant."
The infected retreated, dragging a wounded crawler behind it like a medic hauling a casualty.
> [System Update:]
Infected casualties: 8
Passive Credit Gain: +1.0/hr
Threat Classification: Adapting
Recon units exhibit coordinated movement
Vocal memory fragments confirmed
Logan walked to the map table, eyes scanning Sector 3C. They were holding, but for how long? This was a test—nothing more.
"They're probing defenses," he said to no one in particular.
"We'll be ready next time," Petrescu said quietly, reloading his magazine.
Wraith shook his head. "They're organizing. We need to hit them before they evolve further."
"We will," Logan promised. "But not tonight."
He turned to Hammer. "Reinforce both access points. Run a full diagnostic on the generator. Wraith, you're on second watch with Petrescu. Reaper—initiate perimeter patrol, automatic targeting enabled. Sofia… rest. You earned it."
Reaper One nodded, thudding across the rooftop in heavy footfalls, minigun barrels still faintly smoking.
Sofia sat down beside the humming generator and pulled her knees to her chest. "They're not just infected," she whispered. "They're becoming something else."
Logan looked out at the darkened city. A thousand windows stared back like empty eyes.
"Yeah," he murmured. "And so are we."
> [WAR CREDITS: 43.2]
[Next Unlock Tier: 100 WAR CREDITS – Tactical Tier I Deployment]
[Hold Position Until 06:00 Confirmed]
The fortress would hold—for now.
But war was evolving. And Logan was evolving with it.