Episode 1: Shadows Before the Bullet
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Cold Open
The city burned.
Hospital lights flickered as shadows slithered across the ruined walls. The night smelled of blood and iron, screams echoing from every floor. Ghost was there—though no one called him that yet. To them, he was just another worker in the emergency wing.
And tonight, he was abandoned.
"They left me…" His voice cracked as he pressed a shaking hand against his ribs.
The faces replayed in his head: the doctors, the EMTs, the nurses—his own co-workers—pushing past him, shoving him toward the collapsing hallway as the creatures came. He had seen their fear, their selfishness. Some had even locked a door behind them to slow the beasts' advance, leaving him trapped.
The betrayal carved itself into his chest sharper than any wound.
From the smoke came the monsters: dog-like silhouettes, their scales black and jagged, eyes burning red. Their claws scraped sparks against tile as they prowled closer.
Ghost had no gun. No blade. No training. Just broken bones and rage boiling inside him.
He picked up a bent metal pipe, gripping it tight with bloody hands.
"If I'm dying here… I'm not dying quiet."
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Act I – Cornered
The first hound lunged. Ghost swung wide, the pipe connecting with its jaw in a brutal clang. The beast recoiled, but not for long.
He moved on instinct, ducking and swinging again. His arms shook from the force. Every impact rattled his bones.
Two more monsters closed in. He backpedaled, teeth clenched, blood dripping into his eyes. His body was breaking. His lungs screamed.
But his will didn't crack.
"Come on, then!" he roared, swinging again.
The hounds snapped at him, their jaws missing flesh by inches. He fought like a trapped animal, every strike wild but desperate, fueled by betrayal.
Yet deep inside, something stirred. A pressure. A rhythm in his veins. His heart thudded too loud, too strong, like something beneath his skin was clawing to get out.
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Act II – Failure's Taste
The pipe bent. His strength faded. His swings slowed.
One beast slammed into him, knocking him through a glass door. Shards bit into his back as he coughed blood. He tried to rise—but his body wouldn't obey.
The monsters circled, their shadows blotting out the orange firelight. He saw their jaws open, strings of saliva glowing against the dark.
"This is it…" His eyes blurred. His voice was barely a whisper. "Left to die. Again."
The sound of claws on the floor grew louder. Closer.
He braced himself for the end.
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Act III – The Arrival
But the death he expected didn't come.
Gunfire erupted down the hall—heavy rifles unleashing thunder. Bullets tore through the beasts, dropping them one by one. The monsters' screams echoed, then silenced.
Ghost blinked through the smoke, barely conscious, as figures in tactical black stepped through the firelight. Hunters. Real ones.
One of them, a scarred woman with a massive blade on her back, knelt down and glared at him.
"You're alive?"
Ghost spat blood. "Unfortunately."
Her squad checked the corpses. The monsters were dead, riddled with bullet holes—kills Ghost couldn't claim. He was still just a weak man crawling in the dirt.
The woman's eyes narrowed at him. "You don't belong here. But by law, you're marked. You survived an outbreak zone. That makes you a candidate."
"A… candidate?"
"For the Hunters." She stood, towering over him. "But don't get it twisted. Solo hunting isn't allowed. You'll need a crew. Two, minimum. Otherwise, you'll just die faster."
Ghost's jaw tightened at the word. Crew. The same kind of people who had abandoned him to die.
But he said nothing.
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Ending Cliffhanger
As the Hunters carried him out of the burning wreckage, Ghost kept his eyes low. His body felt heavy, broken. But deep inside, that strange pressure pulsed again. A heartbeat that wasn't his own.
Something was waiting for him.
It wasn't tonight. Not yet.
But soon.