The night smelled like smoke and blood.
Ethan led the girl through an alley, his flashlight slicing through the dark. Every sound echoed — footsteps, metal rattles, the low growl of something feeding nearby.
"What's your name?" he whispered.
"Dr. Riley Mason," she said, breathing hard. "I worked at the National Virology Institute."
Ethan glanced at her. "So you helped build this nightmare?"
Riley hesitated. "No… I helped create the cure. But someone made sure it never left the lab."
Before Ethan could respond, a noise crackled from a nearby building — a radio still running on backup power. A male voice came through the static, broken but clear enough:
> "—this is Colonel Hargrove. To any survivors still in D.C., the government has collapsed. Repeat, this is not a drill. The virus was not an accident—"
The message cut off with a scream, then silence.
Riley froze. "That was him. Hargrove. He knew."
"Knew what?" Ethan asked, scanning the street.
"That the infection didn't come from a leak… it was released on purpose."
Thunder rumbled. The air smelled of ozone and rot. Ethan grabbed Riley's hand and pulled her behind a wrecked bus as shadows moved across the street — infected soldiers, their eyes glowing faintly blue.
"Those aren't normal," Ethan whispered.
"They're not," Riley said shakily. "They're the second stage. The ones who can think."
One of the creatures tilted its head, sniffing the air.
Ethan raised his pistol — one bullet left.
Then, suddenly, a voice boomed from a loudspeaker somewhere downtown:
> "Survivors detected. Proceed to evacuation point Bravo. All uninfected will be secured."
Riley's eyes widened. "That's the bunker broadcast! Zone Bravo is still active!"
Ethan nodded. "Then that's where we're going."
But as they slipped into the shadows, neither noticed the drone hovering above — its red lens following them, recording their every move.