Julián (The Armored Alpha) POV
The suit was an oven.
"Get it off!" I gasped, clawing at the chest latches. "It's burning me!"
My vision was swimming in red. The heat I had generated on the bridge—the energy required to rip that stone railing loose—was trapped inside the layers of lead and aerogel. Instead of venting, it was bouncing back against my skin.
"Don't take it off!" Elena ordered, her voice echoing in the tunnel. "If you take it off now, the thermal shock of the cold air might send you into a seizure!"
"I'm cooking alive!" I roared, falling to my knees. The metal of my greaves sparked against the concrete.
"Water," Sofía barked. "We need water. Now!"
We were in a service tunnel, lined with pipes and conduits. Steam hissed from a cracked valve overhead.
"There!" Miguel pointed.
A rusted industrial pipe ran along the floor, condensation dripping from it. It was marked with blue tape: Industrial Coolant / Grey Water.
"Sofía, break it!" Elena yelled.
Sofía didn't hesitate. She raised her boot and stomped on the rusted joint of the pipe.
CLANG.
Nothing. She stomped again, putting her weight into it.
CRACK. HISSSSS.
A jet of murky, freezing water sprayed out of the fracture.
"Julián, get in it!"
I crawled forward and collapsed under the spray. The cold water hit the superheated armor with a violent hiss, turning instantly to steam. It felt like being branded, then... relief.
I opened the suit's faceplate. The water flooded in, soaking my hair, running down my neck inside the suit.
Sssssssss.
The violet light pulsing under my skin dimmed. The roar of static in my ears faded to a manageable whisper. I slumped against the wall, the water pooling around my armored legs.
"Status?" Sofía asked, hovering over me.
"Stable," I coughed, spitting out water. "I'm... cool."
"Good," she patted my helmet. "Because we aren't alone."
She pointed down the tunnel.
The tunnel ended at a massive blast door. It was painted white, cleaner than anything we had seen in days. And on the center, stenciled in black:
SITE VESTA – SECTOR 4 LABORATORY
AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY
The door was slightly ajar. The lock had been melted off.
"Someone beat us here," Sofía whispered, raising her MP5.
Dr. Elena Vargas POV
We moved in a diamond formation. Sofía on point, Julián—hulking and dripping wet—at the rear.
We slipped through the broken blast door.
The transition was jarring. We left the dark, filthy tunnels and stepped into a world of sterile, fluorescent horror.
It was a laboratory. Or it had been.
Shattered glass crunched under our boots. Papers were scattered everywhere. But it was the walls that drew my eye. They were lined with floor-to-ceiling glass tanks.
Most were empty, the glass broken from the inside. But one, in the corner, was still intact.
I walked toward it, drawn by a morbid curiosity.
Inside, suspended in a yellow preservation fluid, was a... thing. It looked human, but its arms were too long, dragging past its knees. Its jaw was split vertically.
"Specimen 014," I read the plaque. "Thermal Hypertrophy Failure."
"It looks like Julián," Camila whispered, standing behind me.
"No," I said, looking at the creature's distorted, exploded muscle mass. "This is what happens when the virus runs unchecked. This is what happens without the cooling."
I moved to a computer terminal on a central desk. The screen was cracked, but the tower was humming.
"Camila, watch the door," I ordered. "I need a minute."
I sat down and started typing. The system was locked, but the admin password was taped to the monitor on a sticky note: Prometheus. Lazy. Arrogant.
The screen flickered to life. Files scrolled past.
> Project VESTA Status: TERMINATED.
> Containment Breach: 98%.
> Asset Retrieval: IN PROGRESS.
"Asset retrieval?" I frowned.
I clicked the folder. A video file popped up. It was a recording from a security camera in this very room, dated two days ago.
A man in a white lab coat was shoving hard drives into a briefcase. He was shouting at someone off-screen.
"You can't just liquidate the site! The Alpha subject is still viable!"
A voice responded, cold and distorted by a radio. "The Alpha is loose in the city. The experiment is a wash. Cleanup crew is inbound. Burn it all."
The scientist turned to run, but three red dots appeared on his chest.
THWIP. THWIP. THWIP.
He dropped.
The video ended.
"Cleanup crew," I whispered, the blood draining from my face. "They aren't here to save anyone. They're here to erase the evidence."
"Elena," Sofía's voice was low, urgent. "Movement."
I spun around. Sofía was crouched behind a tipped-over metal table, aiming down the hallway that led deeper into the facility.
"Lights," Sofía hissed. "Cut the lights."
I slammed my hand on the breaker switch on the wall. The lab plunged into darkness, save for the faint emergency LEDs on the floor.
We waited.
Then we heard it. Not the clicking of the infected. Not the shuffling of zombies.
Boots. Rhythmic, synchronized rubber soles on tile.
"Check your corners. Sector 4 clear. Moving to Sector 5."
A human voice. Crisp. Professional.
"Roach, take point. Any civvies or infected, you drop 'em. No witnesses."
Sofía (The Muscle) POV
Mercenaries.
I knew the type. Private Military Contractors (PMCs). High-speed gear, low morals, and paid by the body count.
I counted four distinct sets of footsteps. Probably a fireteam. Standard sweep and clear.
"They have night vision," I whispered to the team, huddled behind the reception desk. "They'll see our heat signatures. Especially Julián."
Julián looked at me. The suit. It was a thermal insulator.
"The suit," I realized. "It traps the heat. To them, you might look like a cold spot. Or a ghost."
"What do we do?" Camila was shaking, gripping the Glock so hard her knuckles were white.
"We ambush them," I said. "There is no negotiating with a cleanup crew."
I looked at the layout. The lab was a kill box. Rows of desks, glass tanks, limited cover.
"Julián," I pointed to the ceiling. "Can you get up there?"
Julián looked up. Exposed ductwork and support beams ran across the ceiling, shrouded in shadow.
"Yes," he rumbled.
"Get up there. Stay cold. Drop on my signal."
Julián moved. For a guy wearing eighty pounds of armored suit, he was terrifyingly quiet. He leaped, grabbed a beam, and hauled himself up into the darkness.
"Elena, Camila, stay down. Miguel, give me one of those flashbangs."
Miguel handed me the last grenade with trembling hands.
The footsteps got closer. Beams of infrared light—visible only as faint red glints—swept the room.
"Contact," one of them whispered. "Heat bloom on the desk. Recent."
They were good. They saw where I had been sitting a moment ago.
A soldier stepped into the room. I saw him through the gap in the desk. Black tactical gear, suppressed carbine, quad-nods (night vision goggles). No patches.
"Clear left," another voice.
Three of them moved in. The fourth hung back at the door. Rear guard. Smart.
I waited until the point man was five feet from the desk.
I pulled the pin on the flashbang and rolled it across the floor.
It clicked against the tiles.
"Grenade!"
BANG.
The flash blinded their night vision goggles. Even with auto-gating, a flashbang at close range washes out the sensors for a critical few seconds.
I popped up.
POP-POP. POP-POP.
I double-tapped the point man in the chest plate. The Kevlar held, but the force knocked him winded. I shifted aim to the second guy—aiming for the exposed neck.
He was fast. He dove behind a lab bench and returned fire.
THWIP-THWIP-THWIP.
Bullets shredded the desk I was using for cover. Wood splinters rained on my face.
"Suppressing fire!" the rear guard yelled, laying down a stream of lead that pinned me down completely.
"Flanking right!" the third guy shouted.
They were moving to encircle me. I was one shooter against a squad.
"Julián! NOW!" I screamed.
From the ceiling, a shadow detached itself.
Julián didn't land near the flanker. He landed on him.
CRUNCH.
The mercenary crumpled under the weight of the suit and the Alpha bone density. Julián stood up, towering over the squad.
"What the hell is that?" the rear guard shouted, swinging his rifle.
Julián didn't wait. He backhanded the soldier next to him. The man flew across the room, smashing through one of the glass specimen tanks. Preservation fluid and glass exploded everywhere.
"Hostile heavy! Hostile heavy!" The team leader was screaming into his radio. "It's the Alpha! Focus fire!"
Three carbines turned on Julián.
THWIP-THWIP-THWIP-THWIP.
Bullets sparked off his armored chest and helmet. The suit was holding, but it was degrading.
"No!" Camila screamed.
She popped up from behind the filing cabinets. She didn't aim. She just pointed the Glock and pulled the trigger as fast as she could.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
She missed the soldiers, but one of her stray rounds hit a gas canister on the wall labeled OXYGEN.
HISSSSSSSS.
"Gas!" I yelled.
The rear guard turned to silence Camila.
I rolled out from cover, leveled the MP5, and put a burst into his leg. He went down screaming.
"Clear!" I shouted.
The room went quiet. Two mercs down, one unconscious in a pile of glass, one holding his leg.
Julián stood in the center, his suit riddled with bullet pockmarks. He was breathing heavy, the steam venting from his helmet again.
I walked over to the team leader—the one with the leg wound. I kicked his rifle away and pressed the muzzle of my MP5 to his forehead.
"Who are you?" I demanded.
He laughed. A wet, bloody cough. "Doesn't matter. We're just the first wave. If we don't check in... they send the air support."
"Air support?" Elena asked, stepping out.
"Thermobaric," the merc grinned, blood staining his teeth. "They're going to glass the district. You're all dead already."
I pistol-whipped him unconscious.
"We have to move," I said, checking my ammo. "We have maybe ten minutes before they realize this squad is offline."
"Where?" Camila asked, looking at the carnage. "If they have air support, going to the surface is suicide."
Elena ran back to the computer.
"There's a sub-level," she said, typing furiously. "A secure vault. If this was a testing ground, the vault is where they kept the 'Antidote' or the original strain. It's the most fortified room in the city."
"Bunker down?" I asked.
"Bunker down," Elena nodded. "And it might have a comms array strong enough to broadcast outside the jamming zone."
"Then we go deep," I said. "Julián, pointman. You're bulletproof enough."
We moved toward the heavy security door at the back of the lab.