Amitesh trudged up the stairs toward his room, legs heavy from the long day.
Halfway up, he froze.
Someone was standing directly in front of him—back turned.
But something was terribly wrong.
His eyes drifted upward.
…No head.
The figure slowly rotated. Its stomach split open like a gaping mouth, rows of long, needle-sharp teeth glistening inside the dark cavity.
Before Amitesh could scream, it lunged.
"AAAHHH!"
He jolted awake in his own bed, heart hammering against his ribs.
"Ahh… just a dream. Thank god."
He exhaled shakily, rubbed his face, and dragged himself out of bed. After splashing water on his face and throwing on fresh clothes, he reached for the doorknob.
Thud.
A heavy sound came from the other side—like someone had just face-planted.
He yanked the door open.
Zoey was sprawled on the floor, cheek pressed to the tiles, arms flailed out.
Amitesh blinked. "Huh? You okay, Zoey?"
Zoey groaned, pushing herself up. "Yeah, yeah… just fell. Who the hell set traps out here?!"
Amitesh scratched the back of his neck. "Uh… me."
She shot him a look while brushing dust off her knees. "Why?!"
"My leg got caught in your stupid string!"
Amitesh shrugged, trying to sound casual. "Just… safety precautions.
'After I found out I'm literally the only person living on the 25th floor, I figured traps were a good idea. Last time I got kidnapped, I promised myself it wouldn't happen again.'
Zoey rolled her eyes, standing fully now. "Whatever. Get moving. You're patrolling the border with me today."
She stretched her arms high above her head as she spoke.
Today she wore a cropped top—tight, short, ending well above her navel. When she stretched, the fabric rode up even further, exposing the smooth curve of her waist and the gentle dip of her lower belly. The morning light caught the faint outline of her abs as she twisted slightly.
Amitesh's throat went dry.
His heart slammed against his chest like it wanted to break free.
He swallowed hard and jerked his gaze away, cheeks burning.
No dirty thoughts, Amitesh. No. Dirty. Thoughts.
He muttered under his breath like a mantra.
Zoey dropped her arms and glanced at him sideways.
"Let's go."
He nodded quickly—too quickly—and fell into step beside her.
They walked side by side down the long corridor. Even though he kept his eyes firmly ahead, the image kept replaying in his mind: her stretching, the way the top lifted, the soft curves that appeared for just a second…
He clenched his jaw.
Stop it. Stop it right now.
Meanwhile, a small, wicked smirk curled inside Zoey's mind.
Oh sweet boy… you think I didn't notice you staring?
She didn't say a word, didn't turn her head, didn't give any sign.
But the smirk grew.
Auu, your flustered little face was kinda cute this time… so I'll let it slide.
Next time though?
Her fingers flexed slightly at her side.
I'll crush that pretty head between my hands.
She kept walking, pace relaxed, expression innocent.
Amitesh had no idea the predator walking right beside him was already counting down.
___
The walk to the northern border took almost forty minutes.
The compound's outer ring was a maze of half-collapsed warehouses, rusted shipping containers, and tall chain-link fences patched with whatever scrap metal they could find. Wind carried the smell of old oil and distant smoke.
Amitesh kept stealing glances at Zoey's side profile.
She walked with that loose, confident stride—arms swinging just enough to make the crop top shift every few steps.
Every time she raised an arm to point something out or scratch the back of her neck, a thin strip of skin appeared again. He tried counting cracks in the concrete instead. Failed miserably.
Zoey suddenly stopped.
She turned her head slowly toward him, eyes narrowed
"You're doing it again."
Amitesh flinched like someone had cracked a whip. "Doing what?"
"That adorable little pervert routine."
She closed the distance in two steps.
"That thing where you stare for three seconds, look away for two, then stare again like you think I've magically gone blind
"Three seconds staring. Two seconds looking away like a guilty puppy. Then back again. Your brain must be exhausted."
She stepped closer—too close.
"Your pupils are basically doing push-ups right now."
His face went nuclear.
"I—I wasn't—"
"Save it." She smirked, slow and dangerous. "You're so obvious it's almost painful. Cute, but painful."
She reached up and — very deliberately — tugged the hem of her crop top an extra inch higher, just for a heartbeat, before letting it fall back.
Amitesh made a noise somewhere between a choke and a prayer.
She laughed low in her throat.
"God, the way your Adam's apple just did a backflip. Priceless."
She stepped even closer, voice dropping to a dangerous purr.
"You know what I'm thinking right now?"
He couldn't speak. Just shook his head a tiny fraction.
"I'm thinking…" her finger traced one slow line down the center of his chest, "…that if you keep staring like that, I'm going to pin you against the next container we pass, hold your chin, and make you look me in the eyes for a full two minutes. No blinking. No looking away. Just you, slowly melting."
Amitesh's knees almost buckled.
"…That's… that's psychological warfare."
"That's motivation," she corrected
She reached out and flicked his forehead lightly with two fingers.
You want the reward? Earn it. Survive patrol without turning into a tomato every thirty seconds."
She spun on her heel and kept walking, hips swinging a little more than necessary.
Amitesh opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
"…Noted."
Zoey laughed—short, sharp, delighted—and turned back toward the fence line.
"C'mon, loverboy. We've got actual work."
They reached the border observation post: a rickety metal scaffold someone had welded into a makeshift tower.
From up top they could see the entire stretch of no-man's-land—cracked asphalt, overgrown weeds, and the skeletal remains of an old highway overpass in the distance.
Zoey climbed first.
Amitesh followed.
Bad decision.
Her shorts rode up slightly with each rung.
He nearly missed a step.
When they reached the platform she was already leaning on the railing, scanning the horizon with binoculars.
"Anything?" he asked, voice slightly hoarse.
"Nothing yet. Quiet today." She lowered the binoculars. "Too quiet, maybe."
Amitesh tried to focus on the landscape.
Tried.
Zoey lowered the binoculars for a second, glanced sideways at Amitesh without moving her head.
"You're breathing like you just ran a marathon."
"I'm… fine," he managed, gripping the railing so hard his knuckles looked ready to pop.
She tilted her head, studying him like he was some mildly interesting bug.
"Your heart's doing gymnastics again, isn't it?"
Amitesh stared very deliberately at a random patch of rust on the railing.
"I'm just… appreciating the view. The scenery. Strategic overview. Very important."
"Uh-huh." Zoey's voice dripped with amusement. "And that scenery has nothing to do with the fact that my shorts are currently winning the battle against gravity?"
He made a strangled noise somewhere between a cough and a dying animal.
She laughed again—low this time, almost fond.
"Relax, sweet boy. I'm not gonna eat you." A tiny pause. "Yet."
Amitesh risked one micro-glance. Big mistake.
She was leaning forward now, elbows on the railing, back slightly arched, crop top doing its usual treasonous sliding-up routine. The wind tugged at the hem, flashing another inch of smooth skin before letting it fall back.
His brain short-circuited.
Abort. Abort mission. Look at the horizon. Look at literally anything else.
Too late.
Zoey caught the exact millisecond his eyes flicked down.
She didn't even turn fully—just shifted her weight so her hip cocked out a little more, casual, like she hadn't noticed.
But the smirk said she absolutely had.
"Three… two… one," she counted softly.
Amitesh snapped his gaze back up so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
"See?" she said, finally turning to face him properly. "You're trainable."
He dragged both hands down his face.
"You're evil." She said.
"I'm motivational."
"You're a walking war crime."
She stepped right into his space again—close enough that he could smell whatever faint citrusy shampoo she used mixed with gun oil and warm skin.
"And you're blushing so hard I can see your pulse in your ears," she murmured. "It's adorable. Makes me wanna pinch your cheeks… or maybe something else."
Amitesh made a noise that was half squeak, half prayer.
Zoey's eyes sparkled with pure mischief.
"Tell you what," she said, voice dropping lower. "If we get through today without dying, I'll let you stare for ten whole seconds. No teasing. No threats. Full permission."
His brain flatlined.
"Ten… seconds?"
"Uh-huh." She tapped one finger against his chest—right over his hammering heart. "But only if you survive. Deal?"
He swallowed roughly. "Deal."
She grinned like she'd already won.
"Good boy."
Then she turned back to the binoculars like nothing had happened, leaving him standing there with smoke practically coming out of his ears.
For several long minutes they just scanned in silence.
Amitesh tried to focus. He really did.
Every time the wind gusted and lifted the hem of her top again, though, his resolve crumbled a little more.
Every time the wind gusted and lifted the hem of her top again, though, his resolve crumbled a little more.
Concentrate. Border. Duty. Monsters. Not her waist. Not her waist. Not—
Concentrate. Border. Duty. Monsters. Not her waist. Not her waist. Not—
Zoey spoke without looking at him.
"You're still thinking about it, aren't you?"
"…No comment."
She snorted. "Honest, at least."
Another beat of quiet.
Then, softer, almost like she didn't mean for him to hear it:
"You're cute when you're trying so hard not to look."
Amitesh's heart did a full backflip.
He opened his mouth to say something—anything—but nothing intelligent came out.
Zoey's voice cut through the tension like a blade.
"Movement. Far side. Near the overpass."
Amitesh snapped his eyes in that direction.
At first he thought it was just another heat shimmer above the cracked asphalt.
Then the shimmer grew wings.
Huge. Dark crimson feathers that looked wet, almost oily, catching the weak sunlight in bloody streaks.
Wingspan had to be at least sixteen feet—maybe more. No eyes. Just a long, segmented beak that split open like a grotesque flower the moment it sensed them, revealing rows of jagged, inward-curving teeth glistening with something black and viscous.
It wasn't the stomach-mouth creature from his dream.
This was something new.
Something worse.
And it was already airborne—climbing fast, banking hard toward their tower.
"Zoey—"
Before he could finish, the thing dove.
It covered the three hundred meters in seconds. Faster than anything that size should move.
"Shit—!" Zoey dropped the binoculars and reached for her pistol.
No time.
The crimson wings snapped shut like a guillotine. The beak opened wider, teeth flashing.
Amitesh didn't think.
"Zoey—dodge!"
He threw himself forward, slamming into her side with all his weight.
They crashed to the platform floor in a tangle of limbs just as the beak sliced through the air where Zoey's head had been a heartbeat earlier. Metal screamed as the beak gouged a long, curling strip out of the railing. Sparks flew. The whole scaffold shuddered.
Amitesh landed on top of her—chest to chest, faces inches apart.
For one stupid second the world narrowed to just her wide eyes looking up at him, pupils blown with adrenaline, lips parted in surprise.
Then she blinked.
"Awww," she purred, voice husky despite the situation. "Can't control yourself, huh?"
His face ignited.
"Shut up! No time to joke!"
He scrambled off her, rolling to his knees and yanking the rifle up.
The bird-thing was already banking for another pass—wings beating once, twice, sending a wave of hot, rancid wind across the platform. The smell hit like rotting meat and copper.
Amitesh tracked it, heart slamming so hard he could feel it in his teeth.
"Twenty meters…" he muttered, mostly to himself. "Come on, you ugly bastard…"
Zoey was already back on her feet beside him, pistol in a perfect two-handed grip, stance low and steady.
"Make it count, sweet boy."
The creature dove again—lower this time, beak wide, teeth like a bear trap ready to close.
Amitesh waited.
Ten meters.
Five.
.
Now.
He stepped forward into the path and drove the rifle butt upward with every ounce of strength in his body.
CRACK!
The metal stock connected dead-center with the underside of the beak.
A sharp splintering sound—something hard but brittle giving way. A hairline fracture spiderwebbed across the dark keratin, leaking a thin line of black ichor.
The bird screeched—a wet, metallic sound that vibrated in their bones—and veered off violently, one wing clipping the scaffold hard enough to tilt the entire platform ten degrees.
Amitesh stumbled, grabbing the railing to keep from falling.
Zoey caught his arm, yanking him back upright.
"Not bad," she said, breathing fast. "You just pissed it off."
The creature circled once, higher now, head tilting as though reassessing them. The cracked beak hung open, dripping.
Amitesh wiped sweat from his eyes.
"It's… it's not the same thing from my dream."
"No shit," Zoey muttered. "That one had teeth in its stomach. This one wants to eat us from the front like a normal psycho bird."
She glanced at him sideways.
"You okay?"
He nodded—shaky, but firm.
"Yeah. You?"
She flashed a feral little grin.
"Never better."
The bird screeched again—louder, angrier—and tucked its wings.
Another dive.
This time it was coming straight at them, beak aimed like a crimson spear.
Zoey raised her pistol.
Amitesh racked the rifle bolt.
"Together?" he asked.
"Always," she said.
And for once there was no teasing in her voice—just cold, focused certainty.
The monster closed the distance.
Fast.
Too fast.
The bird-thing was already halfway down its final dive—beak wide, teeth gleaming like wet obsidian, wings pulled tight for maximum speed.
Zoey didn't hesitate.
She snapped her pistol up and started firing in smooth, controlled double-taps.
Pop-pop. Pop-pop.
The rounds punched into the creature's chest and the base of its long neck. Dark ichor sprayed in thin arcs, catching the light like black oil.
Amitesh brought the rifle to his shoulder, exhaled half his breath, and squeezed.
The crack of the rifle was louder than hers—sharper, angrier.
The bullet slammed home right where the cracked beak met the narrow skull ridge.
The monster shrieked, a sound like tearing sheet metal mixed with a dying scream.
Its trajectory faltered.
One massive crimson wing crumpled mid-beat.
It spiraled—fast, violent—then smashed into the cracked asphalt below the tower with a wet, bone-breaking crunch.
Dust and feathers exploded outward.
For a heartbeat, silence.
Then a low, gurgling rasp rose from the crater it had made.
Still alive.
Zoey lowered her pistol, breathing hard.
"Holy shit. That thing's built like a tank."
Amitesh was already moving.
He vaulted over the railing, dropped the last six feet to the ground, and hit the dirt running—rifle still in one hand, boots pounding asphalt.
"Amitesh—wait, you idiot!"
Zoey cursed and jumped after him, landing lighter, pistol up.
The bird-thing lay sprawled on its side, one wing twisted at a sick angle, chest rising and falling in shallow, wet heaves. The beak hung open, teeth twitching like dying fingers. Black fluid leaked from the bullet holes and the fracture Amitesh had put in earlier. Its body was bigger up close—easily nine feet from beak-tip to tail, feathers matted and slick.
It tried to lift its head.
A weak, rattling hiss escaped the throat.
Amitesh didn't slow down.
He sprinted the last few meters, dropped to one knee beside it, and yanked the folding pocket knife from his belt—the same one he'd used to cut trap wire and carve warning marks on supply crates.
No hesitation.
He drove the blade deep into the side of its long, sinewy neck—right where the feathers thinned and the skin looked almost translucent.
The knife sank to the hilt.
He twisted.
Hard.
A thick gout of ichor bubbled up around his wrist.
The creature convulsed once—full-body, violent—wings flapping uselessly, talons scraping furrows in the asphalt.
Then it went still.
The beak clacked shut one last time, almost gently.
A final shudder rolled through its frame.
And it came to rest.
No more movement. No more breathing. Just a broken heap of crimson and black, steaming faintly in the cool air.
Amitesh stayed crouched there for a second, hand still on the knife handle, chest heaving. Blood—its blood—dripped from his knuckles.
Zoey reached him in three long strides, pistol still raised until she was sure.
She stared down at the corpse.
Then at Amitesh.
Then back at the corpse.
"…You just jumped off a tower, ran straight at a monster, and shanked it in the neck like it owed you money."
Amitesh finally let go of the knife. He wiped his hand on his pants—pointless, since everything was already stained.
"Seemed like the fastest way to make sure it stayed down."
Zoey let out a short, incredulous laugh.
"You're insane."
She holstered her pistol, then reached down and grabbed the back of his collar—hauling him up to his feet like he weighed nothing.
He stumbled a little, adrenaline crash hitting fast.
Zoey didn't let go right away. Her grip shifted—turned into something softer, almost like she was checking he was real.
"You good?" she asked, quieter now.
He nodded, still catching his breath.
"Yeah. You?"
She looked at him—really looked—then smirked, but it was softer than usual.
"Better now that I don't have to explain to command why I let my favorite rookie get eaten."
She glanced down at the dead creature again.
"Although… I'm gonna need a very creative report for this one."
Amitesh finally cracked a shaky smile.
"'Giant murder-bird stabbed in neck after being shot in face.' Works for me."
Zoey snorted.
"Poetic."
She stepped closer—close enough that he could feel the warmth coming off her after the fight.
Her voice dropped.
"By the way… you survived."
Amitesh blinked.
Then remembered.
Ten seconds.
Full permission.
His face started heating up again despite the cooling sweat on his skin.
Zoey's smirk came back—slow, wicked, victorious.
"Don't worry," she murmured, tapping his chest once. "I keep my promises."
She leaned in just enough that her breath brushed his ear.
"But maybe we save the staring contest for when we're not standing in monster guts, yeah?"
Amitesh swallowed.
"…Yeah."
She pulled back, gave him one last amused look, then jerked her head toward the tower.
"C'mon, loverboy. Backup's gonna be here any minute, and I'd rather not explain why you're covered in bird blood and blushing like a schoolboy."
She started walking.
Amitesh followed—still dazed, still buzzing, but somehow lighter than he'd felt in weeks.
Behind them, the crimson wings lay still.
For now.
The cleanup crew arrived twenty minutes later—two armored trucks, a squad of eight, and a mobile incinerator unit that looked like it belonged in a war museum.
They moved fast and quiet.
No questions at first. Just practiced efficiency: perimeter secured, body bagged in heavy-duty reinforced canvas (the kind used for large predators), then dragged onto a metal sled and fed straight into the incinerator's maw. Flames roared briefly. The smell of burning feathers and ichor lingered longer than anyone wanted.
One of the squad leaders—a grizzled woman with a scar running from eyebrow to jaw—finally approached them while the others worked.
"Report," she said flatly.
Zoey didn't miss a beat.
"Unknown avian hostile, sixteen-foot wingspan, crimson plumage, no visible eyes, beak splits open like a goddamn carnivorous flower. Full of teeth. Fast. Tough. We engaged at approximately three hundred meters, brought it down with combined small-arms fire. Final kill was close-quarters knife to the neck."
The woman raised an eyebrow. "Knife?"
Zoey jerked her thumb toward Amitesh. "Rookie had the honor."
The squad leader looked Amitesh up and down—blood-streaked shirt, ichor still drying on his hands, knife back in his belt like it hadn't just ended a monster.
He gave a small, awkward shrug. "It was still twitching."
She stared at him for another second.
Then snorted. "Ballsy."
She scribbled something on her tablet. "We'll need full written statements by 0600 tomorrow. Photos of the corpse before incineration are already uploaded. Command's gonna want a debrief with brass. Don't go anywhere
Just joking."
She turned away without another word.
Zoey exhaled through her nose. "Well. That was painless."
Amitesh wiped his hands again—uselessly—on his already ruined pants.
"I feel like I just got graded on a murder I didn't sign up for."
Zoey smirked. "You passed with flying colors. Pun intended."
They were dismissed shortly after.
The squad didn't need them hovering while they hosed down the asphalt and collected samples. Zoey grabbed a couple of water bottles from the truck, tossed one to Amitesh, and jerked her head toward the inner compound.
"C'mon. You smell like barbecue gone wrong."
They walked back in silence for the first few minutes—adrenaline long faded, leaving only bone-deep tiredness and the faint ringing in their ears from gunfire.
By the time they reached the residential block, the sun was dipping low, painting the cracked concrete in bruised oranges and purples.
Zoey didn't head for the main entrance.
Instead she veered toward the narrow service stairwell on the side of Building C—the one almost nobody used because the lights flickered and the handrail was half-broken.
Amitesh followed without asking.
She pushed the door open. Cool, stale air washed over them.
Up three flights
Then a short hallway.
She stopped at an unmarked metal door, pulled a key from somewhere inside her bra (Amitesh very deliberately looked at the ceiling), and unlocked it.
Inside was a small maintenance room someone had quietly turned into something else.
Old couch against one wall.
A scavenged mini-fridge humming in the corner.
A single hanging bulb.
A small table with two mismatched chairs.
A window that actually opened and looked out over the quieter side of the compound—no border, no watchtowers, just rooftops and distant sodium lights.
Zoey kicked the door shut behind them.
"Welcome to my crash pad," she said.
"Command doesn't know it exists. Don't snitch."
Amitesh looked around, suddenly very aware of how small the room felt.
"…Nice."
Zoey snorted. "It's a glorified closet with furniture. Sit."
He dropped onto the couch. The cushions sighed under him.
She crossed to the mini-fridge, pulled out two cans of something cold, cracked one open for herself and tossed the other to him.
He caught it. The metal was blessedly cool against his still-filthy hands.
Zoey leaned back against the table, legs crossed at the ankles, studying him.
"You did good out there today," she said. No teasing. No smirk. Just quiet fact.
Amitesh cracked the can, took a long drink. The cold fizz burned pleasantly down his throat.
"Didn't feel good. Felt like I was gonna puke the whole time."
"That's normal." She tilted her head.
"The not-puking part comes later. Or never. Depends on the person."
She took another sip, then set the can down.
"Still owe you those ten seconds, though."
Amitesh nearly choked on his drink.
Zoey's lips curved—slow, deliberate.
"You survived. Deal's a deal."
She pushed off the table and crossed the small space between them in three steps.
Stopped right in front of him.
Close enough that he had to tilt his head back slightly to meet her eyes.
She didn't say anything at first—just looked down at him, expression unreadable.
Then she reached out, slow, and hooked one finger under his chin. Tilted his face up a little more.
"Eyes on me," she murmured.
Amitesh's heart started that familiar sprint again.
She didn't move. Didn't rush.
Just held his gaze.
One second.
Two.
Three.
His face was burning. He could feel it. Probably glowing in the dim light.
Four.
Five.
She leaned down—just a fraction—so their faces were level.
Six.
Seven.
Her thumb brushed very lightly along his jaw.
Eight.
Nine.
Ten.
She stayed there one extra heartbeat.
Then she straightened, let her hand drop, and stepped back with a small, satisfied smile.
"There. Debt paid."
Amitesh exhaled like he'd been holding his breath for a year.
"…That was evil."
"Mm. But you liked it."
He buried his face in his hands. "Shut up."
Zoey laughed—soft, genuine—and dropped onto the couch beside him. Not touching. But close.
She stretched her legs out, crossed them at the ankles again.
They sat in comfortable quiet for a while.
Just breathing.
Just being alive.
Eventually she spoke, voice low.
"You scared me for a second out there. When you jumped off the tower and ran straight at it."
Amitesh glanced at her.
"Didn't think. Just… moved."
She nodded slowly.
"Yeah. I know the feeling."
Another beat.
Then, quieter:
"Don't do it again without me, okay?"
He looked at her—really looked.
She wasn't teasing now.
He swallowed.
"Okay."
Zoey held his gaze a moment longer.
Then leaned her head back against the couch, eyes half-closed.
"Good."
She reached over without looking, found his hand, and laced her fingers through his. Casual. Like it was nothing.
But her grip was firm.
They stayed like that—hands linked, quiet, the faint hum of the fridge the only sound.
Outside, the compound settled into night.
Inside the little hidden room, for once, nothing tried to kill them.
And that felt like victory enough.
Suddenly the door slammed open with a loud bang as someone kicked it hard enough to make the hinges groan.
"FBI! OPEN UP!"
Gauri stood in the doorway like she'd just walked out of an action movie, one hand gripping an almost-full bottle of whisky by the neck, the other still raised from the dramatic kick. Her hair was slightly messy, eyes sparkling with mischief, and she had that signature half-smirk that said she knew exactly how extra she was being.
For a solid two seconds, we both froze—pure deer-in-headlights panic—before the absurdity hit us at the same time.
I choked on air.
You let out a startled yelp that turned into a snort.
And then we both just lost it.
Full-on, can't-breathe, clutching-each-other laughing. The kind where your stomach hurts and tears form in the corners of your eyes.
Gauri leaned against the doorframe, trying (and failing) to look serious while waving the bottle like evidence.
"Hands where I can see 'em," she deadpanned, voice cracking from trying not to laugh herself. "You're both under arrest… for being way too quiet on a Saturday night."
You wiped your eyes, still giggling.
"What's the charge, officer?"
Gauri took one step inside, kicked the door shut behind her with her heel, and raised the bottle triumphantly.
"Crimes against fun. Bail is one shot each. No negotiation."
She twisted the cap off with her teeth (because of course she did), took a quick swig straight from the bottle, then held it out toward us with a grin.
"Your move, criminals."