The heavy steel door to the underground cell hissed open, flooding the dim space with harsh light from the corridor.
Ty's heart slammed against his ribs. He couldn't see. The blindfold was tight, soaked with sweat and tears he refused to shed. His wrists burned from the zip ties digging into his skin behind his back, and his ankles were bound so tightly he'd lost feeling in his toes hours ago. The gag tasted like blood and old cloth.
Footsteps—slow and heavy—echoed across the concrete floor. Ty knew that strut. Or at least, he used to.
A low, rough voice cut through the silence. "Still surprise's me how you managed to take down one of my scouts from four hundred meters. Impressive."
The blindfold was ripped away. Ty blinked rapidly, eyes watering under the sudden glare.
When his vision cleared, the man standing in front of him stole every inch of breath from his lungs.
He looks like him but there's no way this is him. This is not the Noah he remembers.
The boy who used to laugh at Ty's terrible jokes, who shared his last protein bar during their escape from the city in the first weeks of the outbreak, was gone. In his place stood something molded from nightmares.
Noah held a dented metal tray with a bowl of steaming stew, a chunk of flatbread, and a tin cup of water. He set it on the small metal table bolted to the floor, then crouched in front of Ty. His movements were too smooth, almost like he calculated every specific step he was taking.
"Open," Noah ordered, fingers gripping Ty's jaw.
The gag was pulled free. Ty coughed, working his sore jaw.
"You…" Ty's voice cracked. He stared up at the man who used to be his best friend, the one he had searched for across dead zones and raider camps for years. "fuck... how...? How can you not recognize me?"
Noah's expression didn't change. Not a flicker of recognition. He simply tilted his head, studying Ty like a specimen.
"I heard you're a good shot. Best I've heard of in months. My men say you moved like you knew the terrain." Noah's voice was deeper now, laced with a gravelly undertone that hadn't been there before.
"I could use a guy like you. This world doesn't forgive weakness. Join me. Or die. Simple choice."
Ty's mind fell into a swirl of thought.
He doesn't remember me. How can he not remember me? And how the fuck is that even a simple choice?
Ty swallowed hard. The scars on Noah's neck shifted as he breathed, the fleshbound mutation visible even in the low light.
Whatever the virus had done to him had amplified everything—strength, morality, presence. Noah spread danger like heat from a furnace.
"I…" Ty's wrists ached behind him. Death was easy. A bullet, a knife, the hunger in these cells. But if he lived, maybe he could get out of here. "I'll join."
A slow, satisfied smirk tugged at Noah's lips.
"Smart." He reached down and sliced through the ankle ties with a combat knife that appeared in his hand like magic. The wrist ties remained—for now.
"Eat. You'll need your strength. Training starts tomorrow."
Noah stood, towering over him. For a second, their eyes locked. Ty searched desperately for any spark of the past. Nothing. Just cold calculation.
Before Noah turned to leave, he paused at the door. "Welcome to the Pride, Ty. Betray me and I'll tear you apart myself."
The door slammed shut.
Ty slumped forward, hands still bound, staring at the tray. His stomach growled, but the food tasted like ash. Tears burned his eyes.
What the fuck happened to you, Noah?
Minutes later, the door opened again. A tall, lean man in his late twenties stepped inside.
He wore the same black tactical gear as Noah, but his left forearm bore a bold, stylized lion tattoo inked in deep crimson and gold—the mark of the Pride, Noah's underground army.
His hair was cropped short, a scar ran through one eyebrow, and his eyes were sharp and wary.
"Name's Rafe," he said flatly. "Boss says you're in. Stand up."
Rafe cut the wrist ties with quick efficiency. Ty rubbed the raw skin, wincing.
"Follow me. And don't try anything stupid. There are cameras everywhere."
Ty was led out of the cell into a wide concrete corridor lit by flickering overhead lights. The facility was clearly an old science lab—abandoned government research complex from before the outbreak.
Reinforced doors with faded biohazard symbols lined the walls. Distant sounds echoed: the clang of metal, muffled voices, the hum of generators.
They passed a large open area that had once been a cafeteria, now converted into a mess hall where dozens of armed men and women ate in tense silence. All of them carried the lion tattoo.
"Used to be a Level 4 bio-research facility," Rafe grunted as they walked. "Noah claimed it in the second year. Turned it into the strongest stronghold in the eastern dead zone. Thousands follow him. The weak don't last long."
Okay, Like I needed that information?
They climbed a set of metal stairs, passing armed guards who nodded respectfully to Rafe. Ty caught glimpses through reinforced glass windows; armories stacked with rifles and bombs.
Rafe stopped at a narrow door on the lower residential level. He pushed it open.
"This is yours."
The room was small and crappy, just as expected. A rickety metal-frame bed with a thin mattress and gray blanket. A single folded set of black clothes—cargo pants, shirt, boots—sat on a dented chair. A tiny sink in the corner, a toilet behind a half-wall. One dim bulb hung from the ceiling.
Rafe tossed a keycard onto the bed. "Lion tattoo in the morning. Don't leave this level without permission. Food hall's down the east corridor. Mess up and you answer to me before you answer to Noah."
He turned to leave, then paused. "One piece of advice, new blood. Don't look at the boss like you know him."
The door clicked shut. Ty was alone.
He stood in the center of the tiny room, staring at the sad bed and folded clothes.
The weight of everything crashed down on him. The man he had loved like a brother—maybe more than a brother, in the quiet moments they never talked about—was now a terrifying leader who didn't even recognize his face.
The Noah who once fell asleep on his shoulder during long nights hiding from hordes was gone, replaced by something half-human, half-monster.
Ty's fists clenched. His eyes hardened with determination even as his heart ached.
"I need to get out of here," he whispered to the empty room as he sank onto the edge of the creaking bed, mind already racing through escape plans.