Zero stepped toward the edge of the observation pit. Without a word and without drawing a single weapon, he leaped into the void. The impact of his boots against the metal grating echoed through the gallery—a sharp thud that snapped me out of my stupor.
"Zero, stop!" I screamed, slamming my hand against the reinforced glass. "You don't have any gear! They'll tear you apart!"
Ha-jin leaned over the railing, his face pale, the Apex rifle vibrating in his grip.
"Captain, get out of there!" he roared. "There are three of them! You can't take them on with your bare hands!"
Zero didn't flinch. He didn't even look up at us. He remained with his back turned, shoulders relaxed and hands shoved deep into the pockets of his tactical trench coat. The three monsters turned with mechanical slowness. Viscous fluid dripped from their maws, and their single orange eyes glowed with a feverish hunger.
When the first creature lunged, Zero tilted his head just a few centimeters. On his interface, which flickered briefly on the gallery screen, the enemies' names were different from what we remembered.
[LVL 5 - INFECTED]
"They aren't Scavengers," Zero murmured. His voice came through the comms channel with glacial calm.
The first infected lashed out with a strike fueled by brute force. To a normal person, that attack would have been fatal; but to an expert in animation frames and biomechanics like Zero, the monster was moving in slow motion.
Zero released his hands with the speed of a striking cobra. He seized the creature's wrist, applying a Chin Na technique to twist the infected's arm until the exposed bone crunched under the pressure. Without missing a beat, he drove his palm into the monster's solar plexus. The impact was far from a simple shove; it was a technical discharge of energy that caused the crimson muscle tissue to collapse inward.
The second one attacked from the flank. Zero pivoted on his axis with the grace of a Bajiquan practitioner. He lowered his center of gravity and delivered an upward elbow strike directly to the jaw; the rows of jagged teeth shattered and flew like bone shrapnel.
It was a dance of silent destruction. Zero moved with a terrifying economy of motion. His principles of Chinese martial arts turned the enemy's strength into its own downfall. He met the third infected with a side kick; the blow intercepted the charge, fractured the exposed femur, and sent it crashing against the concrete wall with a dull thud.
In less than sixty seconds, the three masses of raw muscle lay on the ground, incapacitated yet still writhing. Zero adjusted his glasses, which hadn't moved an inch during the fray.
"How did he do that...?" I whispered, my hands pressed against the glass.
Zero walked to the center of the pit and scrutinized the bodies with clinical detachment. He turned toward us; under the gallery lights, I saw that his expression didn't reflect triumph, but deep analytical suspicion.
"No," Zero stated. "These are not the Scavengers we know. They are a similar variant. Their muscle fiber density is different; their reaction time is 55% slower than the specimens on the surface."
Zero pointed to the system tag hovering over one of the fallen.
"Infected. A refined variant, or perhaps a degradation," he declared. "If the city is breeding these down here, Voss is hiding much more than the Shadow Error."
A sharp, dry applause shattered the silence. Varek Voss emerged from the shadows; his mechanical arm hummed with the coldness of a verdict. He stopped at the railing and looked down at the remains with a frigid smile.
"I always knew you were hiding something, boy. Too perfect... until today," his voice boomed, laced with poison. "They are infected. Our people. Five years ago, they started the catastrophe: the fall of the cities."
The air froze. A metallic clatter activated the security protocols. .50 caliber turrets sprouted from the concrete; their laser beams converged on Zero's chest and our temples with mathematical precision. A dozen elite guards sealed off every escape route.
The door opened, and Valeria appeared, escorted by soldiers. She didn't struggle. Her cyan eyes behind her glasses showed an unsettling calmness; it wasn't fear, but the clinical analysis of an inevitable experiment.
My stomach sank. Voss's revelation hit harder than the threat of weapons. Those creatures—the "infected" lying on the floor. They were people; citizens of this world before the collapse. Voss wasn't looking to train us; he was looking to confirm that we recognized the original form of the plague. He used our trauma as bait, and we betrayed ourselves with every look of horror.
Ha-jin-kun clenched his jaw until the muscles trembled. His fingers brushed against his rifle, but the turrets locked onto his head anchored him to the floor. Voss's betrayal was an uncalculated variable; the Apex, once a symbol of power, felt like a useless burden in the face of a superior army.
Zero, in the center of the pit, did not raise his hands. He straightened slowly and adjusted his glasses while red lasers danced across his jacket. His stone-faced expression remained intact, but his eyes narrowed. In his professional gamer's mind, the pieces on the board changed color. "Trust" was now a bad joke. Voss had hunted us before we could hunt the Shadow Error.
"So, this was the goal?" Zero asked with icy curiosity. "A psychological test to weed out spies or survivors with too much memory."
Voss let out a raspy laugh. The hum of his mechanical arm shifted to a funereal tone as he stepped toward the railing; he rested his flesh-and-blood hand on the metal and scanned the pit with a gaze of bitterness and unwavering resolve. We were trapped in the heart of his fortress, surrounded by the echoes of a devoured humanity, with the barrel of fate pressed against our foreheads. His voice resonated with the authority of a judge.
"I wasn't looking for spies, boy; I was looking for the truth," Voss declared. His words fell upon us with the weight of tombstones. "I wanted to confirm that my supposed 'saviors' weren't the architects of this agony. Trust is the foundation of victory, and your reaction to these infected gave you away: you were there when it all started. You know the original strain."
He paused deliberately. The weight of suspicion suffocated us.
"Talk. No filters, no tricks. If you convince me you didn't incinerate the old world, you'll receive the treatment of comrades your rank deserves. But at a single lie..." Voss pointed to the pit with a sharp gesture, "...this place will cease to be your training ground and become your mausoleum."
The electric hiss of the heavy turrets reaching maximum charge broke the silence. The air grew thick with static, making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Behind me, the metallic click of hammers formed a chorus of steel, waiting for the order to wipe us from existence.