A few meters above a narrow walkway, hidden behind rusted fencing and shattered crates, a small group of survivors had huddled in silence. Now, they whispered urgently among themselves.
"That guy's getting torn apart," a woman muttered, peering through the gaps. "He's bleeding all over the place."
"But he's still fighting," said a teenage boy, holding a pipe tightly in shaking hands. "He lit up his arms like fire. I think he's AMS."
"Doesn't matter," a grizzled man grunted. "That thing is going to kill him. If we show ourselves, it'll come after us next. That's suicide."
"So we just watch?" the boy snapped. "We do nothing while he dies?"
"He could be infected," the woman whispered. "What if he turns mid-fight? We'd be helping a threat."
**
Down below, Theo staggered to his feet, shoulders heaving. The blood trail at his side grew darker. His vision blurred as the MStalker moved again, claws gleaming in the red flickers of MPyre's fading embers.
It was preparing for the kill.
