"Most of you know this was the city we lost few years back. Some of you here might even say it was their old hometown. A few months ago, 3 squads were sent out for reconnaissance. 2 were declared missing while 1 was confirmed destroyed. 2 days ago, we received a distress signal from one of the missing squads hunkered down in Dove City.
They have messaged back that they have recovered an irradiated core. Some of you may not know, but Grade A's develop irradiated cores upon breaking through. Yes, we are to recover the fallen Grade A's irradiated core. The use for it is classified, but it is imperative we get our hands on it. If we fail to secure it, it must be destroyed before a juggernaut can get their hands on it."
Commander Varyn's deadpan statement about a Grade A's death spread like a quiet plague through the room. Concerned whispers stirred in the ranks, glances flitting toward one another in cautious unease. No one had heard of a Grade A falling in battle since the radiation wave. And if something out there could kill a Grade A... what was still lurking in Naren City?
"Listen closely. What I say next determines whether you survive the next 48 hours."
His voice didn't rise. It never did. Yet the words hit with a heavier weight than a battlefield roar. He tapped his tablet once.
"I'll review the infected types you'll encounter. Only the special ones. If it's not evolved, don't waste my time. You'll handle it. First on file: Jackal Zombie."
A screen lit up behind him with a rotating image of a grotesque creature crouched low on all fours. Its skin was blotchy purple and pink, stretched too tight over too-thin muscle. Its head, eerily human, had been malformed with a canine snout. Thick, black fur covered it from the collarbone down, ending in paws instead of hands and feet. Its eyes—yellow with red pupils—gleamed with unnatural awareness.
"These don't hunt alone. Packs. Always. They use sound and scent. Suppressors on, always, unless you want to be ripped open. They swarm noise. First, they go for your stomach. Entrails are their favorite meal."
He tapped the side of his mask once, as if annoyed by his own words.
"After you're gutted, they stretch you. Four limbs. Four different directions. Vertebrae snap around L3. You'll die slow. That is, if you aren't already infected. In that case, shoot yourself before the tearing starts."
He paused. Not dramatically. Just to breathe.
"First attacker's a decoy. It's bait. They want you to shoot. When you do, they move. Don't fall for it. If you're surrounded, burn ammo. Make an opening. And pray. Pray something unevolved is nearby. Stomach shots disembowel zombies. Jackals will switch to the corpse if they smell the guts."
He tapped again. The image zoomed in on the eyes and snout.
"Regular rounds. Aim there. Armor-piercing and magic rounds can work, but not worth wasting. These freaks are built hard. Ten times human strength means ten times skin resistance."
His gloved fingers closed into a fist.
"If you don't meet that threshold, don't engage. If you do, they can't puncture your skin. Still, your eyes are soft. Keep them covered."
He turned to the side, hands still behind his back.
"Standard grenades do nothing. Just noise. Magic grenades, maybe. When you hear their braying, support types need to take the high ground immediately. This is the weakest evolved type. Weakest."
A trembling hand shot up from the back of the room. A young recruit, barely out of training, his uniform still creased from the press, stood shakily. His voice cracked as he spoke, betraying his inexperience. "Uh, s-sir? Commander Varyn, sir? I-I got a question. About the, uh, the Jackal Zombies. You said they're the weakest evolved type, right? So, like, if they're the weakest, how—how bad are the others? I mean, if these things are tearing people apart and, uh, eating entrails and all that, what's… what's worse? And, like, are we even equipped to handle that? I heard stories about Naren City and Dove City, like, monsters that can't be killed, and... and—"
Varyn's head tilted slightly, the barest movement, but it silenced the recruit mid-sentence. The room seemed to shrink under the weight of his gaze, though his eyes were hidden behind the reflective surface of his mask. He didn't interrupt, didn't raise his voice. He simply waited, letting the recruit's stammering fade into an awkward silence. The other soldiers shifted uncomfortably, some exchanging glances, others staring straight ahead, hoping to avoid drawing the commander's attention.
When the recruit finally stopped, his face flushed with embarrassment, Varyn spoke, his tone as calm as ever but laced with an edge that could cut steel. "Recruit, your question is noted. And it's irrelevant to me meaning you don't deserve the answers. You're here to follow orders, always, not speculate about threats you're not cleared to know about. The Jackal Zombie is your concern. Focus on it. If you can't handle the weakest evolved type, you won't survive long enough to worry about the rest. I hope I'm clear?"
The recruit swallowed hard, nodding jerkily before sinking back into his seat, his face burning from the shame of having countless eyes on him while he was berated. A few veterans smirked, but none dared laugh. Varyn's presence didn't allow for it.
The silence that followed was heavier than any explosion. No one moved. No one blinked. Several recruits wiped sweat from their necks. Those who had fought jackals before weren't surprised—but even they didn't look happy to face them again.
But do they have any choice? Nope. They don't. This is war and war leaves no one with a choice to say yes or no to it. So only thing they can do here as a recruit is either to fight for their lives to the very end or to wait for dead to claim their lives.