0230 Hours — Town Hall, Municipality of Andalusia, Catarman Province, Cornalian Region
It had been three days since the outbreak.
Several civilians, including the town's mayor, had taken refuge in the town hall's courtroom. Every entrance was barricaded with desks, chairs, and filing cabinets—anything that could slow the infected from breaking in.
Outside, the night was filled with unnatural noises. Knocks. Groans. Bone-chilling howls. The undead roamed aimlessly in the dark hallways, occasionally brushing against the doors. Inside, the survivors remained silent, some quietly sobbing, others too numb to react—paralyzed by fear and helplessness.
Lurking with the horde was a towering mutated bioweapon, far larger than those typically deployed by the rebels. Its guttural moans echoed through the walls. Sometimes it would feed—sometimes it would simply rampage. Every step it took shook the building.
Among the survivors were fifteen Constabulary personnel and five Army Scouts, all exhausted, all low on ammo. They watched the windows and barricaded doors like hawks, fingers hovering near triggers, waiting for the inevitable breach.
The Mayor, a stocky man in his fifties with sunken eyes and trembling hands, sat slumped beneath a faded painting. He hadn't slept properly in days. His job was to keep these people safe, but the horrors outside—and inside—were eating away at him.
The food supplies were dwindling fast. All they had left were a few bottles of distilled water and a handful of pre-packaged meals salvaged from the cafeteria.
Suddenly, a woman's voice cracked the silence. "When is help coming?" she snapped, clutching her crying child.
"Calm down, madam! They're coming—help is already on the way," the Mayor said, trying to stay composed despite the quiver in his voice.
"It's been days!" the woman screamed. "Don't lie to us anymore! I don't want to die like this! Do something instead of feeding us false hope!"
A young Cornalian Army Scout approached, gently placing a hand on her shoulder.
"It's going to be alright, ma'am. I promise. Help is coming."
But the woman wasn't convinced. Her rage boiled over, her words lashing out at both the Mayor and the soldiers. The Mayor stood up, his face twisted with desperation and fatigue.
"Please, just be quiet! That's enough!" he shouted.
Everyone in the room turned toward him, startled. His breath was ragged, his eyes bloodshot.
He lowered his voice. "I know you're scared. I am too. But believe me—we will make it through this. We have to. Together."
Silence fell over the room. The woman still wept softly, her child wailing in her arms.
Then—a heavy thud.
The floor shook.
Screams erupted from the civilians as a door trembled under immense pressure. Something massive was trying to get in.
The constabularies and scouts rushed into position, rifles raised, eyes fixed on the barricade.
The woman covered her child's mouth, backing away with the others as fear surged through the room like wildfire.
Another bang. Then another. Then—nothing.
The silence returned, broken only by the distant sound of footsteps… retreating.
Slowly, the tension eased. The soldiers lowered their weapons.
Whatever had drawn the bioweapon away had saved their lives—for now.
But time was running out.
If help didn't arrive soon, they would die.
Either of hunger...
…or when the horde finally broke through.
0300 Hours — Outside the Town Hall
Andrew and the rest of Pathfinder Team stood ready, weapons raised, waiting for their backup. Team Two, known as Savior Team, arrived just in time. The civilian they had rescued earlier was stabilized with a cocktail of antibiotics, antivirals, and a stimulant-loaded steroid. He was now being assisted for extraction.
"Pathfinder Team, Savior Team has arrived. Reporting," Tanya radioed in.
"Savior Lead," Andrew acknowledged, referring to Tanya by call sign. "We're proceeding to rescue the VIP."
"Roger that, Pathfinder One," she replied.
The tension in the air was broken when Peter cracked a joke.
"Not the best time for a proposal, boss. If you're gonna confess to her, do it quick. Damn..."
Tanya sighed. "Same as always..."
Andrew didn't reply. Peter threw his hands in the air.
"Spoilsports!" he muttered before jogging off toward the others.
With the brief moment of levity behind them, Andrew raised his comm again.
"Hometown, we've linked up with Team Two. Moving in on the town hall."
"Acknowledged, Pathfinder One. Don't forget your priority—the VIP must stay alive."
"Copy that, Hometown."
Andrew, now suited in his exoskeleton armor, moved out with two other exo-equipped team members. Behind them, Malik, their drone operator, deployed a reconnaissance unit. The drone buzzed ahead, scanning the town hall's perimeter and feeding the data back to his padnote.
The team advanced, keeping tight formation.
"Sir, movement spotted at the east entrance!" Malik warned, eyes fixed on the live feed. "Large cluster—undead inbound!"
"Roger. Intercepting."
Andrew gave the order, and the team fanned out, rifles ready.
From the shadows of the ruined street, a wave of Chasers—fast, rabid undead mutated from fat-heavy hosts—charged toward them. Their bodies twitched unnaturally, pushed by a metabolism in overdrive.
Andrew steadied his rifle: a heavy .55-caliber semi-automatic custom-fitted to interface with his exoskeleton. He lined up the shot and fired.
Each shot tore through the Chasers, ripping limbs and punching through torsos. The recoil absorbed by the exosuit, Andrew maintained a steady cadence of fire. The rest of the team joined in, unleashing a hailstorm that shredded the approaching bioforms.
The area became a warzone—flesh against firepower.
As the last of the charging undead collapsed, Andrew scanned the carnage.
"There's no controller... yet they moved in coordinated waves," he muttered.
"I noticed too," Hayes replied over comms. "This isn't a Progenitor strain. Most likely viral... Rover-class."
Andrew nodded. "Agreed. All exosuit-equipped units will proceed inside. The rest stay outside and secure the perimeter."
"But sir—" Hayes began to object.
"No questions asked," Andrew cut him off.
With practiced precision, Andrew and the two other exosuit operators advanced toward the entrance. Every step closer tightened the dread in the air.
And then—a roar.
A monstrous sound, primal and deafening, shook the ground. A massive mutated bioweapon lumbered into view at the town hall entrance.
Ten meters tall, its grotesque body was bloated and veined, with gore dripping from its mouth. One arm held a massive slab of jagged metal like a makeshift club. The other ended in a rusted hook fused directly into bone.
Andrew raised his weapon. "We've got company! Stay sharp!"
The showdown was about to begin.