Chapter 4: First Encounter
The helicopter pushed forward steadily over the vast expanse of forest. Outside, the trees rippled like green waves stirred by the wind. The sun barely peeked over the horizon, painting the sky in pale orange.
Inside the cabin, everything buzzed with the vibration of the engine. No one spoke much. Enrico checked the map. Forest hummed to himself with headphones on. Kenneth sharpened his knife with mechanical precision.
Richard kept his eyes fixed on Rebecca.
She sat across from him, fastening her seat harness with efficient movements. Her face had changed—focused, cold, stripped of the softness he had seen only hours before. This was Rebecca Chambers the soldier, not the woman who clung to him in the dark.
Even so… their eyes meet.
"Didn't think I'd see you again," she says, without raising her voice.
"I didn't think I was part of all this," Richard replies, honestly. "But... seems someone decided I am."
Rebecca studies him. Her expression is hard to read—distrust, yes… but something else underneath. Curiosity.
The engine behind every woman.
"Still don't remember anything?"
Richard shakes his head slightly.
"Only sensations. I know how to handle a weapon, how to move. Tactics. Reflexes…"
She turns away, eyes on the window again. The forest below opens like a green scar.
"And yet, here you are," she murmurs.
"Does that bother you?"
"No," she answers after a long pause. "It confuses me. I don't know how to feel about this."
He frowns. "Why?"
Rebecca doesn't answer right away. Her gaze follows the swaying trees below, as if searching for a safe answer.
"Because if this were a dream… I'd rather not wake up."
He watches her, intensely. For a moment, everything—fog, blank memories, the sense that he doesn't belong in this woman's life—just... pauses.
"I'm not leaving," he says, soft but firm. "At least not without you."
She doesn't reply, but her gloved hand stretches just enough to brush against his fingers. A tiny gesture. Almost invisible. But enough.
"Landing in three minutes," announces the pilot over the radio. "Check your gear."
Rebecca pulls away. Her face hardens instantly—expression locked away. She checks her backpack, her pistol's safety, her tactical radio.
Richard looks down. He adjusts his rifle, feels the weight of the bulletproof vest, of the role he never asked for and barely understands… yet somehow owns.
Enrico stands.
"Gear up. Drop zone: Clearing 8-Delta, near the northern canyon. The area is linked to reports of murders… and recent disappearances. Possible armed threats. We want answers, not corpses. Understood?"
"Yes, sir!" they respond nearly in unison.
Forest throws Richard a mischievous look.
"Hey rookie… you actually managed to charm the little tigress. Not everyone gets that far without losing an eye."
Rebecca shoots him a glare.
"Want me to assign you to patrol with the tracking dog—and no weapon?"
Forest laughs but raises his hands in surrender.
"Just saying… took me three months before she spoke to me without growling."
Richard smiles but stays silent. He pretends to belong, while the truth of who he really is remains buried under reflexes and silence. He doesn't know why he was brought into this world—or by whom. Only that he's here, and wants to stay.
The helicopter begins its descent. Everything shakes. Tension climbs. Outside, clearing 8-Delta approaches like the mouth of a well.
Rebecca puts on her helmet. Before jumping, she glances back over her shoulder.
"Stay close."
Richard nods, tightening his grip on the rifle.
"Always."
Without another word, they both leap to the ground.
The calm dissolves. The mission begins.
The helicopter rises and vanishes into the canopy, leaving Bravo Team alone with the silence of the forest.
The clearing is wet, muddy from recent rains. Fog lingers among the tall trees, wrapping everything in a dense, oily veil. No birdsong. Just a dull hum, like something else is breathing with them.
"Staggered formation," Enrico orders. "Forest and Kenneth, flanks. Richard, with me. Rebecca, stay behind—medical support and analysis."
"Understood," she answers, adjusting her pack.
They advance.
The ground crunches underfoot. Broken branches. Deep marks in the soil. As if something had been dragged.
Richard crouches. He touches the trail with two gloved fingers. Examines the drag, the direction.
"Heavy… this wasn't someone walking. Something pulled it." His voice is deep, sure. Natural.
Enrico glances at him, surprised.
"You a tracker?"
Richard shakes his head. "Not that I recall."
"You work like one."
They move forward. Within a hundred meters, they find the first body.
A police officer. Torn uniform. The face… eaten. Literally.
"Jesus…" Kenneth mutters.
Rebecca kneels by the body.
"Signs of advanced decomposition… but that's impossible. He died less than 24 hours ago. He shouldn't smell like this. Shouldn't look like this."
Forest gulps. "What happened to his neck? Was he bitten?"
Richard raises his rifle. Something's off. The air smells wrong. Not like death—worse. Rancid meat and rusted copper.
"Quiet. Listen..."
They all fall silent.
Then they hear it.
The crunch. Like bones grinding. The slow scrape of feet through underbrush. A sticky, wet, broken sound.
"Contact," Richard whispers.
Figures emerge from the trees.
Bodies.
Four. No—five.
They don't run. Don't scream. They walk slow, erratic. Heads tilted. Arms limp like broken marionettes. Eyes milky, soulless. Mouths open in guttural moans.
"Are they… people?" Rebecca asks, horrified.
"No," Richard says, lifting his rifle. "They're not."
One still wears a police badge… but half his face is gone, what remains dangling like soaked cloth.
Enrico raises a fist. "Do not fire until I give the—"
But one of the things moans louder… and stumbles into a clumsy charge toward Kenneth.
"Shit!" Kenneth shouts, stumbling back. "They're attacking!"
And then—chaos.
The undead lunge, clumsy but with brutal strength. No fear. No pain. They don't stop.
Kenneth falls back as one slashes his arm. Forest yells, firing his weapon.
But Richard is already in motion.
His rifle lifts—deadly, precise. Three clean shots.
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three heads burst with a wet pop, bodies collapsing like dolls. Richard spins, ducks, sweeps the fourth by the leg, rolls the body, and smashes the rifle stock into its skull. Again. And again.
Crack. Crack.
Silence.
Only the group's heavy breathing remains.
The bodies lie still.
Kenneth groans, clutching his injured arm.
"That wasn't… a junkie. That wasn't human."
Rebecca is already beside him, cleaning and bandaging.
Enrico looks at Richard.
"That was… efficient."
Richard wipes blood from his cheek. No tremble. No panic.
Years of training surged up from somewhere, letting him kill without hesitation.
"I aimed center mass. Didn't work. They only dropped when I blew out the head."
Forest still breathes hard.
"How did you know?"
Richard doesn't answer. He looks at his hands—bloodied. His body had moved before his brain caught up. As if he'd fought monsters before.
Rebecca stares at him. She says nothing, but the question lingers in her eyes.
Who are you, really?
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