"Cut the feed!"
"Where's Unit Five's backup?"
"Who authorized live fire without suppression?!"
Officials shouted over one another, voices sharp with fear.
"This was reckless," one snapped.
"No—this was arrogance," another shot back.
"Unit Seven should've been there—"
Captain Rudra slammed his hand on the table.
"Enough."
The room fell silent.
"They're still alive out there," he said. "Argue later."
An aide rushed in. "We've got heat signatures. One… maybe two survivors pinned near the south block."
Arjun leaned forward. "They're still moving?"
"Barely," the aide replied.
Captain didn't hesitate.
"Unit Seven," he said into the comms,
"gear up. We're going in."
An official stood abruptly. "You're not authorized—"
Captain turned on him. "Then stop me."
The official opened his mouth.
Said nothing.
THE ZONE
The street looked like a graveyard.
Acid-scorched pavement. Melted bodies—human and infected alike—smoking faintly in the rain. The air burned the lungs.
But something else was visible now.
There were fewer of them.
Arjun noticed it first.
"The numbers," he said through his mask. "They're dropping."
Captain checked the drone feed.
He was right.
The repeated bloater detonations had done what gunfire couldn't.
Clusters of zombies were gone—dissolved, neutralized, erased. Runners lay scattered, bodies torn apart by acid waves meant for everything.
"They culled their own," Captain said quietly.
Unit Seven advanced.
Carefully.
No wasted shots. No noise.
They moved through the ruin like surgeons.
A weak signal blinked on the tracker.
"South block," an operator said. "Collapsed storefront."
They found him pinned beneath debris—Unit Five's lieutenant. Armor cracked. Breathing shallow. Alive.
A runner burst from the shadows.
Arjun saw it first.
"LEFT!" he shouted.
Captain fired—suppressed. Clean.
The runner dropped without a sound.
Arjun rushed forward, grabbing the wounded soldier.
"Stay with me," he said, hauling him free.
The lieutenant coughed. "Captain… messed up…"
"I know," Arjun said. "You're getting out."
Another bloater shambled nearby—alone now, exposed.
Captain raised his rifle.
"Clear," he ordered.
The shot rang out.
The bloater ruptured.
Acid sprayed—but there were no friendly units nearby.
No civilians.
Only infected.
The remaining zombies dissolved in seconds.
Silence followed.
EXTERMINATION
Unit Seven didn't slow.
They pushed forward, exploiting the sudden drop in numbers.
Runners were isolated now—no packs, no cover.
They fell fast.
One by one.
The drones pulled back, showing the wider picture.
Entire blocks—clear.
For the first time since the outbreak began, a zone went dark.
No movement.
No heat signatures.
"Command," Captain said calmly,
"the area is secure."
No one replied at first.
Then—
"…Confirmed," came the response, quieter now. "Extermination complete."
Arjun leaned against a wall, breathing hard.
He looked around.
The devastation was immense.
But the infected were gone.
AFTERMATH
Back at SHIELD, officials sat in stunned silence as the final footage played.
One cleared his throat. "We… underestimated the threat."
Captain didn't respond.
Another official spoke, voice tight. "Unit Five acted outside protocol."
"Yes," Captain said. "And paid for it."
No one argued.
Arjun stood near the back, bloodied, exhausted, alive.
He had pulled someone out of hell.
And Unit Seven had done the impossible.
They hadn't just survived.
They had adapted faster than the infection.
Captain turned to the room.
"Next time," he said evenly,
"you listen."
No one laughed.
No one mocked.
Because now everyone understood—
This war wasn't won by Arrogance.
It was won by discipline.
And Unit Seven had just proven who should be leading it.
The research wing was sealed tighter than usual.