he sound of the dead was a storm.
Not screams — not anymore. Just the dull, hungry rhythm of jaws gnashing and bones cracking somewhere beyond the smoke.
Ashton Clark couldn't move. His body was ruined — one arm twisted, one leg shattered, ribs stabbing through torn flesh. Blood mixed with rain as he lay half-buried in the mud, surrounded by corpses that hadn't decided whether to stop breathing yet.
His breath came out like gravel. The metallic taste of it clung to his tongue.
Above him, on the broken wall of Fort Vanguard, Carlton Maverick stood beneath the floodlights — tall, sharp, and immaculate, even as the world drowned in filth.
His voice carried through the storm, calm as ever.
"You could've been more than this, Clark. You had everything — skill, presence, the System itself — and you wasted it on sentiment."
Ashton's vision flickered. Vanessa's face — tear-streaked, fading. Midas, defiant to the end. Both gone now, swallowed by Carlton's ambition and his lies.
"You think strength makes you untouchable," Carlton said, kneeling down beside him. "But you never understood power. Power is control. Power is order."
Ashton tried to answer, but his throat was shredded — only a hoarse rasp escaped. Carlton smiled, like he'd been waiting for it.
"Goodbye, Mercenary."
Then came the signal.
The gates opened, and the horde poured in.
Rotting bodies, eyes glowing faintly from the chemical rot that passed for infection, fell upon him in a wave of teeth and claws. Ashton didn't scream. He couldn't. Pain became static — endless, suffocating static. The world dimmed, and for a moment, he thought he saw the System interface flicker to life in his vision.
[ Vital Signs: Failing ]
[ Neural Activity: Critical Decline ]
[ Time Remaining: 00:00:07 ]
[ Initiating Contingency: GENESIS PROTOCOL ]
His last thought was confusion.
He hadn't triggered anything.
The light swallowed him before the teeth did.
He woke up choking.
Bright sunlight stabbed at his eyes. The smell of coffee, printer ink, and cheap air freshener filled his lungs.
He was lying at his desk — his desk — surrounded by the familiar gray walls of the Vaarhon District office, the digital clock on his monitor blinking:
March 23rd, 2074.
Five months before the end.
Ashton froze, hand trembling as he looked down at himself — unscarred, whole, alive.
Then, as if to confirm what his brain refused to process, the flicker returned in his vision.
Cold text, white against the void:
[ SYSTEM BOOTING... ]
[ WELCOME, USER: ASHTON CLARK ]
[ WORLDLINE: GENESIS PROTOCOL INITIATED ]
Ashton stared, heart pounding.
He was back.
And this time, he wasn't planning to survive.
He was planning to change everything.