The squad leader's radio crackled to life with Private David's frantic voice.
"Watcher spotted."
The lieutenant responded immediately. "Good. Keep your distance—we're moving to your position."
Static. No reply.
Her expression hardened. She keyed her radio again. "A Watcher's been sighted, team. Stay sharp. Weapons hot."
Through the static came David's shout: "Stay back!"
"Do not engage," the lieutenant snapped. "I repeat—David, do not engage!"
But David's voice came softer this time, steady and resolved. "Sorry, Lieutenant."
"Everyone move!" she barked. "We're heading to his last known location—go, go, go!"
Corporal Thomas's voice broke through, panicked. "No, you dumbass, wait!"
Gunfire erupted in the distance. Muffled bursts echoing through the dead city.
The squad sprinted through the empty streets, boots slamming against cracked pavement, hearts hammering in their chests. "David, report!" the lieutenant demanded. "What's your status?!"
No response.
Then—they saw it.
The Watcher loomed over Private David's limp body, pale fingers locked around his skull. His mouth hung open, eyes wide in frozen terror. A faint, glowing wisp—his soul—was being pulled from his chest, drawn into the creature's gaping, nightmarish maw.
Then David crumpled—empty, shriveled, gone.
"Engage the target!" the lieutenant shouted. "Keep your distance! Don't let it touch you! Aim for the eyes—joints—anything!"
The squad opened fire. Bullets tore through the air, sparks flashing, but the Watcher didn't flinch. It let David's corpse drop and lunged forward with impossible speed.
"Take cover! Spread out!" the lieutenant ordered. "Suppress and flank!"
The team scrambled for position, firing bursts to drive it back—but it was fast. Too fast.
Corporal Thomas's voice crackled through the radio. "I'll draw its attention! Light it up while I run!"
Without waiting for approval, he broke from cover, firing as he sprinted. "Come on, you ugly bastard! I'm the fastest runner in this goddamn unit!"
The Watcher turned sharply, fixating on him like a predator scenting blood.
"Good job, Thomas," the lieutenant said through gritted teeth. Then to the rest: "Everyone! Focus fire—drop that son of a bitch!"
Gunfire roared. The streets flashed with muzzle light, air thick with cordite and smoke. But the wounds sealed as fast as they formed.
"Lieutenant!" one soldier yelled. "Our rounds aren't doing shit!"
She slammed a new mag into her rifle. "Thomas, don't let it catch you! Switch out when you can!"
"Copy that, Lieutenant," he panted, vaulting over debris. The Watcher's clawed hand slashed past his shoulder—close enough to graze air. Thomas ducked, slid, jumped, weaving through abandoned vehicles and lampposts as the monster chased him.
"Keep him covered!" the lieutenant barked. "Bring down anything that slows the Watcher—now!"
Thomas laughed breathlessly through the radio. "All this effort just to keep little ol' me alive? I'm touched, Lieutenant."
"Shut the fuck up and keep running!" she snapped, blasting a streetlight down between him and the creature. Her voice cracked—not with anger, but with something heavier. "I already lost one soldier. I'm not losing another. Not tonight."
Tomas kept running, the Watcher right behind him. The whole team moved with him, covering his flanks and laying down suppressive fire to keep it from closing in.
After a while, Tomas panted, "Getting tired here, Lieutenant."
One of the soldiers answered, "I'm ready for the swap, Lieutenant. Just give the word."
Before she could reply, Tomas glanced back—and saw the Watcher slowing down. A grin crossed his face.
"What happened? Can't keep up anymore?" he taunted. "Here's a boost."
He yanked a grenade pin and dropped it mid-run. Taking a sharp right, he vanished around the corner just as the explosion went off. Shrapnel tore through cars and walls, smoke and flame rolling across the street.
"Goddammit, Tomas!" the Lieutenant shouted over comms. "How many times do I have to tell you—warn us before you pull stunts like that!"
When the smoke cleared, everyone froze. The Watcher was in pieces—blown apart and splattered across the road.
"Report, Tomas," she called.
No reply.
Her gut tightened. "Tomas! Can you hear me?"
A beat later, his voice crackled through the radio, shaky and uneven.
"Uh… Lieutenant…"
Her tone turned sharp. "What is it? Did something happen?"
"It was a trap," he said, voice breaking.
The Lieutenant's heart dropped. She sprinted to a vantage point—and froze. Another Watcher stood right in front of Tomas.
"No! Tomas!" she screamed.
He looked back at her, eyes glistening with tears. "Lieutenant… tell my mom I love her."
The Watcher didn't devour him—it drove its claws through the back of his neck. Tomas went limp, collapsing where he stood.
Before she could even process it, the first Watcher began to regenerate—flesh knitting, limbs reattaching. The other soldiers opened fire, yelling for their Lieutenant to move, but the sound barely reached her.
Because she saw them.
Not one. Not two.
Hundreds.
They filled the street—crawling from shadows, rooftops, alleyways—silent, empty-eyed.
A soldier dove into the Lieutenant, tackling her just as a car door slammed into the spot she had been standing. The metal shrieked as it skidded away.
"Lieutenant, snap out of it!" voices shouted over the radio. "We need to move!"
The Lieutenant blinked, breath ragged, then barked an order. "Men! Fall back!"
They ran—dodging the storm of debris hurled by the Watchers. Poles, rocks, signs, chunks of concrete—anything that could be used as a weapon became one. The air filled with screams and gunfire.
One soldier shoved a comrade aside, taking a Watcher's charge head-on. Claws sank into her chest, dragging her into the swarm. Her last scream turned into a defiant roar as she pulled the pins on all her grenades.
The explosion shook the street. Watcher limbs and twisted debris rained down.
"Don't look back!" The Lieutenant shouted, tears streaking her face. "Don't let their sacrifices be for nothing!"
Only three remained now. The Lieutenant and two soldiers.
The truck was in sight—salvation just a sprint away. "We're almost there," she gasped. "Don't give up!"
The Watchers were closing fast.
The two soldiers exchanged a glance—fear in their eyes, but also a grim, shared resolve.
"It's been an honor, Lieutenant," one said over the comm.
"Don't you dare—keep moving!" she ordered, voice cracking.
But they turned, emptying the last of their magazines into the horde until the guns clicked dry.
"We had a good run," one said.
"Yeah," the other replied, pulling a pin. "Always wanted to go with a bang."
"FIRE IN THE HOLE!"
The double explosion ripped through the street, slowing the monsters just enough.
The Lieutenant dove into the nearest truck, slammed the door, and twisted the key. The engine roared to life. She didn't look back.
She drove until the walls of Fort Blackspire came into view—lights gleaming through the dark like a mirage.
When the truck screeched to a halt, guards rushed in, weapons drawn. They yanked open the door—and froze.
Lieutenant Marcelle Hale sat trembling in the driver's seat, drenched in sweat, eyes wide and unfocused.
"Call the colonel!" someone shouted. "Get her to medical!"
They rushed her inside. Minutes later, Colonel Vance strode in, boots echoing across the infirmary floor.
He looked down at her—a soldier shattered in body and spirit. "What the hell happened out there?" he demanded.
Hale didn't answer at first. Her hands shook as she stared at the floor. Finally, she whispered, voice hollow,
"They lured us… and ambushed us. They didn't just kill us."
She looked up, tears trembling in her lashes.
"They fed on us—on our souls. We were outmatched… outnumbered. They slaughtered all of my men."
Vance went still. The color drained from his face.
He turned toward the window, voice barely above a whisper.
"My god…" he said. "What in the hell is happening to this world?"