Attention:
Security protocol under Article 49 has been breached in the west wing of the facility.
Attention:
According to Article 49 contingency protocol, all available assets and those in the immediate vicinity must respond equally to the call.
Attention:
Report to your superior officer, cordon off the area, and establish a quarantine zone.
Attention:
Due to the breach in the electrical and ventilation systems, the smart supply grid has initiated automatic rationing. Backup power duration: 3 hours.
Attention:
Breach in north, south, and northwest wings. All operational forces present and in the immediate vicinity must respond immediately to the call. Any refusal or act of insubordination will be treated as desertion by the acting high military commission.
Attention:
Power supplies reduced to less than fifty percent. Massive, systematic blackout across the facility for an indefinite period.
Attention:
This is not a drill. I repeat: This is not a drill. May God have mercy on you all.
To your posts.
A dry, brutal blast tears through the air—BOOM! —a shockwave that doesn't just echo, but slams into your chest, as if compressing the world for an instant. The sound reverberates, stretching into metallic, fragmented echoes, like everything around is vibrating and crumbling at once.
Then, abruptly, everything falls.
A heavy void replaces the roar. The environment is swathed in a deep, almost electric hum, as if the very energy of the place has been drained in one stroke. It's a silence that isn't truly silence, but a low, constant pressure, crushing the ears and slowing the perception of time.
And then, in the distance—but approaching—the sirens begin.
A wooo-aaaah, wooo-aaaah, sharp and relentless, cutting through that void like an inevitable warning. They overlap, out of sync, creating an atmosphere of rising urgency, of controlled chaos drawing near.
—Ryjad!
*Plass! *
A fierce slap cracks through the air with a dry, stinging sound. It jolts a sleeping soldier awake, brutally. He looks around, disoriented, as the faint, pulsing lights that flicker on and off intrude into his pupils, making them contract.
—Wake up! Pay attention, Ryjad!
He's violently shaken by the shoulders until he reacts and takes a deep breath, as if surfacing from deep underwater.
—What's going on?! —Ryjad asks, agitated.
—Breach on level nine! Article 49 has been activated!
Ryjad feels the air escape his lungs again, as if he's been punched hard in the stomach. This was unforeseen. Article 49 meant only one thing:
Biological hazard threat.
He barely has time to process reality before his comrade shoves him out of bed. Despite his energy, the man looks even more rattled than Ryjad. His steps falter, his hands tremble, his voice cracks, as if he's foreshadowing the beginning of something worse than death itself.
The metal door of the room, shared by four men, bursts open, releasing a clang almost as deafening as the emergency sirens blaring in the background, making their eardrums throb.
From the metal threshold emerges the figure of an older man, hardened by years of solitude and endless struggles that have forged a character as tough as stone. Every wrinkle and scar on his body tells a silent story of someone who has already witnessed the worst of the world, and who therefore allows himself to remain unmoved while everything around him falls apart.
—Ryjad, Kaine. Both of you to ground zero. Your platoon is waiting. Now! —he shouts, authoritarian and impatient.
Both men snap to attention, perform a military salute, and half-dressed, yell in unison: —Yes, sir!
The superior officer strides off down the dimly, flickeringly lit hallway, stepping heavily as everyone in his path quickly, fearfully moves aside.
—Uh… The sergeant's in a good mood today, huh?
That acid joke earns a furtive glare from his comrade, who remains agitated.
—Ryjad, this isn't a joke.
—Just trying to ease the tension. Relax, maybe a chemical instrument just cracked in the lower labs. Nothing to worry about.
He pats Kaine on the shoulder, as if to relieve some tension, while heading to the hallway after getting dressed.
Kaine hurriedly throws on his clothes, his pants nearly falling off his waist, and runs after Ryjad, barely keeping up through the throng of people running in opposite directions, clogging the only passageway.
—No... Article 49 stipulates critical biological contamination. B-besides, it was... In the west wing... Th-there they store the high-risk projects —he wipes sweat from his face.
—Let's see what we're facing this time.
Leaving the question hanging in the air until a platoon comrade following them in the same direction catches it.
—Must be something really serious.
—Handel? —Ryjad asks, as if he'd appeared out of nowhere.
– Yeah... I was following you. Hard to move with so many people.
He pauses briefly, then continues.
—To answer your question: yeah, I think it's very serious. If it were just airborne biological risk, they would have evacuated the facility. But they're grouping us together —another short pause as he thinks, then looks back at the two soldiers–. They're relocating us.
—Relocating? Where to? —they ask in unison.
– I have no way of knowing. Just... take care of each other.
They finally reach the midsize elevator, packed nearly to bursting with people just as confused and anxious as they are.
Making room, someone presses the button for ground zero on the metal panel with LED lights bordering the buttons.
The automatic doors seal shut, and the overwhelming silence inside the small, enclosed box is broken by the system's beep, signaling the ascent has begun. The atmosphere feels heavy, as if an irrational fear is crushing everyone present as hard as it can, and the elevator's electronic hum howling in the maddening silence does nothing but make their hair stand on end.
Like a silent, meticulous alarm from the body itself, foretelling something.
The hum, in turn, is interrupted by a more pleasant, human sound; a man has started chatting with his comrades about the situation now enveloping them all equally.
—An attack?
—No. I think it was an internal explosion. For weeks, they've been coming and going from the west area. Every scientist who entered that place came out pale, with indescribable horror plastered on their faces.
Though hearing a human voice is comforting, the chilling tale only puts everyone on edge again. The murmuring voice sounds as loud as a warning.
Until someone else interrupts them: —Hey, you two. This isn't the time or place for gossip. Silence.
The voices sheepishly die down and reply: —Yes, sir.
Once again, silence prevails, followed by the background noise of the elevator motors. Everyone stares ahead with solemn, prepared looks. There's nothing their training and drills haven't taught them to face.
Right?
The elevator's neutral light begins to flicker.
One of the soldiers, exasperated, looks up at the ceiling lamps: —Not again?!
Until...
Boom! Boom! Boom!
Three consecutive explosions rumble through the structure, causing vibrations that give advance warning of a more violent shaking.
Instinctively, everyone grabs the walls until the energy surge reaches them.
The elevator shudders, accompanied by the faint creaking of metal and walls that seem to be expanding, until finally it stops.
—Is it over? Is everyone al-?
A violent jolt brutally impacts the sealed box, making it feel like a small, fragile toy box, with dozens of lives aboard.
Feet lift off the floor.
Eyes widen.
Before they can stop it, their bodies are slammed against the ceiling of the elevator.
G-force crushes them against the top, while the elevator plummets noisily into an abyss. The horrifying shriek of dying restraint cables and hot brakes scraping metal makes their eardrums bleed, like a needle slowly burying itself in their ears.
—Aaaaaah! —
Abruptly, everything stops.
Bodies thud heavily against the floor.
The elevator has managed to stop, barely, averting an even greater tragedy.
But hitting the floor at that speed, so suddenly, wreaks havoc. The first to recover are those whose backs were against the ceiling, acting as cushions against the initial crushing G-force. But the first to hit the floor were the last to make contact with the ceiling. They were also cushions—but for a fatal impact.
The floor floods with blood, while the survivors pick themselves up in horror, staring at the gruesome spectacle and the final resting place of many of their comrades.
—How many left? —asks the same man who had scolded the gossips.
—Just over a dozen, Captain.
Those words hit the survivors hard. Some are relieved after nearly brushing death. Others… look traumatized, after witnessing such visceral carnage. The shock lingers, but if one thing is clear, it's that time is a luxury they don't have. Mourning the dead is no longer an option.
Ryjad, looking distraught, stares at the bloodbath soiling the floor and staining the walls in irregular patterns of intense crimson, giving the room a sinister, dead hue.
Ryjad's eyes scan the room, searching for his comrades. He's relieved to find Kaine safe, but something's wrong: Kaine is staring at the floor, with revulsion and a need to vomit, covering his mouth with both hands.
Ryjad follows his gaze, and what he sees is something hard to erase. He nearly loses his balance, reaching for the blood-spattered walls for support.
Handel, however, lies sprawled on the floor, his gaze empty, a crack in his skull seeping a pinkish, lumpy mass, with thin streams of blood trickling through it.
He mutters to himself: "Oh, God… Handel."
—We can't stay. Those of you left, we keep moving —the Captain responds firmly, pressing the same button that sent half the elevator to their deaths.
The electric hum resumes, as the elevator begins its ascent once more through the dangerous levels that nearly caused its collapse. People murmur prayers. The silence is no longer the same; where once there was concern and tension, now there is only room for the purest, most primal human emotion.
Fear.
The structure shakes again. The déjà vu of a lived tragedy strikes the survivors once more, who, marked by survival instinct, cling to the walls. Even the Captain, who seemed steady in his resolve, is faltering at the prospect of falling again, this time with no return.
For an instant, everyone holds their breath and just watches.
When the final beep announces arrival at the intended destination, a collective gasp of relief is exhaled by all at once.
The metal doors creak and slowly open, with light and blood spilling into the hallway beyond through the narrow gap.
On the other side, a young woman with an upright posture, hands behind her back holding a clipboard. She doesn't seem disturbed by the chaos around her—until the elevator light paints a crimson stripe across her entire body. Her eyes widen as she sees blood flowing like a river through the opening.
—Charlie Company? —she asks, stunned.
—What's left of it —replies the Captain.
—What happened?
—Long story.
The young woman merely nods, doesn't press further, and signals for the remains of the group to follow her.
The woman walks with a firm posture, decisive steps, and a serious demeanor, though unsettled by the gruesome display.
—Attention: Alpha and Bravo Companies began their incursion into the inner facilities about half an hour ago —she pauses briefly—. We still haven't heard from them.
—We have less than a third of our company left —the Captain objects.
—I know that, Captain Robert. We'll supplement your group with more personnel from other platoons.
The group's footsteps diminish as they approach a large chamber. The facility seems to be underground, judging by the ventilation ducts running along the ceiling and the thick columns separating the floor from the concrete ceiling, which is itself supported by steel beams. It also has ceiling lamps hanging from thin cables, never ceasing to sway and flicker.
—Take your weapons, Charlie team —the woman says.
The facility is divided into sections, with a large common area between two military-grade steel airlocks, and other adjacent areas like the vesting rooms and the arsenal.
The bustle is palpable. Captains barking orders, chaotic execution, and a frantic desperation among the soldiers present.
Ryjad and Kaine head to the vesting rooms, pushing through the crowd to collect their dark tactical uniforms and vests. Then, they're led to the arsenal, where weapons are distributed according to military equipment regulations: a primary weapon consisting of a high-caliber rifle—MP15—and a 15mm pistol as a secondary, plus a dozen ammunition cartridges.
Everyone assembles in the center of the common area, waiting for orders.
The same sergeant who had summoned Ryjad and Kaine climbs onto a table.
—Alright, listen up. We've got discouraging news from Alpha and Bravo Companies. Alpha was annihilated by an unknown hostile force, and Bravo is...
From the other side of one of the enormous steel airlocks, the continuous roar of gunfire can be heard thundering in the air.
—Bravo is holding the line —he finishes the sentence—. Don't let their act of heroism be in vain. We'll split into two groups: Charlie Company will contain the threat, and the rest will head up to the runway and provide cover for the scientists' evacuation.
The air quickly fills with complaints about the assignment of tasks, which some consider suicidal.
—Calm down. Any objection is treason and desertion. Do your duty, you're soldiers, damn it! —he pauses again and points to the rear airlocks—. Hold for 10 minutes, then get out of this place fast. Establish a perimeter and contain the threat. Captain Robert will take command of the company.
Let's go!
There's no room to refuse a direct order from the sergeant.
Charlie Company, with a considerable number of personnel, quickly forms a garrison, setting up two point turrets behind sandbag walls. The orders are clear: nothing behind those airlocks gets out.
Already in position, all gun muzzles are aimed at the forward airlocks, while the rear airlocks finish closing, taking the rest of the company with them.
—They'll open them for us, right? —asks a man, his voice tinged with doubt.
—I hope so —another replies.
Anxious fingers brush against the fine triggers. No one can take their eyes off the airlocks, while the fierce battle on the other side gives way to a thousand scenarios, suspended in the air or in the soldiers' minds.
Kaine looks nervously at Ryjad.
—Just another job, huh? —he sighs.
—Yeah, just another job —but there's doubt in that statement.
Kaine directs his gaze toward the Captain and says: —Sir, I know we have to shoot at anything behind those doors, but what if it's the remnants of Bravo team?
The Captain seems to hesitate for a moment, but collects himself. As if he knows something the others haven't grasped yet.
—The orders were clear: nothing gets out, and nothing will...
Kaine swallows hard at the coldness of that decision: —I-I see.
Suddenly, the lights flicker.
Until finally, the power supply cuts off spontaneously with an erratic electrical sound that slowly fades into nothing, plunging the common area into darkness. Until the emergency lights mounted on the top of the airlock frames kick in, providing some energy, but not much.
The gunfire stops.
It's their turn.
The airlocks emit a sinister metallic sound as they retract, revealing a space even darker and more desolate.
Everyone turns on their flashlights, but it's not enough to pierce the thickness of the gloom.
Hhrrrrr… aaaahhh…
Slow, heavy footsteps are heard coming from the darkness.
Grrrrrhhh… aaaaargh…
From out of the darkness emerges a seemingly human figure, but it's… strange. Its walk seems wounded, faltering, while its body writhes agonizingly.
It's insane.
—Halt! I said stop! Halt, or we'll open fire!
When that shadow fully emerges from the darkness, its dying appearance, covered in mortal-looking wounds, leaves a spine-chilling feeling hanging in the air.
It seems to move more by impulse than by its own will. Its almost-white eyes roll slowly, revealing bloodshot, frenetically agitated pupils.
—RAAAARGH!! —
The creature charges at Charlie Company, but a heavy burst of gunfire cuts it down.
—What the hell was that?!
From the darkness come quickened footsteps, followed by roars and whimpers.
—GRAAAAHH!! HHHHSSSS!! aa…aah…
—Aim! —
Everyone holds their weapons steady.
– Ready! —Robert raises his hand, waiting for the perfect moment to give the final order.
Everyone keeps their fingers steady on the triggers, anxiously awaiting what's to come. The hell that will be unleashed upon them.
Multiple figures emerge at high speed from the darkness, charging the entrenched soldiers.
Robert drops his hand: —Fire! —
The air fills with lead and the roar of bullets, while the muzzle flashes and bright trails of projectiles offer the only comfort against the darkness devouring them.
Multiple figures are struck down, but for each one that falls to the ground with a dull thud, three more emerge from the darkness.
The smell of gunpowder floods the soldiers' nostrils, making their eyes water.
The clinking of shell casings bouncing off the floor rings out, followed by the constant sound of reloading.
But they are relentless. The turrets do their best, but are overwhelmed every time they reload.
The defensive line falls back and repositions by the second, making for a hellish, endless wait to buy just a few more minutes.
Until the assault becomes overwhelming.
The front lines fall.
The creatures pounce on them and begin to devour them alive, while the gut-wrenching screams of their comrades make the rest waver.
Overwhelmed. Next go the turret operators; now they are on defense, the line is broken, and everyone tries to hold out in small formations. When chaos takes over the place, Ryjad searches with his eyes for the Captain, hoping for orders.
But the Captain lies sprawled on the floor, while an abominable being tears his neck apart, leaving a pool of blood in its wake.
—Shit! —Ryjad shouts.
—What now?! —
He and Kaine begin to slowly retreat, but there's no way out: the airlock is still sealed. What if they'd been abandoned as bait?
Suddenly.
The emergency lights on the door come on, followed by the creaking and rising of the massive metal structure.
It was their chance!
---
The darkness of night loomed sinisterly over the military facility, leaving a dark canvas in the background that seemed to devour everything with each passing moment and each new sector that lost its lights.
On a dim, extensive runway, the silhouette of several planes taking off could be seen, swallowed by the blackness of the sky, except for one military transport plane waiting patiently on the runway, its rear ramp deployed, engines and propellers at full power, ready to leave.
There stood the figure of the sergeant, holding firm to a handhold near the hatch. His gaze was fixed on the relief leading to the base's subsurface.
With no apparent hope, he was about to order the withdrawal, when two figures emerged, running at full speed.
He gestures to the pilots to hold.
—One moment.
—Just the two of them left? —asks another soldier, seated with his seatbelt on.
The sergeant manages to make out the silhouette of a large horde nipping at the heels of Ryjad and Kaine.
—What is that?! —shouts the same soldier.
One of the pilots turns his head in his seat and sees the pursuit. Panicking, he revs the engines and starts to taxi, putting distance between the two endangered soldiers and the plane.
—Wait! —both shout in unison, running with all their might to catch the plane.
—Sergeant! —shouts one of the pilots—. We're approaching the perimeter wall. I need to take off.
—Just a moment!
—Sir, if we stay to wait for those two, we risk the entire crew. I don't want to die, sir!
The weight of the choice now rests on the tired shoulders of the seasoned soldier, who is conflicted, not wanting to leave anyone else behind, but undoubtedly risking many more people for just two men.
But they are also two of his best men.
—Agh... —he turns his head toward the pilot—. Take off.
The pilot nods, sealing the fate of Ryjad and Kaine.
The nose of the aircraft begins to lift, as the ramp retracts.
—What are you doing?! —Ryjad demands—. Damn it! —
They run, but they don't make it.
Ryjad shares one last searing glare with the man who had taught him so much, as the edge of the ramp makes his silhouette disappear behind it.
Both soldiers collapse on the asphalt runway, watching as the plane takes off and disappears into the dark sky, leaving them alone to their fate.
Ryjad punches the asphalt in frustration.
—Bastards! —
—Hey, Ry —Kaine calls his attention, pointing at the horde approaching relentlessly toward them.
Ryjad gets to his feet, offers his friend a hand to get up, grabs his weapon with fury and determination burning in his eyes. And mutters:
"We're not leaving without a fight."