Time in the Metro had lost all meaning. Days melted into nights, and nights flowed endlessly into months. By now, Lili had carefully marked four months and three days since the infected first came scratching at their sanctuary walls.
In the beginning, the sounds had been relentless. Ragged, desperate breathing pressed against the sealed entrances. Wet, animalistic growls echoed down the tunnels, distorted into something almost human but horribly wrong. Mad laughter would pierce the stillness at unpredictable intervals—shrill, erratic bursts that tore at the nerves. Sometimes they sang, their voices forming an eerie, broken melody of the damned. It was hauntingly beautiful in a twisted, horrifying way, as if the souls of the dead were trapped, wailing through rotted throats in warped harmony. Then came the dogs, or what was left of them. They whimpered and clawed frantically at pipes and walls, their sharp nails scraping metal, bodies slamming repeatedly into barriers with blind, crazed hunger.
But the infected never breached the sanctuary. Their refuge—an abandoned Metro station tucked deep beneath layers of collapsed concrete and twisted steel—remained sealed. Entrances were barricaded, walls fortified by rubble and sheer desperation. Nothing had gotten in, nothing had disturbed their precious, fragile pocket of safety.
Yet despite their security, the Sergeant had given strict orders—absolute silence. No talking unless necessary, no movement beyond what survival demanded. Even after the clawing ceased, and the ghastly laughter drifted away, and even now, when the oppressive hush filled every inch of the tunnels, the order remained.
Lili understood the necessity, but still, it felt unbearable.
She had been just a child when the world above had died, and she remained young, perhaps too young for this endless waiting, this unnatural stillness. It made her bones itch, made her restless. And the men… they had changed the most. They sat motionless in the pale, flickering glow of the small stones of light she had painstakingly crafted to brighten their makeshift home. Their eyes seemed hollow, expressions drained of life, unreadable masks in the dim glow. They no longer laughed. They rarely spoke, and when they did, their voices were hushed, cautious whispers.
That frightened her more than the monsters lurking outside ever could.
Determined to reclaim some shred of her former life, Lili decided to fill the silence. She searched through the debris, eventually uncovering a charred stick from one of their long-extinguished fires. Carefully, hesitantly, she touched the smooth white stone of the Metro wall. It felt sacred and pristine beneath her fingertips, almost wrong to deface it. Yet her need to create, to remember, drove her forward. Soon, the charred stick scratched softly against the wall, broad strokes forming tentative lines.
She wanted to capture the world as it once had been, before the infected, before the silence.
It was challenging at first, memories hazy and elusive, obscured by layers of fear and time. But as she continued, images began to surface, gently at first, then faster, clearer.
She saw herself small and joyful, gripping her mother's warm hand as they traveled the Metro together. The train had always been full, bustling with life. People wore clean, colorful clothing, the scent of perfumes and freshly brewed coffee mingling in the air. Her mother would point out different people—the busy office workers reading screens, students tightly clutching books, workers in neat blue uniforms making their way toward distant industrial districts.
She remembered the Metro station that opened onto the park, how the escalator hummed pleasantly beneath her feet, gently lifting them towards daylight. Her mother would patiently explain how electricity powered the escalator, making the steps glide effortlessly upward. It fascinated her then—magic born from wires and machines she barely understood.
Then came the top.
The glass pavilion bathed in bright sunlight. Wide streets lush with greenery stretched before her, a gentle breeze whispering through leaves. The sky had always seemed impossibly vast and blue, dotted only by drifting clouds as soft and carefree as her laughter. Sunlight warmed her face, and crisp wind danced through her hair, filling her with the joy of simply being alive.
She had taken deep breaths then, inhaling the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers, fresh-cut grass, and distant bakeries wafting delicious scents through the park.
She remembered the joyful sounds of other children playing, the rhythmic bounce of a ball against pavement, and the cheerful bell of the ice cream vendor who always had a smile for her.
And ice cream—sweet, cold, and comforting. That had been the last day she tasted it.
Lili paused, looking down at her hands, now blackened by charcoal. She had drawn the city as vividly as she could—the bustling streets, the humming Metro trains, towering trees and vibrant parks. But when she tried to picture her parents, her fingers faltered.
Their faces were missing.
She squeezed her eyes shut, desperately willing herself to remember their features clearly. Yet all that came were distorted, nightmarish images. Tear-streaked eyes, grotesquely wide smiles stretched painfully over protruding bones, faces twisted and discolored by decay.
Her hands shook violently. The charcoal stick slipped from her grasp, falling to the floor and clattering against the cold stone. Her breathing grew ragged, panic tightening in her chest.
It had been two years since she last saw a reflection—no mirror, not even a puddle of still water. She knew she had changed, that her clothes had transformed from clean garments to tattered rags, fused with the grime and filth of endless tunnels. The men, too, bore the unmistakable stink of unwashed bodies and bitter sweat, their humanity slowly eroded by the long months underground.
But this was something else.
She could not summon a single human face from her past—not her parents', not even her own.
Finally, trembling, she retrieved the charcoal stick, and with shaking fingers, she drew a simple stick-figure family—a small one in the middle flanked by two taller figures. A family with no faces, no smiles.
Because smiles, in her shattered memories, belonged only to the dead.
Lili curled her fingers into fists, nails digging painfully into her palms, fighting back tears she refused to let fall.
A whisper sliced through the suffocating silence behind her, harsh and sudden, pulling Lili from her troubled thoughts.
She turned slowly, her eyes adjusting to the dimness. The men had gathered in a tight circle near the battered radio, their faces partially lit by the flickering glow of the emergency lights. Their expressions were drawn tight, jaws clenched, eyes haunted. There was a new kind of heaviness in their whispers, a tense urgency that hadn't been there before.
Corporal hunched over the radio once again, desperately turning knobs and adjusting frequencies. The battered device hissed, crackled, and spat static before inevitably falling silent, its small green light dimming in defeat—the same routine that had played out again and again for months now. Yet each failure seemed to deepen the despair etched into the men's faces.
Nothing.
No voices.
No signals.
Even the faintest ghost of a distress beacon was gone. The distant, comforting rumble of artillery, the reassuring vibrations of orbital bombardments—every trace of human resistance had faded into chilling nothingness. The oppressive stillness that settled around them was thick, heavy, and absolute.
Lili felt it in her bones, knew it deep in her heart. They all did, even if none of them dared voice it aloud.
They were truly alone—not just in this darkened Metro station, but perhaps on the entire planet.
"I'm telling you, Sarge," the Corporal snapped, his voice frayed at the edges, desperation clinging to every word. "There's nothing. Absolutely nothing. I'm not picking up even the faintest signal anymore. It's all…gone."
The Sergeant's face darkened, jaw muscles tightening visibly beneath his grime-covered skin. His fingers dug into the radio as though sheer force of will could summon life back into its wires. After a strained moment, his gaze shifted to Lili, eyes piercing her with a fierce intensity.
"Girl," he said, voice tight with urgency. "What about you? Can you sense anything? Tremors? Explosions? Can you hear the infected—where they are, how many?"
Lili abandoned the burnt stick, letting it fall softly to the cold stone floor. Kneeling carefully, she pressed her ear gently against the icy, gritty surface. In the long darkness, she'd grown strangely attuned to the underground. It was as if the tunnels themselves spoke to her now, sharing secrets that no one else could hear.
Closing her eyes, she listened, allowing the tunnel's whispers to wash over her, sensing every vibration, every distant echo.
The first sound was faint—almost ghostly. Wind moaned softly through the distant tunnels, hollow and mournful. It drifted from deep within, from the direction of Achios, like a weary sigh carried on a lost breath. A breach, she realized. A hole somewhere far off in the tunnel wall, an opening to whatever remained of the outside world.
Then came the footsteps. Slow, dragging, aimless shuffling—a grim chorus of bodies wandering endlessly in the dark. The infected. Always there, always lurking just beyond sight.
But beyond these immediate sensations?
Nothing.
No distant echo of human struggle. No faint vibrations of artillery, no distant explosions, no signs of life fighting back against death.
Only silence—a deep, impenetrable silence that stretched far beyond the tunnels, beyond the ruined city, perhaps beyond the entire world itself.
It was the quiet of a graveyard.
She slowly sat back up, dust clinging to her cheek as she spoke, her voice barely more than a whisper. "I can hear the infected, far down the tunnel towards Achios. But... apart from that, it's quiet. Just wind. I think there's a large breach down that way."
Her words hung heavy in the air, deepening the oppressive stillness around them. The Sergeant's expression hardened further, but the Corporal exhaled sharply, shaking his head with grim resignation.
"See, Sarge?" he said, voice cracking slightly. "Just like I said—nothing. No signals, no survivors. We're alone. You need to accept it. No one's coming for us. If anyone was going to help, they'd have come by now. The Imperium probably abandoned us months ago, moved on to fight somewhere else. And knowing them, it'll be decades—maybe even centuries—before some bureaucrat even remembers Achios exists."
The men exchanged long, bleak glances. Silent nods passed among them, heavy with shared understanding and resignation.
The Sergeant stared down at his boots, taking a long, deep breath before responding in a voice quiet yet razor-sharp. "Oh? And what exactly do you suggest we do then, Corporal? If Achios has truly fallen, if the capital itself is lost, then this world is lost. If what you say is true and no one is coming—like all the other worlds these demons claimed—do we have any options left at all? Or do you want us to just roll over and die?"
The Corporal straightened, meeting the Sergeant's gaze head-on. "No, Sarge," he replied, firm and unyielding. "I'm saying we stop waiting for salvation. We head to Mikri Poli's spaceport, find a ship, and take our chances out there in the stars. If we can't find a ship, we'll find a vehicle and head for another spaceport. But staying here—waiting for help that's never coming—that's not living. It's just slow death."
The Sergeant said nothing, his features unreadable, eyes dark and calculating.
But the Corporal was determined. He stepped closer, voice growing impassioned. "We weren't made for this, Sarge. Humans aren't meant to rot underground like rats, surviving on berries and peas day after day. I want to see sunlight again. Breathe fresh air. I want something other than cold stone beneath my feet. I want to believe my family might still be out there, waiting for me. To speak with real people again. Hell, even to feel a woman's touch before I die."
The other soldiers shifted uneasily, tension mingling with unspoken longing, desperation, and a strange hunger that made Lili's skin crawl. Their silence filled the air with something heavy, charged, and uncomfortable.
The Sergeant's gaze suddenly shifted towards Lili, lingering too long, his lips curving into a smile that felt all wrong.
"Ah, a woman's touch," he drawled, voice dripping with a disturbing, dark humor. "Wouldn't that be nice? But unfortunately, our little Lili here is still far too small for that." His grin widened slightly, eliciting low, dry chuckles from the men.
Lili shrank back, her skin prickling uneasily. She didn't fully grasp their words, but their hungry gazes, their strange smiles—it all made her stomach twist into knots.
The Sergeant abruptly clapped his hands, shattering the uncomfortable silence. "Fine," he barked, suddenly decisive. "It's settled then. We're heading to Mikri Poli. If there's a ship, we'll take it. If not—we'll deal with it."
The men nodded solemnly, their expressions hardening into determined grimness.
Lili should've felt relief, excitement even. They were finally leaving this darkness, returning to the surface. Yet all she felt was a deep, unsettling dread twisting inside her.
Still, she obeyed silently, taping a glowing stone to her helmet, securing her gas mask, checking her helmet straps.
They were going back up.
Back to the surface.
Back to whatever was left.
Lili carefully stuffed a handful of peas into her pockets, pressing them deep into the fabric as if their reassuring weight could anchor her courage. Her small fingers trembled slightly, betraying the fear she tried to hide. Next came a few strawberries, their vibrant red a stark contrast against the worn, dull fabric of her uniform, followed by a bundle of fresh greens. With quiet reverence, she plucked two small white flowers, cupping them gently in her palm before slipping them carefully into a pocket closest to her heart—a silent prayer for luck, a whisper of hope amid uncertainty.
Finally, she reached for the knife.
The weapon, a once-cumbersome blade nearly as long as her forearm, had seemed impossibly large when the Sergeant first placed it into her tiny hands two years ago. Now, as her fingers closed around the familiar grip, it felt smaller, lighter. She studied its scratched, dull metal surface, realizing with quiet surprise that perhaps it was not the knife that had shrunk, but she who had grown. She slid it gently into her belt, reassured by its familiar weight against her hip.
Her oversized military uniform followed next, loose and ill-fitting despite the Sergeant's attempts to tailor it. The sleeves still hung slightly past her wrists, and the shortened pants threatened to slip from her slender frame, cinched tightly with a frayed belt. But it was hers—the only armor she had, the only thing that marked her as one of them.
She reached for her helmet, fastening the straps tightly under her chin. Her gas mask came after, sealing snugly against her face, a barrier between her and whatever horrors awaited above. Lastly, she tied one of her glowing stones to the side of her helmet, its soft, bluish-white luminescence casting a comforting warmth onto her cheek.
She was ready—or at least as ready as she could ever be.
Around her, the men prepared in grim silence, each focused and practiced in their movements. They packed food and supplies, their heavy, armored forms stark against her own small silhouette. The men hefted weapons she could barely lift—guns mounted with flashlights, ammunition packs strapped tightly across broad shoulders, armor plates scuffed and dented by battles past. The Heavy, largest among them, swung the massive rotary las-cannon across his broad chest with practiced ease, the weapon's bulk dwarfing Lili's modest knife.
Together, they approached one of the station's sealed exits, its outline barely visible beneath layers of rubble and debris. Piece by piece, they cleared it, the sound of shifting stones scraping painfully loud in the tense silence. Beneath, a rusted metal door emerged, ominous and forbidding.
Lili lingered at the back, close to the Sergeant's reassuring presence. Ahead, three riflemen positioned themselves expertly. One gripped the rusted handle, muscles taut, and pulled. The door groaned in protest, a long, metallic shriek echoing into the darkness beyond. The other two raised their weapons, flashlights cutting into the oppressive blackness, illuminating dust motes swirling like specters.
As soon as the gap allowed, the two riflemen burst forth, movements synchronized to perfection, one moving right, the other left, their weapons sweeping the tunnel. The third followed close behind, stepping forward to assess the passage ahead, his flashlight darting quickly over shadowed corners and potential hiding places.
With the path clear, the Corporal moved forward, his gaze sharp, eyes alert for any threat. Lili, the Sergeant, the Medic, and the Heavy followed closely, forming a cautious rear guard. The Heavy's wary glances backward became frequent, the grip on his massive weapon tightening noticeably as they moved deeper.
The tunnels were enveloped in eerie stillness.
Only the distant sound of the wind whispered through the passageways, a ghostly, mournful whistle that rose and fell like the breath of some sleeping beast. The air grew colder the further they ventured, icy fingers reaching through gaps in clothing and armor, seeping through the thin fabric of Lili's uniform.
The soft, comforting warmth of her garden and the gentle glow of the sanctuary she had created felt impossibly distant now, a memory fading with every step forward.
She watched her breath condense into mist, a thin, fragile vapor drifting away with each exhale. The men's breaths, too, hung in the air like apparitions, vanishing into the shadows.
"Damn, it's cold," the Heavy muttered, shuddering visibly beneath his armor.
The Sergeant's voice was sharp and steady, cutting through the cold. "Doesn't matter. We keep moving. Mikri Poli's Metro isn't far now."
Their footsteps echoed softly, boots whispering against cold stone as they pressed onward. Gradually, the cramped tunnels opened up, giving way to the sprawling underground labyrinth of Mikri Poli's Metro. Rails stretched into darkness, intersected by branching tunnels and maintenance passageways, a chaotic web of abandoned infrastructure.
Lili stared at the tangled complexity ahead, momentarily overwhelmed. Yet the Sergeant did not hesitate, his certainty guiding them unerringly through the maze. She quickened her pace, drawing closer to him, unwilling to be separated.
As they penetrated deeper into the Metro, the chill intensified, driven by an unseen force sweeping through open spaces like an icy windstorm. Scattered throughout the tunnels were abandoned Metro cars—some overturned and derailed, others still upright, their interiors shadowed and sinister, bloodstained glass and empty seats staring out at the passing group.
No bodies remained—only dried bloodstains, dark reminders of a desperate struggle.
Lili remembered the panic broadcasted on emergency channels, urging citizens to evacuate above ground. Few had chosen the bunkers, and those who had seemed doomed from the start. As they passed a station with open blast doors, her eyes caught sight of a dark smear leading inside—evidence of a futile, desperate fight for sanctuary.
Then, she heard it.
A faint, ragged wheezing. The unmistakable rasp of infected lungs, barely audible but clear enough to make her skin crawl.
Heart racing, she reached out instinctively, tugging the Sergeant's sleeve. Her voice trembled, barely more than a breath. "Sergeant, I think there are infected inside."
Without slowing, without even looking at her, he placed a steadying hand on her helmet, giving her a single, reassuring pat. Yet it felt hollow, empty, like comfort offered only out of habit, without true belief.
He kept moving, unbothered by the quiet dread that had settled deep in her stomach.
Swallowing hard, Lili forced her trembling legs to follow.
The further they ventured, the deeper the nightmare became.
Stations passed in grim procession, each more haunting than the last. Blood smeared across the walls, streaked across floors, stark evidence of struggles that had ended violently. Shattered lights dangled precariously, their shadows twisting ominously on the tunnel walls, creating phantoms that danced with each flicker.
And then came the infected.
They weren't awake—not yet—but their presence was undeniable. Lili could hear their breathing, a chilling symphony of ragged, mucus-laden gasps. The sound echoed faintly through the tunnels from side passages and ventilation shafts. Some of them coughed wetly, choking as though their lungs were full of something foul and thick. They lay dormant, locked in an unnatural sleep, hibernating in the shadows. She didn't understand why, nor did she dare wonder too deeply. All she knew was they needed to keep moving—fast, silently, without drawing attention.
At last, their path was completely barred.
Two derailed Metro cars lay twisted across the tracks ahead, blocking the way like massive, discarded toys tossed aside by a careless giant. The metal was crumpled, windows shattered, and the whole tangled wreckage formed an impenetrable barrier.
"Damn it," the Sergeant muttered sharply, scanning for an alternate route.
Lili's eyes darted across the wreckage, her small heart racing in desperation. Then she saw it—almost invisible in the shadows—a rear door on one of the cars, slightly ajar and miraculously undamaged.
"There!" she whispered urgently, tugging the Sergeant's sleeve and pointing.
He glanced down, then nodded curtly. Without hesitation, the riflemen swiftly climbed through the narrow gap, weapons poised. Heavy followed next, hauling himself up with a grunt, the car creaking beneath his considerable weight.
When it was Lili's turn, the Sergeant effortlessly lifted her through the opening, placing her gently onto the rust-stained floor of the Metro car. She glanced around anxiously, eyes adjusting to the dim interior. Rows of vacant red seats lined either side, their torn fabric sagging and stained. The windows, cracked and spider-webbed, allowed drafts of biting cold air to seep inside.
Outside, a desolate station platform stretched out—a tiny, forsaken place with no shelter or bunker. Its emptiness felt like a silent scream. But then, from somewhere above, came a faint, rattling breath. Lili froze, panic rising.
She urgently tugged the Sergeant's sleeve again, pointing upwards toward the escalator that led to the surface.
The Sergeant gave her helmet a gentle but dismissive pat, his face unreadable behind the mask. "Keep moving," he murmured quietly. "Stay close."
They proceeded through the car cautiously, boots crunching on glass fragments. Soon, they reached a crossroads. Ahead lay the driver's cabin, its controls blinking weakly. To the right was an exit door leading back onto the tracks, but it was blocked by debris and rubble. Their only option was clear—through the car itself or risk the maintenance tunnels.
Without hesitation, the Sergeant moved toward the driver's seat. "Cover me," he whispered tensely. "This is about to get loud."
But before he could proceed, the Corporal's hand shot out, gripping the Sergeant's shoulder tightly.
"Sarge, what the hell are you doing?" The Corporal hissed urgently, his eyes wide with alarm. "If you start this thing, you'll wake every infected bastard in these tunnels!"
The Sergeant turned slowly, fixing the Corporal with a steely gaze. "You're right," he admitted, voice steady yet resolute. "But creeping through these tunnels will get us killed eventually. We have one chance—get to the spaceport fast. If there's a ship, we live. If there isn't, we die anyway. So defend this car, Corporal. Fight like your life depends on it—because it does."
A heavy, tense silence filled the air. After a heartbeat, the men reluctantly nodded, stepping into defensive positions, weapons raised and ready.
Lili's pulse thundered in her ears. She clutched her small knife tightly, her knuckles white beneath her gloves. Somewhere, hidden in the oppressive gloom, she heard the infected's breathing growing restless.
Then suddenly, with a violent shudder, the Metro car sprang to life. Lights flickered on with a dull hum, and a loud, cheerful ping resonated through the carriage, followed by the synthetic voice of the train's automated system:
"Welcome to Mikri Poli Metro Line 3. I hope you have a safe journey and an enjoyable day."
"Fuck!" The Sergeant roared, slamming his fist into the controls, cutting off the robotic greeting. But the damage was already done.
From the escalators came a chilling, guttural laughter—twisted, mad, and utterly inhuman. Then, rising rapidly into a frenzied crescendo, came the shrieking wails of the infected, echoing through the tunnels, bouncing relentlessly off the cold stone walls.
"Shit, here they come!" the Heavy bellowed, bracing himself as the Metro car jerked forward, wheels screeching against the rusted tracks.
The infected awoke in a flood of chaos and fury. They tumbled down the escalators in waves, limbs twisting grotesquely, crashing against each other in mindless desperation. Their pale, glowing eyes locked onto the moving train, their twisted, rotting faces split into wide, nightmarish grins.
Lili gasped in horror, diving behind one of the seats and curling into a tight ball, trying to make herself invisible. The soldiers sprang into action around her, their movements precise and practiced.
"Come and get some, you mutated bastards!" roared the Heavy, his rotary las-cannon roaring to life, its barrel glowing molten-hot before erupting in a barrage of searing crimson bolts. Windows shattered explosively, glass shards raining down onto the floor. The infected fell in heaps, their laughter turning to choked gasps and strangled screams.
The riflemen joined in, their guns crackling as rapid bursts of fire cut down wave after wave of attackers. Shell casings clattered like metallic rain onto the car's floor.
Slowly, the Metro car gained speed, its momentum pushing forward through the darkness, leaving the chaos of the infected behind. As the madness faded into the distance, replaced by the rhythmic clatter of wheels on the tracks, Lili pressed her trembling body against the cold metal seat, her heart hammering painfully in her chest.
The Sergeant glanced at her, his gaze briefly softening before snapping back to grim determination.
"Hold on," he murmured, almost gently. "We're going to make it out."
The Heavy's victorious shout echoed through the carriage, but his celebration was painfully short-lived.
A sharp, sudden crash shattered the brief peace from behind, followed immediately by another—and another. Glass exploded inward, showering the carriage floor in glistening shards, as the infected clawed frantically through the gaps. Their twisted limbs stretched grotesquely, contorting with unnatural strength as they forced their bloated bodies into the Metrocar.
"Damn it! Why won't these bastards give up?!" the Heavy roared, pivoting swiftly and leveling his massive rotary las-cannon towards the incoming nightmare.
The soldiers quickly repositioned themselves, forming a tight defensive line, weapons blazing. The carriage became a deadly choke-point, channeling the infected straight into a merciless barrage of las-fire. Yet, even as the attackers were shredded by the relentless volley, they pressed forward undeterred, their mutilated bodies dragging themselves onward. Some stumbled blindly after their heads exploded, driven by an unholy hunger before collapsing into twitching heaps.
From behind a torn seat cushion, Lili peeked out, eyes wide with shock and horror. The scene was overwhelming. Blood sprayed the walls in vivid crimson arcs. Bits of shattered bone and torn flesh painted macabre patterns across seats and floors alike. Wind screamed through bullet holes, adding a ghostly chorus to the chaos.
Then—a sickening crunch, followed by a wet, visceral splatter.
"Yeah! Get some, you disgusting freaks!" the Sergeant bellowed triumphantly from the control panel.
Lili didn't need to look to understand what had happened; she could hear the horrific squelching as the Metrocar plowed mercilessly through infected bodies on the tracks, grinding them under its wheels. The soldiers cheered fiercely, their spirits lifted.
But their relief vanished instantly.
BANG!
A massive impact slammed violently into the front window. Glass erupted inward with lethal velocity, showering the soldiers in razor-sharp fragments.
Bodies flew into the carriage, launched by the sheer force of the collision. Soldiers slammed against walls and benches, momentarily stunned by the brutal impact.
"AHH! Fuck!" came a pained scream.
Lili's heart thundered in panic. Her gaze darted frantically across the chaos—one infected had latched onto a rifleman, gnawing furiously at his armored neck. The Medic and the Corporal lay dazed on the floor, struggling to rise. The Heavy grappled desperately with another creature, its clawed fingers tearing through his sleeve, carving bloody furrows along his arm.
Lili didn't think—she acted.
With a fierce cry, she launched herself onto the infected's back, driving her knife downward with all her strength. But her weapon barely pierced its thick skull, her hands slipping from the hilt, trembling with fear and frustration. The creature barely noticed her, turning its grotesque, grinning face toward her instead.
"Bang!"
The Heavy's sidearm barked sharply. The creature's head jerked violently, its corrupted brains scattering as it fell heavily to the floor, dragging Lili down with it. She gasped, struggling beneath the corpse until a strong hand gripped her firmly by the shoulder.
"Get to the Heavy! Heal him—now!" the Corporal shouted urgently, pushing her towards the wounded soldier.
Without hesitation, Lili scrambled forward, her small hands pressing desperately onto the Heavy's bleeding forearm. Closing her eyes, she reached deep within, summoning the gentle, radiant warmth hidden at the core of her being. It responded instantly, flowing outward like liquid sunlight through her fingertips, enveloping the soldier's torn flesh. The bleeding slowed, flesh knitted together, pain replaced by soothing relief.
She scarcely had time to catch her breath before the Corporal urgently guided her toward the two riflemen lying at the carriage's rear. Their bodies shook uncontrollably, the cursed infection already working to claim them. Drawing from her dwindling reserves, Lili poured the pure, cleansing energy through their wounds, fighting fiercely against the encroaching corruption. Exhaustion gnawed at her consciousness, dark spots clouding her vision, but she did not stop until the last shadow of disease was banished from their bodies.
Finally, breathless, she slumped back, relief flooding her chest as the men's trembling eased, their tortured expressions softening into grateful peace. They would live.
At the front of the Metrocar, the Sergeant expertly navigated the controls, seemingly unfazed by the carnage around him. Lili watched him, awe mixing with curiosity. She didn't understand how he knew to operate the complex machinery, but as she steadied her racing heart, she realized again just how mysterious, unpredictable, and capable he truly was.
Lili spotted her knife gleaming faintly among the blood-smeared floor and shattered shards of glass. With a quick gasp, she darted forward, bending low to retrieve it. Beneath her small shoes, broken glass crunched sharply, echoing softly in the now eerily silent Metrocar. The metallic scent of blood hung heavily in the air, a grim reminder of the carnage they had barely survived.
Before she could straighten fully, the Metrocar shuddered violently to a halt, jolting her off balance. The doors slid open with a mechanical hiss, and the station outside yawned wide, dark and foreboding.
Without hesitation, the soldiers surged forward, boots pounding against the station platform, the sounds reverberating like drumbeats. Swiftly, they spread into formation, rifles raised, flashlights slicing through the darkness in sharp, deliberate arcs. Their breathing came in tight, controlled bursts, tense fingers hovering anxiously near triggers.
Nothing stirred.
No shadows leapt forward. No shrieks of infected echoed from the darkened corridors. Only silence—thick, oppressive, and suffocating.
After exchanging cautious nods, the men moved swiftly once more, making a beeline toward the looming escalators leading up to the surface. Their steps quickened, urgency clear in their every movement.
Lili froze momentarily at the threshold of the Metrocar doors. From deep behind her, echoing faintly through the tunnel they'd just traversed, came the distant yet unmistakable howls and growls of the infected—drawing ever nearer. Her heart clenched painfully in her chest, panic prickling along her spine.
She couldn't be left behind. Not here. Not now.
She bolted forward, her small legs pumping furiously to close the gap. The soldiers' strides were long and sure, effortlessly covering ground that felt impossibly vast to her. With each hurried step, the biting chill intensified, clawing mercilessly at her exposed skin, numbing her fingertips even through thick gloves. She didn't even notice as her grip loosened and the knife slipped from her fingers, clattering unnoticed onto the cold tiles below.
At the escalator's base, the Sergeant's voice cut sharply through the air. "Move it! Unless you wanna stay and join those freaks!"
The men bounded upward, climbing two steps at a time with relentless urgency. Lili stumbled to a halt, eyes wide and breath fogging rapidly against the inside of her gas mask. She gazed upward, following the long, dimly lit escalator that stretched toward an eerie pale glow. But this light was nothing like the warm, golden sunlight she remembered from childhood—it was pale, cold, dead.
A bone-chilling howl erupted behind her, closer now, shattering her hesitation into pieces.
Breath catching, Lili wiped frantically at the condensation clouding her mask, then forced her weary legs upward. Each step seemed heavier than the last, her muscles aching, her breaths ragged and shallow. Her vision blurred, the soldiers ahead of her reduced to indistinct shadows against the harsh, sterile light seeping down from above.
At last, she crested the escalator.
The station that greeted her was a monument to death and ruin. Its vast windows, once sparkling with pristine clarity, now stood shattered, jagged edges framing the bleak, desolate city beyond. The wind whipped cruelly through the broken panes, whistling mournfully across bodies strewn carelessly across the tiled floor—infected and soldiers alike, locked together in death. Darkened pools of frozen blood marked their final, desperate struggles.
Beyond the carnage, the city itself lay buried beneath a thick blanket of snow. It was as if winter had come to erase everything—vehicles rusted and frozen in place, corpses hidden beneath drifts of icy white. The towering skyscrapers that once symbolized human pride and strength now stood as hollow, skeletal remains, their silhouettes stark and lifeless against a sky swirling with grim gray clouds and drifting flakes of snow.
One of the riflemen muttered bitterly, his voice low and filled with dread. "Shit… is this a nuclear winter? Did those bastards at HQ really set off the bombs?"
The Sergeant exhaled slowly, his breath a visible cloud against the biting chill. "Looks like it," he said grimly. "That means we're on our own." He tightened his grip on his weapon, sweeping his gaze over the desolation ahead. "All the more reason to find a ship and get the hell outta here before radiation or the infection gets us. Move out!"
Lili didn't understand the details—what exactly a "nuclear winter" meant, or why bombs would leave the world so utterly lifeless—but she understood enough.
This place was dead.
And they couldn't stay.
Lili trudged forward, struggling through snow that rose to her knees. Each step sent icy needles stabbing through her legs, numbing her skin beneath pants that quickly grew damp, clinging miserably to her thin frame. She hugged herself tightly, desperate to hold onto what little warmth she had left.
As she struggled to keep pace with the men, a sudden, strange sensation made her pause. An instinctive unease drew her gaze upward. Squinting through the swirling snowflakes, she glimpsed something dark circling high above—an odd, indistinct shadow. A bird, perhaps? But it seemed larger, distorted, somehow unnatural. It hovered silently, riding the currents of freezing air before vanishing abruptly behind the shattered, looming shape of the spaceport.
Lili frowned, a shiver passing through her that had nothing to do with the cold. She shook her head quickly. It was probably nothing. It had to be.
Ahead, the entrance to the spaceport yawned open, a cavernous mouth surrounded by a landscape of ruin. Burned-out husks of armored vehicles sat half-buried in the snowdrifts, their scorched shells a stark reminder of the desperate, final struggle that had unfolded here. Soldiers' bodies lay slumped and frozen, their vacant eyes staring blankly at a sky they would never see again. Inside the terminal, the carnage was even worse—heaps of corpses, both human and infected, frozen together in a grotesque, twisted stillness.
The spaceport was a tomb, silent and haunted.
Lili's breath caught sharply as a noise drifted up from behind her—a distant, echoing howl, resonating ominously from the tunnels below. Her heart quickened, a surge of fear jolting through her veins.
"Sarge…" Her voice cracked, thin and breathless as she struggled to speak. "They're coming."
The Sergeant didn't hesitate. Without a word, he broke into a run, dashing toward a cracked and battered console behind a service desk. His fingers flew deftly over the damaged screen, coaxing it back to flickering, reluctant life. Static danced across the glass, but a single, stubborn point of light blinked defiantly amidst the chaos.
His eyes brightened, the weary hardness of his face momentarily softening with fierce relief. "Hell yes! We've got a hit. An old cargo freighter—Bay 63!"
He slammed his fist triumphantly against the console before swiftly grabbing his rifle and turning sharply to face the others.
"Let's move! Now!"
Lili had never set foot in a spaceport before. To her, its sprawling halls were both awe-inspiring and utterly alien. As she hurried along, breath puffing in short, rapid clouds, her eyes caught on towering statues standing like silent sentinels. Armored soldiers stood tall, their carved faces locked in grim determination, while serene, angelic figures watched over them with peaceful vigilance. Even in ruin, these monuments whispered echoes of the Imperium's power, faith, and lost grandeur.
High overhead, the ceiling soared into darkness, shadowing a vast mural that drew her eyes irresistibly upward. It depicted colossal Imperial fleets sailing majestically among the stars, their immense vessels casting deep, sweeping shadows over worlds humbled beneath their might. It was mesmerizing, a vision of glory and conquest so grand that, for a fleeting heartbeat, Lili forgot about the biting chill and the burning ache of exhaustion clawing at her limbs.
But the moment passed as quickly as it had come. Another distant howl pierced the air, louder and more urgent, snapping her back to reality.
There was no time to admire the past.
Only to survive.
The deeper they went, the more oppressive the darkness grew.
The emergency lighting was sparse now, flickering weakly like dying embers until it eventually faded into nothingness. With a practiced calm, the soldiers activated their flashlights. Narrow beams of stark white sliced through the suffocating gloom, revealing fragments of the past: overturned cargo crates, rusted machinery, and bodies—some human, others grotesquely altered, all frozen forever in their last agonized moments.
Then, echoing faintly from somewhere far behind, came a sound that made Lili's blood run cold.
A low, throaty growl reverberated through the corridors, melting into a sickly chuckle that bubbled into eerie, distorted singing. The voice was shrill yet strangely jubilant, echoing hauntingly through the abandoned halls:
"Join our song, sing along, celebrate our sickness… Through our bile, we will smile, one and all bear witness… to our unifying sickness."
An icy dread coiled around Lili's spine, chilling her deeper than the frigid air ever could.
"Shit, move!" one of the riflemen barked urgently.
Immediately, the squad broke into a frantic run, their boots hammering loudly against the metallic floors. Lili stumbled desperately behind, her shorter legs fighting in vain to match their swift pace. Her breath became ragged, muscles screaming as the terrifying chorus grew louder behind them.
Suddenly, strong hands grabbed her, wrenching a startled cry from her throat.
"Relax, kid," Heavy growled softly, lifting her effortlessly onto his broad back. "Just hold on tight."
She wrapped her small, trembling arms around his thick armor, clutching desperately as he surged forward, carrying her as if she weighed nothing at all. Wind whipped past them, the wailing, shrieking laughter of the infected now close enough that she could almost feel their foul breath on her neck.
Ahead, through the dizzying blur of motion, loomed a massive doorway marked by bold, imposing numbers: 63.
The hangar.
The squad exploded through the entrance into the open space beyond. Instantly, a gust of icy wind slammed into them, biting at every inch of exposed skin. Lili squinted against the chill, fingers numb as she clung tightly to Heavy.
And then she saw it.
At the hangar's heart sat a huge cargo freighter, a hulking, graceless mass of steel, crowned with towering loading cranes and scarred external fuel tanks. It was ugly, battered, but wonderfully intact—a symbol of escape, of survival.
The Sergeant laughed, a rare, joyous sound breaking free. "Hell yes! We actually did it!"
The Corporal flashed a relieved grin. "I knew it! Come on, everyone—move your asses! We're getting out of here!"
For one brief, beautiful moment, Lili dared to believe the nightmare was finally ending. But then—a sudden, sharp sensation seized her heart, a foreboding dread far stronger than before. Her gaze shot upward instinctively.
A monstrous crash tore through the hangar's ceiling as a massive, cone-shaped pod punched through, hurtling downward like a meteor of steel and destruction. Time seemed to slow, stretching the horror-filled moment as it slammed violently into the waiting freighter.
The ship exploded instantly, fuel tanks igniting in a blinding inferno, flames roaring skyward in a deafening crescendo. The blast wave slammed into Lili, tearing her from Heavy's back and flinging her through the air. The world spun wildly around her as she crashed heavily onto the unforgiving metal floor, her senses briefly overwhelmed.
When her vision cleared, devastation surrounded her.
From the blazing wreckage emerged monstrous figures encased in corroded, green armor. Towering, grotesque, their movements impossibly swift for their enormous frames. These were no ordinary infected—these creatures were something far worse, their heavy bolters gleaming with a cruel promise of destruction.
The squad scrambled desperately to their feet, disbelief etched into every face. The Sergeant shouted frantic orders, but chaos reigned. Lasrifle fire streaked out, pitifully ineffective against the thick, corrupted armor. The creatures advanced relentlessly, shrugging off bullets as if swatting away insects.
Then thunder erupted from their weapons.
The Corporal fell first, his body violently torn in half, collapsing in a grotesque heap of twitching limbs. Heavy was flung backward by an explosive round, his pack detonating with devastating force. Riflemen fell next, limbs ripped apart, blood spraying as shrapnel screamed through the air. Lili nearly lost her head to a flying fragment, her helmet barely deflecting the lethal blow.
The onslaught was merciless.
Amidst the blood and terror, the squad fought desperately, grenades exploding in fiery blasts, shrapnel tearing through armor. One armored monstrosity staggered briefly, wounded—but it didn't fall.
Heart hammering, Lili crawled to the Corporal's shattered body, her trembling hands frantically pressing against the lifeless wound. She reached for the light inside her, desperate to heal him. Yet all she found was a cold emptiness, a black void devoid of life.
Suddenly, a heavy weight fell atop her.
It was the Sergeant, mortally wounded but still fiercely alive. He pressed a grenade into her trembling hands, eyes blazing with determination.
"Take it," he rasped fiercely. "Show them the defiance of mankind. Watch me… and do as I do."
The monsters closed in, their footsteps echoing with dreadful inevitability. Lili desperately searched for Heavy, but saw only smoke and shattered bodies. They were all gone. Only she and the Sergeant remained.
Then, looming through the smoke, one towering figure appeared, its corrupted armor oozing decay. It approached slowly, savoring their helplessness.
"Still breathing, little one?" Its voice was a guttural, rotted rasp. "Join us… Hear our song. It brings smiles, you know."
The Sergeant's roar shattered the creature's mocking laughter. "FOR THE IMPERIUM!"
With his final burst of strength, he hurled himself toward the monster, grenade clutched defiantly. A single brutal shot echoed, tearing him apart mid-leap. Yet in death, he claimed his vengeance. His grenade detonated in a blinding blast, engulfing the armored abomination.
But through the smoke, the nightmare stepped forward again. Its helmet shattered, revealing a revolting visage: bloated green skin riddled with oozing sores, countless black, insectoid eyes blinking in eerie harmony. It towered above her, drooling tongue lashing out hungrily.
"Resilient indeed," it slurred, amused. "What are you, little one?"
Paralyzed by fear, Lili's trembling hand found the grenade hidden in her shirt. Remembering the Sergeant's sacrifice, she yanked the pin and thrust the grenade forward, screaming with defiant courage, "I'm not telling you anything, you big bully!"
A searing flash of brilliant white enveloped everything—and in the blink of an eye, darkness claimed her.