They didn't get much sleep that night.
The outpost they were in was quiet, the kind of quiet that wasn't peaceful, just tense. Like even the wind didn't want to make a sound in case it gave away their position. The walls of the old building creaked every now and then, the storm from earlier leaving water dripping down the pipes and pooling in corners.
Rus stayed up on rotation, taking watch on the rooftop. From up there, he could see the scarred remains of the city stretching out like a corpse someone forgot to bury. Ash still clung to the corners of cracked pavement. Broken lamp posts bent like they were bowing to some invisible king. A few fires still smoldered, remnants of another squad's sweep.
Then there was the silence underneath it.
Too still. Too clean.
Berta showed up near the end of his shift, not bothering to announce herself. She just climbed up the ladder, sat down beside him, and held out a thermos.
"Coffee," she said. "Or whatever powder-based abomination passes for it these days."
Rus took it without complaint. It tasted like roasted mud and bitterness. Perfect when his taste buds have gone to shit lately.
"You ever think we'll find something good out here?" she asked. Not sarcastically. Not teasing. Just tired.
"If by 'good' you mean something that doesn't want to eat, stab, or infect us then probably not."
She nodded. "Figures. Guess I'll have to keep settling for you lot."
"That's tragic," Rus said. "I'll light a candle for your suffering."
She smirked, sipping from her own cup. "You know, for someone who acts so above it all, you sure keep getting stuck in the mud with the rest of us."
"Wow, I wonder what's that's the case, Ms. Obvious? Besides, I'm not above it. I'm just very aware that I'm in it. That's the difference."
"You sound like a two-bit philosopher."
"Thanks. I learned everything I know from public restrooms and war crimes we find in these."
She laughed, really laughed, not the usual bark or scoff. The sound echoed faintly off the walls, and for a moment it felt weirdly human. Below, Rus could hear Dan and Gino arguing about something stupid again. Probably about who won the last card hand. Foster, as usual, played peacekeeper until someone threw a punch or spilled a ration pack.
"Do you ever miss normal?" Berta asked.
"Define normal. I've not felt normal for a time now."
"I dunno. Grocery stores. Weekend benders. Not having to carry a gas mask to take a piss."
Rus thought about it. "Sometimes. But I think if someone dropped me into a suburb right now, I'd lose my mind. I don't know what to do with peace."
Berta nodded slowly. "Same. I think I'd go crazy if I didn't have a target."
She leaned back, head tilted to the sky, cigarette tucked between her fingers.
"You think we're broken?" she asked. Quietly. Almost like she didn't want the night to hear.
"We're not broken," Rus said. "We're adapted to the lifestyle."
"That's a fancy way of saying yes."
Rus shrugged. "Fancy words all I've got."
She looked at Rus. Really looked. "You know, Wilson, for a guy who talks like a walking funeral, you're not half bad."
"Thanks," Rus said. "You're one of the most terrifying and horniest women I've ever met, so this has been a truly bonding experience."
She smiled. "See? We're making progress."
They sat in silence for a while after that, sipping awful coffee and watching the world not move.
By morning, the quiet would be over.
Reed's recon order wasn't just a hunch. Intel was coming in from other units. Something was shifting out there in the ruins. Warbands were reorganizing. Movement had been spotted in zones we'd already cleared.
It was like they were learning.
Adapting.
The idea of monsters with tactics wasn't new. But it was always the kind of theory someone threw around in a bar before getting blackout drunk to forget it.
Now?
Now they were staring down the possibility that they were evolving faster than we could burn them out.
Rus handed the thermos back to Berta, stood up, and stretched the stiffness out of his legs.
"Time to wake the children," Rus muttered.
She groaned. "Please don't let me see Gino be naked again."
"No promises."
They climbed back down, and he felt the weight of his gear settle on his shoulders again. The armor. The rifle. The expectations.
Another day in hell.
Another mission that might turn sideways.
Cyma Unit was on the move.
Armed. Annoyed. Ready.
***
The base started stirring as the sun broke through the cloudline, what little of it there was. The storm had passed, but it left a layer of grime on everything. Mud clung to boots, puddles reflected the bruised sky, and the whole place smelled faintly of wet smoke and steel.
Inside the outpost, the squad was going through the motions like half-drunk operators on autopilot after a task.
Dan was the first one out of his bunk, somehow already in half his armor and arguing with Gino over who stole his last ration bar.
"It's the one with the meat paste, Gino. The meat paste. I marked it."
"You think I wanna steal your mystery meat? Bro, I'd rather eat the sole of my boot."
Foster, still groggy, sat hunched over his rifle like it might brew coffee if he stared hard enough. "I'll trade you my energy pills for a protein bar."
"That's a scam and you know it," Dan muttered.
Rus walked in, brushing past the doorframe and tossing a fresh magazine into his vest pouch.
"Alright, kids. Fight over your culinary delicacies later. Commander Reed wants us prepared to move within the hour again. Something about zone Delta-Six. Surprise, surprise—more green bastards on the radar."
Gino let out a groan. "Can't we go ten minutes without becoming pest control for this shithole of a Sector?"
Foster raised his hand. "What happened to the other unit in Delta-Six?"
"They stopped sending reports last night."
"Nice."
Dan zipped his chest rig. "Great. So it's one of those missions."
"Yup," Rus said. "We're bringing the happy squad of doom of ours straight into the heart of unconfirmed hostile territory. Grab your gear, and double-check your gas seals."
That got everyone's attention.
"Gas?" Gino asked, visibly more awake now.
Rus nodded. "Orders are to bring canisters. Mustard mix. Standard protocol in case of underground encounters."
That meant potential tunnels. Which meant potential ambushes. And if there was anything more annoying than fighting Orcs head-on, it was fighting them in the dark, in confined space, while choking on their sweat-stained body odor and combat screams.
Downstairs, Berta's fireteam was already prepped.
Kate sat on an ammo crate rewrapping her hands in combat tape and putting on her armored gloves while Stacy leaned against the Humvee, flipping a knife casually between her gloved fingers. Amiel was loading grenades into a bandolier like it was a relaxing Sunday chore.
Berta spotted Rus and strolled over, a smug expression already forming on her face like it was her default setting.
"You look fresh, Wilson," she said. "Did thinking about me all night help you sleep?"
"I sleep better knowing you're too busy corrupting the rest of the squad to bother me."
Berta laughed. "I dunno. You might miss it when I finally stop trying."
"Oh, don't tempt me with that sweet silence."
She leaned in, real close, lips near his ear. "You'll miss the attention, soldier boy."
"I'll miss functional command structure and professionalism. Neither of which you've ever met."
She cackled, clapping him on the back. "You're lucky you're cute when you're cranky."
Rus rolled his eyes and turned back to the task at hand. "Let's stay focused. We're heading into Delta-Six. Unknown threat, possible structure collapse. Standard sweep and confirm. Keep the gas masks tight, and shoot anything with more than three teeth and no sense of personal space."
Dan climbed up into the driver's seat, mumbling about how he should've lied on his aptitude test so someone else could take lead recon.
As the Humvees rolled out of the outpost, tires crunching over wet gravel and broken bones from the last skirmish, he took one final look back.
The outpost faded into the haze behind us.
Ahead, ruined concrete and overgrown wildlands greeted us with open arms.
Sector Delta-Six was waiting.
***
The road to Delta-Six was less of a road and more of a suggestion. Broken concrete, collapsed overpasses, trees that had forced their way through the asphalt like angry weeds. It was a corpse of civilization, dressed in vines and soaked in silence.
Dan drove with the same attitude he had toward most things, casual recklessness. The Humvee bounced over a crater, rattling the gear inside and making Gino slam his head against the frame.
"For fuck's sake!" Gino muttered, rubbing his temple. "Start driving properly you fucking retard!"
"Quit whining," Dan replied. "We've got shocks. You just have no shock absorption in your skull. Wear your fucking helm while in transit asshole!"
Stacy radioed in from the second vehicle. "You boys driving through potholes or opening portals to hell?"
"Same thing out here," Rus responded. "ETA to contact zone?"
"Five klicks," she answered. "We're sticking close. Drones are on overhead. Nothing on thermal yet."
"Yet," Berta added, stretching out lazily in her seat. "Means they're hiding. Maybe we'll get lucky and find a cute one."
Rus gave her a sideways glance. "Define lucky."
She grinned. "One that screams 'please shoot me' in a language I don't understand."
"That's your type?"
"Anything non-verbal and hostile. Just like my exes."
Gino snorted. "I thought your exes were all fellow soldiers."
"Exactly."
Foster, from the back, finally chimed in. "Can we not have this conversation on the way to possibly die? Just this once?"
"No," Dan and Berta said in unison. "Also, when the fuck are you the serious about the mission type?"
"My head hurts, okay?" Foster argued.
The coordinates took them to what used to be an industrial processing hub. Rows of skeletal buildings loomed like gravestones for old-world productivity. Smoke still hung in the air—old, faint, like something burned days ago and no one bothered to bury it.
They dismounted. Gear ready. Masks on.
Rus motioned for Cyma Unit to fan out, Berta taking her team up the broken catwalks on the eastern flank, while Rus's good squad pushed west. The air was thick, heavy. Not just with the humidity or the rotting metal smell. There was something else.
A feeling.
And he was telling him that this place was wrong.
Rus had spent enough time in the field, to develop instincts. Sixth senses. Not to mention that his internal compass was showing red dots.
"Movement," Gino said over comms, his tone sharp and low.
"Visual?" Rus asked.
"Maybe. Something ducked into the ruins ahead. Could've been a shadow, could've been a Gob."
"Hold. Waiting for confirmation."
Rus raised his rifle, peeking around the corner of a collapsed wall.
And then—
SCREECH.
The sound tore through the silence, sharp and dry, like something was dragging bone across rusted metal.
Everyone stopped.
"What the hell was that?" Foster asked.
Berta answered. "Sounded like something that really doesn't want us here."
They advanced slowly. Every footstep felt loud. The buildings creaked and moaned in the wind, a ruined choir backing their nerves. Dan stepped over a burnt crate and froze.
"Eyes on," he said. "I've got… a pile of bodies."
Rus came up beside him.
Orc corpses. Half-eaten. Torn. Like something had shredded them in a frenzy.
Not Goblins. Not us.
These weren't kills.
They were meals.
Berta's voice crackled in. "We're seeing the same. Something came through here and snacked. Not recent, but fresh enough."
Stacy added, "There's more. Looks like something dragged the corpses deeper into the facility."
Rus tightened his grip on his rifle.
"Stack up. Lights on. We clear it floor by floor. This isn't just an empty zone."
They pushed in.
Inside, the halls were cramped and hot. Blood smeared the floor like art. Gino swept the corners, rifle steady. Dan led with his shield, blocking their advance with slow, careful steps. Foster muttered prayers under his breath.
Then—
They heard it.
Chittering. Clicking.
Just like the ruins.
Same sound. Same rhythm.
"Fuck," Rus said quietly. "It's monsters again."
Gino's voice was tight. "Confirmed?"
"No visuals yet, but it's the same language."
Dan turned to me. "Orders?"
"We dig in. Send coordinates to CP. We hold until support or until we kill everything breathing."
"Roger that."
The lights above flickered, then died.
Thermal vision clicked on.
And that's when they saw them.
Too fast. Too many limbs. Pale and sinewy, crawling along the ceiling like bugs. The first dropped onto Dan's shield, hissing with glee. Dan pushed back, stabbing upward, driving the baton through its jaw.
The rest came screaming.
"CONTACT! ENGAGE!"
Rifles roared in tight quarters. Foster opened fire on the right flank, Gino swept left. Rus dropped two with double-taps to the head.
"Cyma Two, report!" Rus barked into the comms.
Berta came back with static, followed by gunfire and her grunting voice.
"Occupied. Shooting. Hard. Fast. Screamy. Kill now, let's flirt later."
Rus ducked under a swing, then thrust his bayonet.
The creatures kept coming, not in a wave, but in a pattern. Coordinated. Tactical.
These weren't wild beasts.
These were ambushers.
But they made one mistake.
They thought we were just meat in armor.
Dan shoulder-bashed one into a wall and caved its chest in. Gino popped another with a lucky three-round burst. Foster took a bite on the plate of his armor and still managed to unload into the thing's skull.
"FALL BACK TO THE CHOKE!" Rus yelled.
They reformed in a narrow corridor, bottlenecking the entrance.
"Thermals picking up more," Gino warned. "Too many."
Rus switched channels.
"Command, this is Cyma Unit. Hostile contact confirmed. Non-Orc, highly aggressive, fast-moving. Requesting airstrike. Coordinates incoming."
Command came back cold and clipped.
"Hold position. Reinforcements en route. ETA: Seven minutes."
Seven minutes was an eternity.
But they held.
They fought.
They killed.
And when the gunships finally roared in overhead, ripping the roof apart and lighting the darkness with the kind of righteous firepower only humanity could produce, they didn't cheer.
They exhaled.
Berta's team limped out from the smoke, Stacy covered in blood, Amiel missing a chunk of her plate armor, Kate cussing at the hole in her leg like she'd stubbed her toe.
Berta looked at Rus, grime streaked down her face, lips pulled into a crooked grin.
"Well," she said. "That sucked."
Rus nodded. "And we're still not done."
She leaned on him, one arm over his shoulder.
"Still don't wanna sleep with me after that terrifying encounter? Want to relax now?"
"Not unless you're into therapy sessions on experiencing almost death.."
She smirked. "Maybe I am."
Dan sat down with a sigh. "If this is recon duty, I'm not sure I wanna know what full combat deployment looks like in the other fronts."
Gino handed him a protein bar. "Shut up and eat. We'll be digging corpses out of our teeth if they come back."
Rus then looked at the sky, broken open by smoke and fire. He felt like something out there was changing.