Ethan's eyes opened slowly, his vision swimming as he tried to focus. A dull pain throbbed through his ribs, his muscles aching with every breath. The last thing he remembered was the massive mutant grabbing him, slamming him into the concrete, and then—gunfire. Someone had saved him, but who?
He pushed himself up, his fingers instinctively reaching for his weapons. His knife was still strapped to his belt, but his guns were gone. He was in a dimly lit room, the walls made of cracked concrete. It looked like a basement or some sort of underground hideout. His head was still pounding when a voice broke the silence.
"Relax. If I wanted you dead, I wouldn't have wasted a bullet saving your ass."
Ethan turned his head toward the source of the voice. A man sat nearby, cleaning a rifle with slow, methodical movements. He looked to be in his mid-thirties, his beard unkempt, his clothes stained with blood and dirt. His eyes, however, were sharp and calculating. He didn't look like a scavenger—he looked like someone who had been fighting to survive just as long as Ethan had.
Ethan didn't trust him.
"Where are my guns?" he asked, his voice rough from exhaustion.
The man smirked, setting the rifle down beside him. "They're safe. Figured I'd hold onto them until we had a little chat."
Ethan clenched his jaw. He didn't like playing games, especially not with strangers. He forced himself to sit up, his ribs protesting with each movement. The pain was bad, but not unbearable. He'd had worse.
"Who are you?" Ethan asked.
The man leaned back in his chair. "Name's Cole. And you're lucky I was nearby. That Level 2 mutant would've turned you into paste if I hadn't stepped in."
Ethan processed the words. Level 2 mutants were rare, but they were stronger, faster, and more intelligent than the ones he had encountered before. The fact that Cole had taken one down—or at least wounded it—meant he wasn't just some random survivor. He knew how to fight.
Cole tossed a bottle of water toward Ethan. "Drink. You need it."
Ethan didn't move. He studied the man in front of him, trying to gauge his intentions. After a moment, he reached for the bottle and took a small sip. His throat was dry, but he wouldn't let himself appear weak.
"What do you want?" Ethan asked.
Cole exhaled slowly, as if debating his words. "You're a good fighter. I need a partner. Someone who can watch my back. And you?" He gestured at Ethan's bandaged ribs. "You need someone to cover yours."
Ethan's grip tightened around the water bottle. He had always worked alone. Relying on others usually led to disappointment—or worse, betrayal. But Cole had a point. The city was getting worse. The mutants were evolving, and survival was becoming harder each day.
Ethan took a slow breath before responding. "Fine. But I want my guns back."
Cole grinned. "Deal."
---
The next morning, they moved out.
Ethan's truck was still where he had left it, though it was partially buried under debris. He had lost track of how long he had been unconscious, but judging by the fresh bloodstains on his shirt, it hadn't been more than a day.
"We need supplies," Cole said as they walked through the ruined streets. "There's an old military checkpoint not far from here. If we get there before the mutants do, we might find weapons and food."
Ethan nodded. It was a solid plan. Military outposts were usually well-stocked, and if they were lucky, the place hadn't been looted yet.
They moved quickly, keeping to the shadows. The city was eerily silent, the usual distant screams and guttural growls replaced by an unsettling stillness. Ethan kept his knife in hand, his body tense. Something felt off.
As they neared the checkpoint, Cole raised a fist, signaling for Ethan to stop. He crouched down behind a wrecked car, peering through the broken windows.
Ethan followed his gaze. Ahead, near the checkpoint's entrance, a group of mutants were feasting on a corpse. Their bodies were twisted and deformed, their limbs unnaturally long, their jaws stretched wide as they tore into flesh.
"Five of them," Cole whispered. "We can take them out quietly, but if one of them screams, we're screwed."
Ethan nodded. He had dealt with these creatures before. If they destroyed the sphere that formed upon a mutant's death before it shattered, they could prevent the screech from summoning more. The problem was getting close enough without being noticed.
Cole pulled out a silenced pistol and gestured toward the left. "I'll take the two on the far side. You handle the three near the entrance."
Ethan gripped his knife tighter and moved forward. He stayed low, his footsteps silent as he approached the closest mutant. It was too busy feasting to notice him.
In one swift motion, Ethan grabbed the back of its head and drove his knife into its skull. The creature stiffened before collapsing.
He moved to the next one, but before he could strike, the third mutant turned its head, its milky eyes locking onto him.
It screeched.
Ethan cursed under his breath. He plunged his knife into the second mutant's neck, twisting the blade before yanking it free. Cole fired two quick shots, dropping the last one.
But the damage was done.
A distant howl echoed through the streets.
Ethan turned toward Cole. "We need to move. Now."
Cole didn't argue. They sprinted toward the checkpoint, the sound of approaching mutants growing louder behind them.
Ethan knew one thing for sure—this was only the beginning.