> Metro Station Day: 1,829
---
They didn't speak much that morning.
There was nothing left to say.
The decision had already been made—they were leaving.
Not in panic. Not in hope.
Just necessity.
---
Final Preparations
The Sergeant stood near the main tunnel door, arms folded as the others gathered their gear. His expression was unreadable, but the lines around his eyes were deeper than usual. Five years of silence and frost would do that.
Lili sat cross-legged beside her pack, watching the men move like clockwork.
There was no wasted movement.
Crackshot checked power cells.
Garr loaded last-minute supplies—salted vegetables, bandages, ammo into crates.
Arlen arranged makeshift stimulants and purifiers into a pouch Lili could carry on her belt.
The Corporal lit one of his last cigarettes, exhaled slowly, then crushed it out with deliberate finality.
No one made a joke.
Not this time.
---
The Lightstone Harnesses
"Time to shine," Crackshot muttered as he pulled out the rolls of tape.
Each man affixed a lightstone to the side of their helmet—Lili had modified them for low-beam, high-focus utility. Just enough to see, not enough to broadcast their position across half the tunnels.
Smaller stones were taped beneath armor—chest, lower back, under each wristguard, one beneath the neckplate. The glow was faint, but the healing warmth seeped into their skin. It would keep them from freezing. Help their wounds close faster.
Garr even strapped one to his heavy rotary weapon, muttering, "Good girl," as it pulsed faintly at his grip.
Lili helped attach the last one to Arlen's chestplate, her fingers gentle.
> "This one glows warmer when you're hurt," she whispered.
Arlen smiled, tired and kind.
> "I know. You've gotten good at this."
---
Forming Up
They assembled before the tunnel gate.
Lili stood near the center, wrapped in her reinforced coat and armor-stitched vest, her knife sheathed at her thigh, a small laspistol holstered at her hip. She'd never used it in combat.
But she knew how.
> The Sergeant had made sure of that.
Formation:
Point man: Rifleman One (Reeve)
Left flank: Corporal
Right flank: Crackshot
Center: Lili, flanked by Garr (rear-right) and Arlen (rear-left)
Rear guard: Rifleman Two (Brandt), Rifleman Three (Vale)
Command: Sergeant—mid formation, near Lili, always watching
The tunnels were too tight for traditional formations, but they moved like a fist—compact, disciplined, lethal.
> "Eyes sharp. Blades ready. No noise unless necessary," the Sergeant said quietly. "We are ghosts now."
---
The Door Opens
They pulled the barricade apart plank by plank, sheet by sheet.
The last steel slab groaned like an old beast dying.
Cold air poured in.
Dust.
And something else—emptiness. A pressure in the ears. A silence too heavy.
Lili's breath caught as the last beam was lifted away and the corridor opened before them.
A black throat.
A tunnel that hadn't been walked in half a decade.
The Sergeant raised a hand.
> "Move."
And into the dark they went.
---
The Tunnels
The maintenance passage was narrow—just wide enough for two to walk shoulder to shoulder. Pipes ran overhead, thick with condensation and rust. Broken lamps hung like dead insects from the ceiling.
Their boots were nearly silent on the floor, wrapped in cloth to mute impact.
Every hundred meters, they paused.
Checked corners.
Garr rotated forward to clear tight turns. The Riflemen moved like predators—backs to the walls, muzzles sweeping low and high.
Lili stayed between them, her hand brushing the Sergeant's cloak now and then for reassurance.
The lightstones flickered faintly in the dark, casting pale halos around their bodies.
Time passed.
Distance shrank.
And the silence held.
---
The First Noise
It came from a side tunnel—a scraping, rhythmic.
At first, they thought it was the wind.
Then came the soft clatter.
Like claws.
The Sergeant raised a fist. They froze.
Crackshot stepped forward, knelt beside the wall, and pressed a blade against the steel pipe.
> Tap. Tap. Tap.
The clattering stopped.
Then returned.
> Closer.
---
The Mole Beasts
They erupted from the wall.
The first one burst through a cracked side grate—four-legged, muscular, black-skinned with folds of flesh hanging from its sides, blind eyes and a circular, tooth-lined mouth like a lamprey.
Its scream was shrill, wet, wrong.
Another slammed through the floor behind them.
Then three more.
> "Close ranks!" the Sergeant barked. "Blades only!"
The tunnels were too tight for gunfire—sound would bring worse.
They drew combat knives, bayonets, machetes.
Steel met flesh in silence.
---
Garr crushed one with his gauntleted fists, holding its jaws apart with sheer strength before driving his blade through its throat.
The Corporal was faster—knee to jaw, stab to the base of the skull, twist and pull.
One Rifleman screamed as a mole-beast latched onto his thigh.
Lili froze.
Her pulse thundered. Her fingers trembled.
> Move.
She remembered the Sergeant's voice.
> "Don't wait for permission. Knife goes up. Blade goes in. Twist. Pull."
She moved.
Darted forward.
Stabbed.
The blade slipped—but she didn't let go. She yanked it out, stabbed again—again—until the thing shrieked and fell.
She gasped for breath, light pulsing from her chest in soft waves. Her knees buckled.
Arlen caught her, dragged her back as the others finished the beasts.
---
Aftermath
Seven bodies lay twitching.
The tunnel stank of acid blood and death.
Garr wiped ichor from his chest. Crackshot patched a long gash on Vale's arm. The Medic stabilized the bitten Rifleman.
And Lili?
She sat against the wall, eyes wide, face pale.
The Sergeant crouched beside her.
> "You did good."
She didn't speak.
Just nodded.
He placed a hand on her shoulder.
> "And next time, you'll do better."
---
They burned the bodies. Quietly.
Then kept moving.
Toward whatever waited at the end of the tunnel.
***
> Metro Station Day: 1,829 (Evening)
---
The smell of burning flesh clung to everything.
The mole beasts hadn't bled like normal animals. Their blood was black and thick, filled with tiny writhing worms that hissed when exposed to Lili's light. They twisted on the ground even after death, inching toward warmth.
Garr had crushed them one by one beneath his heel, muttering something under his breath.
Lili sat beside the Medic, arms limp at her sides, her hands still slick with gore. She hadn't spoken since the fight. Not really. Not beyond the one word she whispered over and over:
> "I didn't freeze."
---
The Quiet Between
They had sealed the corridor behind them with collapsed pipe and old rebar. It wouldn't stop everything, but it would muffle scent and noise.
The squad had stopped in a pocket chamber—a small maintenance sub-station, mostly intact, buried deep in the concrete web. The Medic lit one of the smaller lightstones and began treating the injured Rifleman's leg. He gritted his teeth but didn't scream.
The Corporal stood at the tunnel mouth, rifle held low, watching for any signs of movement. Crackshot stripped down his sidearm and cleaned it methodically, hands shaking only slightly. Garr sat in the corner, sharpening his knife by feel.
And the Sergeant… stood near Lili.
Not hovering. Just near.
---
She stared at her knife, the edge still wet, the handle sticky.
"I killed it," she said, voice dull.
The Sergeant didn't answer.
"I didn't think I could… but I did."
He crouched beside her, hand resting lightly on her knee.
> "You did more than some grown soldiers ever manage."
She looked at him.
"Will it happen again?"
"Yes."
"…Will I be scared again?"
"Yes."
She nodded slowly.
"Good," she said. "Then I'll be ready."
---
The Car
They found it the next day.
After another six hours of slow, careful movement through twisted maintenance tunnels and broken rail passages, the squad reached a collapsed checkpoint with a sealed metal bulkhead leading into a wider transit hub.
They took their time breaching it.
And when the door finally groaned open, the stale air that rushed past them was thick with mold and rot.
The Sergeant raised a hand.
> "Lights down."
The squad adjusted their lightstones to low-pulse mode—just enough to see shapes, not enough to cast shadows.
They stepped inside.
---
The chamber was massive.
It had once been a major Metro transfer station—Mikri Poli Central Junction. Four platforms, two sub-levels, a collapsed ticket atrium above. The walls were scorched and cracked. Ancient posters hung in strips from the curved ceiling. Benches had been overturned, crushed. Signs dangled from twisted wiring like hanging corpses.
And there—resting half on a platform and half in the tunnel—was the Metrocar.
---
It was still intact.
A long, sleek model—steel and ceramic plating dulled with years of dust. Its exterior was scorched and pitted, but not broken. Most windows were shattered, but the frame was solid. Four cars long, segmented, sealed.
A soft blue emergency light blinked on the front carriage.
> "It's got internal power," Crackshot muttered.
The Sergeant gave a sharp nod. "Sweep it."
---
The Sweep
They moved like shadows.
Reeve and Brandt took the first car—carefully slipping through the broken doors, weapons raised. Garr and Crackshot followed into the second. Arlen stayed with Lili and the Sergeant near the center car, keeping watch as they moved.
Inside, it was worse.
Blood was everywhere.
Dried smears across seats.
Handprints clawed along the walls.
Empty boots. Half a helmet. A severed hand, fingers curled.
A rifle jammed in a corner, barrel bent.
They moved car by car.
Cleared each section.
Found no bodies.
Only stains.
> "Evac train," the Corporal muttered, kneeling beside a seat covered in brittle children's toys. "They were trying to flee."
> "Didn't get far," said Garr.
---
The Sound
The moment they entered the third car, Lili stopped cold.
She turned slowly toward the tunnel ahead.
There was a sound.
Not loud.
But constant.
Dripping.
Like water.
But not water.
Wet. Sticky.
The Sergeant turned to her. She nodded.
> "They're close."
---
They finished the sweep, moved into the operator's compartment at the front of the train.
Crackshot hot-wired the console. The system flickered.
Power: 29%
Propulsion: Offline
Emergency Battery: Available
Braking system: Manual Override Only
It was enough.
> "We get a jump cell from the substation, and she'll run," Crackshot whispered.
> "How far?"
> "Three stations, maybe four."
> "Then we'll make them count."
---
The Plan
They moved fast.
Rigged the car as a fallback point.
Laid traps at the entrance to the station—tripwires, flashbangs, makeshift flamer barrels from their reserve fuel.
They would hold here for the night, recharge, and in the morning, search the substation for a power core.
Then—
Make the run.
---
The Lurking
That night, Lili couldn't sleep.
The sound in the tunnel had grown louder.
Not footsteps.
Not singing.
Breathing.
Slow. Deep. Wet.
The kind of sound you don't want to wake up to.
She lay curled near the operator's chair, wrapped in her coat, her knife tucked beneath her pillow.
And when the Sergeant came to sit beside her, she didn't open her eyes.
She just whispered:
> "They're waiting."
He didn't deny it.
> "Let them wait. We'll be gone before they know we were here."
---
But the dark beyond the train didn't sleep.
And the breath grew closer.
***
> Metro Station Day: 1,830
Objective: Restore Metrocar power via substation battery core
---
The tunnels seemed narrower now.
Not because they had changed—but because they hadn't.
They were exactly as they had been five years ago—cold, wet, silent. Untouched.
Unnatural.
The kind of silence that pressed against the eardrums, made the heart race. It wasn't absence. It was expectation.
Like the tunnels were holding their breath.
---
The squad moved in a tight diamond formation, same as before.
Point: Reeve and Crackshot
Flanks: Brandt and Vale
Center: Lili and the Medic
Rear: Garr and the Sergeant
Lili walked quietly between them, her smaller frame wrapped in her reinforced coat, lightstones glowing gently at her collarbones, hips, and wrists. The faint blue glow pulsed with each breath she took, casting long shadows across the floor.
She clutched her knife tightly—sharpened and checked before they left. Her laspistol, checked three times by Crackshot, sat in her side holster. She hadn't fired it yet. She hoped she wouldn't need to.
But she remembered the mole beast.
And she was ready.
---
They passed through three empty maintenance corridors, down one collapsed stairwell, and finally came to the power control annex—a square room with a rusted security door barely hanging on its hinges.
The Sergeant stepped forward, checked the corners, then gestured.
> "Crack it."
Crackshot didn't even hesitate. Two wires, one arc spark, and the door groaned open.
The Medic was the first to speak.
"…Smells like something's been cooking in here."
It did.
Hot metal. Burned oil. And old blood.
---
The Substation
Inside, flickering lights still ran along the ceiling in long, broken bands.
A red-tinted console blinked erratically against the far wall. Half the screens were shattered. The power grid display showed most sectors in blackout.
But one storage cell—Core Unit 37B—still blinked green.
Alive.
"Garr," the Sergeant said.
The heavy trooper moved to the power bank and began disconnecting the cell with deliberate, practiced hands. The device was bulky—half the size of a man's torso, heavy with armored plating and radiation shielding.
It would work.
They'd have to carry it back manually. But it would work.
---
Lili stepped closer to one of the old control panels. Her hand hovered over the interface.
It was cracked. Filthy.
And then—it spoke.
A voice—crisp, robotic, cheerful—cut through the dead air.
> "Hello, valued citizen! You are accessing Power Node 3-B! Please do not panic. Electrical surges are normal. Incineration is unlikely."
Everyone froze.
Lili gasped, stumbling back.
Crackshot muttered, "What the—"
The voice continued, louder now.
> "Power reroute detected! Metroline systems are stabilizing! Your estimated wait time for the next train is: four minutes and thirty-nine seconds."
A long pause.
> "Would you like to hear a joke while you wait?"
No one responded.
> "Why did the soldier cross the blast zone? Because he forgot to pack his anti-rad socks!"
---
"Kill it," the Sergeant snapped.
Crackshot yanked a power relay—one of the screens sparked and shattered, but the voice didn't stop.
> "Remember: running in the station is dangerous! Please mind the ghouls!"
Garr groaned. "It's tied into the Metro AI. We just woke up the whole damn system."
---
The Tunnel Starts to Breathe
From far down the corridor—from the way they came—a sound rolled in like a cold wind.
Scraping.
Metal on stone.
Then—laughter.
Wet. Choked. Gurgling.
It echoed once.
Then twice.
Then dozens of times.
Lili froze.
She looked at the Sergeant, eyes wide.
> "They're coming."
---
"Move!" he barked. "Back to the car!"
Crackshot slung the power cell over his back. It hissed and pulsed with heat.
The squad fell into formation again—but faster now.
Controlled panic.
Every bootfall echoed like a gunshot.
The lightstones on their helmets flickered under stress.
> "No sound!" the Corporal hissed. "No shouts. No gunfire unless we're breached."
> "How far back?" Vale asked.
> "Four tunnels. One station," Brandt answered, breath tight.
---
The Chase
Lili could hear them now.
Not just infected.
Something else.
Shadows in the dark.
Footsteps that didn't match the pattern. Claws scraping. A low moan that turned into laughter mid-breath.
She didn't look back.
She just ran.
And the darkness behind them breathed heavier.
---
They reached the station entrance in under fifteen minutes.
Crackshot slammed the core into the Metrocar's access port.
The console lit up like a sun.
> "Power core accepted. Manual override unlocked."
> "Welcome back, traveler! Metroline is now resuming limited service. Please keep hands inside the car at all times, and do not attempt to feed the infected."
The Sergeant shouted, "Everyone on!"
Doors hissed.
Boots hit steel.
Garr lifted Lili bodily into the car, then slammed the control.
> "All aboard," the voice cooed. "Enjoy your ride."
---
The Sound That Follows
As the train began to move—slowly at first—then faster—the tunnel behind them erupted with movement.
Dozens.
No—hundreds.
Glowing eyes.
Twisting limbs.
They poured from the darkness, screaming, laughing, clawing toward the light.
Some ran alongside the Metrocar. One leapt, slammed into the window with such force it cracked.
Lili screamed.
The Medic grabbed her, pulled her down.
> "Keep low!"
Another infected—fused into a mass of tumor-like growth—scraped along the roof. Its teeth clattered against the frame.
Garr opened the side hatch and let loose a controlled burst of laser fire—just enough to knock it loose.
> "Keep us moving!" the Corporal shouted.
> "Trying!" Crackshot yelled from the console. "These brakes weren't built for warp-speed suicide runs!"
---
The car thundered through the tunnels.
Sparks flew.
The robotic voice chirped merrily:
> "Now arriving at: Sector Terminal Nine. Home of green parks, happy people, and no survivors."
---
They didn't stop.
They couldn't.
And as they sped through the veins of a dead city, chased by the laughing ghosts of the world that came before...
Lili clutched her knife. Her light glowed bright.
And she waited for the next time she would have to fight.
***
Metro Station Day: 1,830 (Evening – Continued)
Objective: Ride the Metrocar to the Mikri Poli Spaceport Access Terminal
The Metrocar screamed down the tunnel like a metal coffin hurled through a grave.
It shook and groaned on the old tracks, steel wheels screeching against the rusted rails, sparks flying past the windows like fireflies. Cracked panels rattled. Emergency lights flickered above their heads. The stink of dust, mold, and blood clung to everything.
And behind them—they followed.
Contact
The first impact came from above.
A bang, then a crunch—then the squeal of metal.
"Roof!" Crackshot shouted.
A long arm punched through the ceiling panel, fingers like blackened claws grasping in the air.
Garr reacted instantly, leveling his las-cutter and firing a hot lance of light through the thing's wrist. It recoiled with an inhuman shriek, thudding across the roof.
But it didn't fall.
Then the side windows exploded inward.
A shape—lean, rotted, fast—threw itself through the opening, shattering what glass remained and crashing to the floor.
It landed in a sprawl of tangled limbs and twitching laughter, grinning wide, eyes wet with madness.
Reeve fired once—straight through its face.
"Target down!"
But more came.
Three. Four. Seven.
They leapt into the car from the platform ledges, sprinted alongside, slammed into the hull, grabbing whatever they could—scraps, rivets, weapons, bodies.
One hit the door just as it sealed. Its head was crushed between the frame and the wall, splitting open like a melon.
Blood splattered the car, painting Lili's boots in red and black.
She screamed, falling back into Arlen's arms.
One of the infected landed next to her.
It didn't hesitate.
It lunged.
Inside the Car – Close Quarters
The Metrocar became a slaughterhouse.
Rifleman Brandt wrestled one infected to the floor, his boot crushing its ribcage while he drove a bayonet again and again into its neck, until black ichor fountained across the seats.
Another grabbed Vale's arm, bit down hard, and ripped a chunk of flesh free.
Vale screamed, shoving his shotgun under its chin and blowing its head into a spray of pink mist.
Crackshot switched to his revolver and executed two shots to the face of a grinning female infected crawling on the ceiling, her spine twisted backward, eyes bulging.
"Fucking spiders!" he shouted. "They move like spiders!"
Lili ducked as a twisted man in a shredded PDF uniform came crawling over the seatback in front of her. Its face was half bone, half skin, its teeth clattering in unnatural rhythm.
She hesitated—knife in hand, eyes wide.
Then she remembered the Sergeant's voice:
"Up. In. Twist. Pull."
She stabbed it in the neck, just under the jaw. It twitched, eyes rolling.
She stabbed again. And again.
It collapsed, twitching.
Lili fell back, hands shaking, blood soaking her arms.
On the Roof
Garr climbed through the emergency hatch onto the roof of the Metrocar.
Two infected were up there, crawling fast—one with no lower half, dragging itself with gnarled fingers.
Garr didn't hesitate.
He kicked the crawler off, then tackled the second one, wrestling it down and jamming his knife into its throat.
They tumbled together across the roof.
He barely made it back inside before the next overpass whipped past the train, shaving inches from the roof.
Engine Car
The Sergeant and Corporal were holding the operator's cabin, Crackshot flicking switches, trying to override the door lock on the next segment.
"They're crawling under the floor," Crackshot muttered. "I can hear them. In the walls. They're inside the fucking train!"
The Sergeant gritted his teeth.
"Then we kill everything inside."
He turned back.
And shot the infected bursting through the service panel in the chest—twice—until it collapsed, twitching.
It Ends with Fire
Garr threw a body out the back car door.
Reeve slammed the hatch shut.
Arlen dragged Vale to a seat and began bandaging the torn muscle—Lili crouched beside them, lightstone in hand, guiding its glow to help the bleeding stop.
The car was streaked with gore. Windows broken. The air stank of death and sweat.
They were all panting.
Scratched. Bitten. Bleeding.
But alive.
"Now arriving at Mikri Poli Spaceport Access Platform."
The AI voice chimed again—still cheerful.
"Please disembark in an orderly fashion. Limbs left behind will not be returned."
The car screeched to a stop, sparks flying.
The Sergeant stood.
"Out. Move. Now."
Arrival – But No Safety
They poured out of the train and onto the platform.
It was dim—emergency lights casting faint red glows against metal walls.
Benches were overturned.
Signs broken.
Old blood smeared the wall in wide arcs.
But no movement.
Not yet.
Then they heard it.
In the tunnel.
Far.
But coming.
Hahaha. Join our song. Sing along…
Dozens of voices.
Getting closer.
The squad turned.
Guns up.
Lili in the center again.
The Sergeant gave a single nod.
"This platform is our Alamo."
They began sealing the Metrocar, setting traps.
And Lili stood in the center of the platform, watching the darkness breathe.
Her knife was clean again.
But not for long.