The group was ready to move again—packs tightened, gear checked, weapons in hand. The break had done them good. Even the air outside the building felt lighter. But just as Henry cracked the door open to lead the way out, he stopped.
"Back up," he said quietly, his voice suddenly sharp.
Everyone tensed.
Maarg stepped forward. "What is it?"
Henry didn't respond right away. He slowly shut the door, his hand hovering near the handle like he was keeping something in. "Something's standing just outside the main exit," he said, finally. "Not a regular walker."
Mark frowned. "How bad?"
Henry looked at him, then glanced at the rest. "Bad enough."
Curious and cautious, Maarg and Jack carefully moved to a nearby window that gave a partial view of the alley outside. What they saw made their stomachs drop.
It wasn't like the usual undead. It was taller, leaner—yet somehow stronger looking. Its skin was mottled with iron plates crudely bolted into place, as if someone had experimented on it. Its fingers were jagged, sharp, needle-like. A strip of rusted metal was fused over its eyes, and wires pulsed faintly along its spine. It didn't stumble or moan. It just stood there—silent, rigid, patient.
Jack shivered. "What the hell is that thing? A zombie cyborg?"
Maarg shook his head slowly. "Looks like something the man eaters made."
Henry immediately shook his head. "No. That thing's not theirs."
"What makes you so sure?" Maarg asked, glancing at him. "They've done worse, haven't they?"
Henry kept his eyes on the door. "I've seen what they do. It's brutal. Savage. But it's never this… surgical. Whatever that thing is, it's something else."
Tara stepped closer, whispering, "Do you think it saw us?"
Mark grunted. "Doesn't matter. It's not leaving."
"It hasn't moved," Jack said. "It's just… standing there."
"Blocking our exit," Henry added grimly. "Like it's waiting."
"Then we go another way," Tara suggested quickly.
Henry shook his head again. "Every exit on that side leads through the alley. If we try to sneak around, there's a chance we'll draw more of them."
"Great," Jack muttered. "We're trapped."
For a moment, silence fell over the group. The only sound was the distant groaning of far-off undead. That thing, whatever it was, stood motionless—almost like it could hear them even from the other side of the door.
"Okay," Maarg said slowly. "We don't know what it is. We don't know what it wants. But we can't stay here forever."
"Could be bad luck," Jack offered, trying to sound optimistic. "We just happened to run into… that."
"Or someone sent it," Maarg said, narrowing his eyes. "If not the man eaters, then who?"
"I don't think it's working with anyone," Henry muttered. "That thing looks like it doesn't take orders. It gives them."
Mark checked his fire axe, his expression like stone. "Then what's the play?"
Henry exhaled, steadying himself. "We get creative."
Maarg looked around the room, at the dusty storage boxes and rusted furniture. "Can we make a trap?"
"Possibly," Henry said. "But it's going to take precision. If that thing's even half as dangerous as it looks, one mistake is all it needs."
Tara nodded toward the window. "It doesn't seem in a hurry. Maybe it's not after us specifically."
"Then let's make sure it never gets the chance," Jack said, gripping his axe tighter.
They didn't know what it was, where it came from, or why it was waiting. But Maarg, Jack, and the others knew one thing for sure:
Whatever was outside that door—it wasn't part of the usual nightmare. It was something worse. Something new.
Before the group could even begin discussing plans for a trap, the creature stirred.
It tilted its head slightly, the faint sound of joints creaking like rusted metal grinding against bone. Its needle-like fingers twitched, flexing slowly as it lifted its face toward the air—sniffing.
Jack froze. "It's smelling something."
Maarg felt his breath catch in his throat as the creature's head shifted again… then snapped in the direction of their window.
Its metal-plated face stared directly at them.
"Down!" Henry hissed, pulling them away from the window just in time. They dropped behind a fallen shelf, breaths held, barely daring to move.
"Did it see us?" Tara whispered.
"It doesn't have eyes," Jack muttered. "How the hell did it—?"
"It doesn't need eyes," Henry interrupted, his voice low but urgent. "It knows we're here."
From outside, they heard slow, deliberate footsteps. Metal scraping against concrete. The sound grew louder.
"He's moving," Maarg whispered.
They heard it approach the door—each step terrifyingly controlled, like it wasn't in a rush because it didn't need to be.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Mark had already moved to the side, gripping his axe tightly, sweat beading on his forehead. Tara reached down, her fingers trembling as she grabbed the combat knife on her thigh.
"This isn't like anything we've fought before," Jack said quietly.
"No," Maarg replied. "But we're not letting it in without a fight."
Suddenly—Bang!
The reinforced door groaned under the impact, dust fluttering from the cracked ceiling.
Without wasting a second, Henry crouched low, pulling a Glock from beneath his jacket. "Get ready," he muttered, aiming toward the weakening door.
"Wait, you had a gun this whole time?!" Jack whispered in disbelief.
Henry didn't respond. Bang!—the door jolted again, and with it, a glimpse of the metallic face and the razor-sharp needles pressing through the growing cracks.
Henry opened fire—BANG! BANG! BANG!
The rounds pierced the splinters, bursting through the slits toward the creature's head. They heard the metallic ping of bullets bouncing off something behind the door—at least one of them had hit.
"Now!" Henry barked.
Mark surged forward with a roar, gripping his fire axe tight and slamming it through the crack in the door just as the next slam came. The blade tore through metal and flesh alike, digging deep into the creature's chest.
The thing let out a sound—no scream, no roar—just a low, vibrating hum like a distorted speaker.
"Got you!" Mark growled, trying to force the axe deeper.
But then—the impossible.
With inhuman strength, the creature reached through the broken door and grabbed the axe's shaft. Its needle-lined hand wrapped around the wood like a vice… and pulled.
"Mark, let go!" Tara screamed.
But Mark didn't. His grip held, his feet dragged forward.
The door exploded open with a burst of splinters—and in one terrifying moment, the creature yanked the axe back, dragging Mark through the shattered frame like a ragdoll.
"MARK!" Maarg shouted.
Tara lunged forward—Jack held her back.
And then… silence.
Just the sound of footsteps fading into the dark hallway beyond the door.
The creature—and Mark—were gone.