A dense mist clung to the desolate village, wrapping the abandoned buildings in an eerie embrace. General Viktor 'Bloodfang' Kruger stood at the center of the ruined square, his crimson beret barely visible through the haze. His gloved hand gripped a battered radio, static hissing through the speaker.
"Rook. Morales. Report."
Silence.
Kruger's sharp eyes scanned the surroundings. The village had been abandoned for years, left to rot after the initial outbreak. Now, it was nothing more than a ghost town—a perfect place for an ambush.
He crouched, running his fingers along the damp ground. Fresh footprints. Soone had been here recently.
A sudden crackle burst from the radio. "Kruger… Morales here… we're not alone."
Kruger brought the radio to his lips. "Stay in position. Do not engage until my signal."
He stood, adjusting the straps on his tactical vest. He could feel the weight of his weapons—a pistol at his hip, a combat knife at his belt, and the rifle slung across his back. He was ready.
The wind howled through the ruins, carrying whispers of the past. Then, from the shadows, a movent.
Kruger's instincts kicked in. He spun, pistol raised. A dark figure lunged at him.
With inhuman speed, Kruger sidestepped, slamming his elbow into the attacker's ribs before shoving them into the mud. The figure gasped, struggling beneath his boot.
A resistance fighter.
"Who sent you?" Kruger growled, pressing the barrel of his pistol against the man's forehead.
The fighter glared up at him. "You're already dead, Kruger."
Before Kruger could respond, the village exploded into chaos. Gunfire erupted from the rooftops. Bullets tore through the air as figures erged from the fog, rifles trained on him.
"Morales! Rook! Engage!"
A grenade landed nearby. Kruger dove behind cover as the explosion sent debris flying. He gritted his teeth, rolling to a kneeling position and returning fire.
From the second-floor window of a crumbling house, Sergeant Darius 'Hellhound' Rook opened fire, cutting down two resistance soldiers with brutal precision.
Eva 'Black Widow' Morales erged from an alley, her silenced pistol snapping off quick shots, each bullet finding its mark.
The ambush had failed. The resistance fighters hesitated—just long enough for Kruger to make his move. He charged forward, knife in hand, cutting through the remaining enemies with ruthless efficiency.
Minutes later, silence returned.
Kruger wiped his blade clean on a fallen soldier's uniform. "Sloppy. They underestimated us."
Morales holstered her weapon. "Or maybe they were testing us."
Rook kicked over a corpse, shaking his head. "If this was just a test, what's coming next?"
Kruger stared into the mist, his jaw tightening. He could feel it in his bones. Sothing bigger was coming. And this was only the beginning.
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