Eliminate the Infected

All of them responded automatically. They fired on the two men obstructing their way, who were about to attack the others, as soon as their wounded friend staggered out of sight. A rather high level of damage was taken by the assailants, who each took about five shots. One of them even managed to scratch another member of his team before he collapsed. They divided into three groups after they were down: the first was to see how the helicopter pilot was doing, the second was to help the injured, and the third, which included Raymond and two other people, was to protect the area.

The condition of the helicopter pilot was appalling. In the same way that their friend had been injured, his dead body had been mutilated, with bites removed from his arms, legs, and chest. They came to the conclusion that there were more opponents hiding nearby after noticing another bite mark that was different in size from the jaws of the two they had already slain. However, none of them were able to respond to the most important queries: Who were they? What were they seeking? Furthermore, how did they sustain so many gunfire while tearing through flesh with their bare teeth?

By historical standards, the injured were in a somewhat stable state. Both were told to pick up their guns and battle on despite suffering severe blood loss that might have been lethal.

However, the worst was still to come, and their problems were far from ended. Another member of their crew screamed in desperation just as they believed it was safe to move on. He was attacked this time by the pilot, whom they had assumed to be dead. They paused for a moment, stunned, and then shot the pilot. They hurried over to look at his body.

"You said he was dead, right?" Among the males, one yelled. And now have a look at what has transpired! He got up and—

He was interrupted by a gunshot. Raymond turned to witness the soldier who had been bitten on the cheek being shot by one of their own soldiers. "What on earth is the matter with you?" Before he could fire again at the victim of the pilot's attack, Raymond yelled and restrained him.

"Did you not witness it yourself?" The man returned the shout. "He came back to life! He resembled a fucking zombie! The diseased must be eradicated!

"Slow down!" In an attempt to regain consciousness, Raymond lost his temper. Hear me out: we have no idea how the enemy got in here. We must confront these threats as a team, so quit shooting your own comrades or you will turn against them.

The man appeared to be calmed by Raymond's comments, but the harm had already been done—paranoia had started to spread throughout the group. Stress, anxiety, and terror were visible in their features, as Raymond could see. They became aware that more of them were encircling them, closing in from both sides, just as they began to believe that the threat might come from inside their own ranks.

They struggled to maintain their position, and Raymond protected his fellows with his improved physical prowess, but the sheer volume of adversaries drove them apart. As time went on, Raymond watched in despair as his companions were ripped apart in front of him, each one succumbing to the attack. Even worse, the delusional assumptions turned out to be accurate—their own allies, who had been bitten or scratched, died within minutes just to rise and attack them.

After fifteen minutes, which seemed like hours, Raymond was encircled and the last person left standing. The chances were against him, even with the HHD upgrades. After a seemingly endless period of tension, the zombie horde launched a mass attack. Raymond was unable to protect himself from the barrage of scratches and bites, and he fell under their weight, the mass of monsters piled on top of him obscuring his eyesight.

For what he thought was the first time, Raymond experienced a true fear of dying in that moment. He wished to avoid death. He desired to live in order to get away from this nightmare and discover a fulfilling life in which he could participate. Desperate to get the zombies to move, he thrashed his arms frantically, driven by instinct. Amazingly, the horde's crushing weight started to decrease.

Upon opening his eyes, Raymond was taken aback by what he saw. He believed that the pain was creating a terrible delusion, and that he might be delirious. It was unbelievable to him that his left arm had taken on the same bluish, pale color as the zombies', and even more startlingly, a blade-like protrusion had appeared from it.

Raymond took a quick look at the remainder of his physique. They still considered him unfriendly, even though he had become one of them. As the mass of dead flesh surged toward him, he struggled through it with this new weapon. To put it simply, the feeling was astounding. He didn't enjoy killing zombies, but even in his zombie form, he felt the effects of his HHD vaccination were more potent than before. His fighting abilities had significantly improved, and he was stronger, quicker, and more nimble.

After Raymond had eliminated them all, he inhaled deeply and fell into the abyss of his own thoughts. What had just taken place? Did he really think he was a zombie? Could he even believe that there were zombies and that a swarm of them had captured his entire crew?

After a while, Raymond glanced at his arm again and found it to be normal, just like the rest of his body. Why had he become normal? Was this all a nightmare of some sort? Was he experiencing a side effect, an illusion brought on by the HHD? Regardless of the response, he needed to keep going.

Raymond picked up everything he could from the hallway's corpse mound. Some of the weapons were completely damaged, and he even discovered one with a portion bitten off, but the most were in poor condition. What the devil did these zombies consume, really? In any case, he collected what he could and went on.

Confident that he would discover security camera records and the tools to see them, he made the decision to go to the control room. He ran into additional zombies along the road, but escaped getting bitten this time. He was still unsure of what would occur if he fell victim to their assaults once more. To avoid the zombies infesting headquarters, he made detours and even slithered through ventilation shafts before arriving at the control room.

Although the surroundings were stained with blood, the equipment within was largely undamaged. They were scarcely shocking after negotiating a gore-stained building, so Raymond disregarded them. When he went over the recordings, he noticed that some of them were strangely missing—as if someone had meant to hide something. Nevertheless, he discovered important video that demonstrated how the zombies had infiltrated the structure. As anticipated, the security personnel had fallen one by one, only to rise again, powerless to fight such an unusual foe.

But one tape—the supply room—was particularly noticeable. It was very organized in comparison to the rest of headquarters. The thing that surprised Raymond the most was that the tape, which had only been recorded ten minutes earlier, showed evidence of human existence within the midst of all the turmoil.