CHAPTER 7 – A NEW AWAKENING

Vik’s Journal
It’s been five hundred and thirty-two days since that day at the Theralux Tower.
Since the day the world… changed forever.
The building, once a symbol of progress, became the spark of the end.
It wasn’t the explosion.
It wasn’t the chaos.
It was what they woke up down there.
They played gods, mixing genetic codes like pieces of a forbidden puzzle.
And they succeeded.
They created something.
Something that should have never existed.
The creature.
The primordial beast.
I saw it. Through the smoke. Through the rain.
That monster didn’t destroy Moscow with its claws...
But what it carried inside, did.
It was the beginning of the end.
During its escape, the creature infected scientists, soldiers, technical staff…
Those who didn’t die, changed.
Turned into grotesque, deformed, inhuman aberrations.
We call them “Ashes.”
Husks of what they once were.
Husks that hunger.
The virus spread like fire through the bones of civilization.
A bloody, unstoppable snowball.
At first, no one understood.
But then...
The United States discovered the secret experiments.
It went public.
Russia was blamed.
War became inevitable.
Missiles crossed the skies.
Entire cities were wiped out.
The bombs came before the answers.
And while the leaders killed each other…
The virus advanced.
It crept through tunnels.
It seeped into collapsed hospitals.
It devoured refugee camps.
It swallowed entire neighborhoods.
Humanity collapsed… not just because of the virus.
But because of its own arrogance.
Moscow fell.
Then the rest.
The world didn’t die all at once.
It died screaming.
Those of us who survived…
we hid.
Old military bunkers.
Metro stations.
Caves, shadows, oblivion.
Sunlight no longer exists.
I’m here.
In this tiny room, inside one of those underground camps.
My only refuge…
this old leather notebook.
Where I write.
Where I try to remember that once, all of this made sense.
It’s been five hundred and thirty-two days.
And I still haven’t found my sister.
I don’t know what happened that afternoon.
I don’t know why she disappeared in the chaos.
But I feel it.
She’s still alive.
And I will find her.
No matter what it takes.

Vik gently closes the notebook.
His fingers, hardened by time, trace the cracked leather cover.
In front of him, a worn-out photo.
Vik and Anya. Smiling.
Back when the world still made sense.
—Anya…
he whispers, barely audible, as his thumb caresses the faded image.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Three sharp knocks snap him out of his thoughts.
Fists hit the door’s metal surface with steady purpose.
Vik stands up at once, the echo of nostalgia still lodged in his throat.
He yanks the door open.
And there he is.
Alexei.
Standing tall, jacket soaked, a smile etched on his face like nothing could ever bring him down.
That same cocky confidence he’d worn since it all began.
—Am I interrupting your deep thoughts? —he joked, tilting his head.
Vik could only reply with a faint smile.

But he wasn’t alone.
Behind him, Katya appeared—like a warm ray cutting through iron and shadow.
Hair tied up, gaze sweet yet steady.
In her eyes was more than resolve: there was tenderness. Humanity. Endurance.
Vik stepped aside and gestured.
—Come in.
They both entered the cramped room.
Metal walls, a rusted bunk, a shaky table… and the notebook, still open, like a fresh wound.
—What’s going on? —Vik asked, reading the tension on their faces—. You look… uneasy.
Alexei exchanged a glance with Katya. He spoke first.
—There’s news from the recon team —he said, lowering his voice—. They saw a Theralux helicopter leaving some old facility to the east, on the outskirts of Moscow…
Vik’s eyes shot up, as if lightning had struck him.
—…and not just that. They saw a woman. Silver hair.
Silence.
The air grew thick.
Vik’s eyes widened. His jaw tightened.
The name formed in his mind before he could hold it back.
—Anya…
Alexei nodded gravely.
—They’re sending a team. The commander already approved it. They want to explore that lab.
Katya thought you should know.
She stepped forward, voice soft but firm.
—We know how much Anya means to you.
And we’re with you, Vik.
No matter what.
Vik looked down for a second, processing. Then raised his head with resolve.
—Thank you, guys… you’re the best.
So... when do we leave?

Alexei clicked his tongue.
—That’s the problem.
We’re not going.
They won’t let us.
—What? —Vik’s voice flared with anger.
—Commander Volkov will only authorize the elite unit —Alexei explained—. He doesn’t want to take chances. His priority is something else… a potential antidote for the virus.
Katya nodded, visibly troubled.
—The attacks have gotten worse. Ashes. Raiders. Everything’s becoming more unstable.
Since the last assault on base camp, no one’s allowed to leave the station without direct orders.

Vik clenched his fists. His jaw trembled.

BAM!

He slammed the table hard, making the old utensils rattle.
—I can’t… I won’t stay here.
After all this time…
This is the only lead I’ve got!

Alexei stepped forward, placed a hand on Vik’s neck, and gave him a friendly shake.
—There’s my Vik. That stubbornness always ends up saving our asses.
Katya gave a soft smile.
For a brief moment, the room felt less cold.
Vik looked at them, grateful.
—I’ll talk to the commander.
I’ll come up with something. I swear.

Underground
The world above no longer existed.
Only tunnels remained.
Dark. Endless. Mute.
The camp had moved even deeper.
Further into the veins of Moscow’s metro system.
The main stations were no longer safe.
They’d been swallowed—by infection… or by men.
Now they lived among damp walls, metal bones, and fading memories.

As Vik, Alexei, and Katya walked down one of the main tunnels, the decay showed itself with no shame.
On both sides of the platform, makeshift shelters piled up like living ruins: plastic sheets, blankets, stained tarps.
The platforms were linked by planks and scraps of metal.
Everything was temporary.
Everything was fragile.
But everything was alive.

CHAK CHAK.

Guards in green uniforms with automatic rifles patrolled the corridors with razor-sharp eyes.
Some children ran between the adults with overflowing energy, laughing around flaming barrels.
Others just watched. In silence.
Women mended clothes at the edge of the light.
A man taught another how to load a weapon.
An elderly woman read softly from a Bible with torn pages.
Everything coexisted between shadows and the heat of fear.
Cables dangled from the ceiling like mechanical roots.
The hum of the generators whispered constantly.
The station pulsed… like a subterranean heart on the verge of collapse.

And in the middle of it all, the three of them walked.
Their faces were serious.
Their steps, determined.
The moment had come.

At the far end, a reinforced metal door awaited.
Tense voices echoed behind it.
It was the command room.
The brain of the camp.
The place where decisions were made.

Facing the Wall
Inside the command room, the air was thick with smoke, sweat, and orders yet to be given.
Steel panels stood in for walls.
Cold lights hung over a command table where several officers argued nervously.
Crumpled maps, photos of creatures, attack reports, broken transmissions…
And at the center of it all—him.
Mikhail Volkov.
Bald. Bearded.
A scar slashed across his face like war itself had carved its name into him.
He sat in a worn-out chair, cigar between his fingers, eyes like blades of ice.

He listened without listening.
Tapped the table with the butt of a pen, marking the rhythm of his impatience.
Then he looked up.
And saw them.
Vik. Alexei. Katya.
Silhouettes behind the frosted glass, outlined by dim light.
His expression hardened even more.
He dropped the pen. Shot up from his seat.

BANG!

His hands slammed against the table.
—Silence!
The shout exploded through the room.
The three officers froze.
—I don’t want to hear another damn word.
—If you don’t have anything useful, get out of my sight.
The men nodded stiffly, gathered their reports, and left in silence.

Volkov raised a hand. Just one gesture. Direct.
The three young ones stepped in.
The commander scanned them. He knew who they were.
He didn’t need to greet them.

—What now? —he growled—. You want a bigger room or a radioactive hot tub?
No one laughed.
Vik stepped forward.
—We’re not here for comfort, Commander.

Volkov raised an eyebrow.
—Then?

—We know about the mission to the Theralux lab —Vik said—.
We know you’re heading out tomorrow.
And I want in.

Silence.
Volkov chewed on his cigar for a few seconds. Then crushed it hard into the ashtray.
His eyes locked on Vik.
—You want in, huh?
Do you know what’s out there?

Vik didn’t blink.
—I do.
And even so… I’ll go.

—Only one of my best teams is going out there.
The Ashes have grown more aggressive.
Raiders never sleep.
The city’s rotted to its core.
—I know.

—You could die.
Or worse: turn.

—And still, I’ll go.

Volkov crossed his arms.
He walked a few paces, thoughtful.
Then turned slowly toward him.
—You’ll join Anton’s squad.

Alexei and Katya exchanged a glance. Then looked at Vik.
They didn’t need permission.
Just a nod.

—You two as well? —Volkov asked.
—Since the beginning —Alexei replied firmly.
Katya nodded.

The commander took a deep breath and, for the first time, smiled.
—You’ve got guts.
Sometimes that’s worth more than rifles.
He sat back down.
Lit another cigar.

—Be ready at dawn.
Don’t be late.
I don’t want to have to dig you out from under the rubble.

—Thank you, Commander —Vik said, heart pounding.
The mission had just begun.

The Spark in the Dark
Metal creaked beneath their boots as they left the commander’s office.
The decision was made.
And with it, something deeper stirred in Vik’s chest: hope.

They walked in silence toward the area everyone called the mess hall.
An old rest zone now repurposed as the heart of the camp.
Rusty barrels served as tables.
Wobbly stools patched with scrap pieces.
Dim lights hung above like dying fireflies.
And at the soul of it all: Grigori.
An older man, wild white beard, fisherman’s hat, and a prosthetic leg older than the ventilation system.
He moved bottles with the ease of a magician, serving something that barely resembled vodka—and even more barely resembled humanity.

—Vik! Over here! —a voice called out from the back.
Red hair.
Loud laugh.
Dasha.
Beside her, as always, Artiom.
Relaxed, feet up, half a smile tattooed on his face.

Vik, Alexei, and Katya joined them.
No invitation needed.
—Artiom… in the mess hall? What a surprise —Vik joked.
—I make sacrifices for the greater good —he replied, raising his glass—. And because they serve the worst alcohol on Earth… but it’s still alcohol!

Laughter.
Small. Genuine.

—I heard about Anton’s squad —Artiom said, lowering his tone—. Is it true?
—It is —Vik replied—. We’re heading out at dawn.
—And I won’t be alone —he added, glancing proudly at his two companions.

Dasha puckered her lips.
—And you were going to leave me behind with this loser?

—Hey! —Artiom protested, drawing a round of laughter.

Grigori approached as if he’d known them all his life—and maybe, in a way, he had.
He served five cloudy glasses filled with a liquid that looked like it could burn through steel.
—Cheers, youngsters! —he grunted, raising his metal leg like a magic staff.
—Cheers! —they echoed.

GLUP!

The vodka burned like sacred fire down their throats.
But it was the taste of camaraderie.
Of family forged in ruins.

—We’ve been assigned another mission —Artiom said, more serious—. West of the city. Some unusual mutant activity.
—You know, just a regular Sunday —Dasha joked, pulling a bullet from her pocket—. But it’ll be the perfect time to test a new toy.
—Vik —Alexei added, nudging him—, you’ve got good company. No complaints.
—Yeah, sure… two lunatics and a saint —Katya said, rolling her eyes.

For a moment...
A fleeting instant,
everything felt normal.
As if those five hundred and thirty-two days of horror had never happened.
As if everything was okay.

But the moment passed.
And Artiom and Dasha stood up.

—Good luck, brother —Artiom said—. Find what you’re looking for.
—And when we do… —Dasha added, winking—, we come back here.
And really celebrate.
—You got it —Vik said.

A hug.
Tight.
The kind you give before heading into the unknown.

And as they disappeared into the tunnel’s shadows, Vik watched them go.
Then looked at Alexei. At Katya.
And he knew—without saying a word—
that the new awakening
had already begun.