CHAPTER 8 – ALPHA TEAM

The door to his room closed with a soft metallic click, barely audible in the underground silence.
Vik leaned his back against it for a moment, took a deep breath, and walked to the bunk bed, collapsing onto the mattress.
The old springs groaned under his weight.
A candle flickered on the table, casting dancing shadows on the cracked walls—like the past refusing to let him sleep.
With a brief puff, he blew out the flame.
And the world fell into darkness.

Night—once a symbol of rest—had become a prison.
Thoughts seeped in like water through the bricks of his sanity, cracking the fragile calm.

Vik jolted upright.
Drenched in sweat. Breathing hard. Pupils dilated.
—Anya! —he gasped, voice broken, piercing the darkness.

The echo died slowly against the concrete walls.
Silence returned, heavier than before.
His hands trembled. He pressed his fingers against his face, hard.
Trying to feel something real. Solid.
But the pain pulsing in his chest wouldn’t fade.
The nightmare had passed… but the weight still clung to his gut like something alive.
He wasn’t going back to sleep. He knew it.

So he got up.
His body—tight as a spring—needed release.
Energy. Rage. Anxiety.

Push-ups.
Sit-ups.
Squats.
Each drop of sweat hitting the floor was a word he couldn’t scream.
Each repetition, a cry swallowed whole.

He was here.
Still breathing.
Still fighting.

Eventually, the hour came.
No alarms. No clocks.
Underground, time wasn’t measured in minutes—it was measured in cycles:
The change of guards,
The hum of ventilation,
The silence between patrols.

Vik felt it in his bones.

He stood without a word.
Gathered his gear with silent precision.
The straps of his tactical belt tightened like part of a sacred ritual.
Each buckle. Each knife. Each tool in place.
A warrior without ceremony.

He stepped into the hallway, leaving behind the warmth of the bed and the sweat of insomnia.
The air in the tunnels smelled of damp metal and tension.
The path to the garage was one he’d walked a thousand times…
But that morning, it felt heavier.

The echo of his footsteps was the only sound that followed him…
Until he arrived.

The massive underground garage looked like a hangar sculpted by hammers.
Armored vehicles, modified bikes, and piles of scrap lined up like sleeping beasts waiting for their moment to roar.

And there they were.
Anton. His team.
The Black Beast.

—Morning, Vik. How was the night? —Alexei asked from the side of the vehicle, adjusting the straps of his backpack.
His tone was familiar—a mix of sarcasm and solidarity.

Vik rubbed the back of his neck and let out a tired half-smile.
—It was rough… barely slept —he admitted.

—That’s normal —Katya added, appearing beside them with her calm, steady presence—. I didn’t sleep much either. After all, this is an important mission.
Her voice, warm and quiet, was a discreet lighthouse in the fog.

—Thanks, Katya —Vik murmured, looking at her with a gratitude that needed no words.
The kind of tenderness that only matters when everything’s burning.

But the moment didn’t last long.

—Alright, enough chit-chat —Anton cut in, his voice hard as concrete—. We move soon.

And just like that, the air shifted.
The operation was about to begin.

Anton stood tall next to the metallic colossus that was the Black Beast, arms crossed over his chest.
His tactical uniform was spotless—no wrinkles, no stains.
The posture of someone who’s been commanding for years.
Someone who doesn’t need to raise his voice to be obeyed.
His gaze—firm, fixed on the final mission checks—was enough to keep everyone focused.

Behind him, his team was already in position.
Each one in their place.
Each one with a role.

And then—like a scene demanding theatrical flair—a figure dropped from the top of a parked truck.

CLANG!

Boots hit the metal floor with feline agility.

—Let’s go, let’s go! We’ve got plenty of mutants to tear apart! —Yuri shouted, raising his arms with a frenzied, almost manic grin.
His red eyes gleamed like embers in the shadows.
His small, explosive frame radiated agility, madness, pure lethal energy.
He was a spark in human form.

From beneath the truck’s chassis, another figure emerged, soaked in grease and reeking of burnt oil.

—My baby’s ready —announced Nikolai, giving the Black Beast a couple of firm pats, like a man soothing a war beast—. Black Beast wants to go for a ride —he added with a deep, gravelly laugh.

His voice was warm. Solid.
The kind of voice that could calm someone in the middle of the apocalypse.
Nikolai was a gentle giant with scars on his soul.
The team’s oldest member—built like a tank, yet somehow still laughing.
He drove the Beast like an extension of his own body…
And he treated it like a son of steel.

And in the back… nearly invisible, like a shadow that breathed logic… was him.

Igor.

Sitting on a folding chair, he worked on a drone the size of a human arm, folding it with fast, precise fingers.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t look up.
Just programmed.

His pale face reflected lines of code that blinked across the lenses of his tech-glasses.

He was the youngest member of Anton’s team.
But also the most cerebral.
A robotics genius trapped in a fragile frame.
He looked more like a technician than a soldier.
But everyone knew the truth: without Igor, this team wouldn’t exist.

Everyone was ready.
Only one thing remained.
The order.

—Alpha Team, to your positions!
Anton’s voice cracked through the hum of engines like a gunshot.
Grave. Steady. Undeniable.

One phrase was enough to turn the entire garage into a perfectly oiled machine.
The order echoed off the steel walls.
No hesitation.
No missteps.

The team moved like the gears of a single machine: fast, precise, disciplined.
The air—just moments ago full of tension and teasing—turned dense as gunpowder before a spark.

Anton stepped toward Vik.
His steps were heavy, deliberate, like each footprint pressed into the concrete.
He stopped in front of him.
Imposing.
Authority incarnate.

—Vik —he said, voice dry but measured—. The commander spoke highly of you. And of you two as well—Alexei, Katya.
His gaze swept over the three of them.

—I’m sure you’re more than capable. But let me make one thing clear: this is my mission. And you’ll follow orders.
I know you’re looking for answers, Vik…
But our priority is different: intel.
A possible cure.
Understood?

Vik didn’t look away. Not for a second.
His face, carved by determination, answered even before his mouth did.
—I understand, sir.
I won’t get in the way.
I’ll do everything I can to help.

Anton studied him a second longer.
Then, without changing his tone, allowed himself a faint, almost imperceptible smile.
One of those smiles shared only between soldiers who recognize fire in each other.

—Then let’s move —he growled—. Load up. We leave now.

Nikolai was already heading toward the driver’s seat.
He slid into the armored cabin with ease, like he had always belonged there.
Beside him, Anton took the co-pilot’s position and spread out the crumpled map across his knees.
His eyes scanned each mark drawn in thick black ink, while his hand traced the route one last time.

In the rear, Yuri climbed in first and dropped heavily onto one of the reinforced benches.
Katya followed, sitting upright, composed.
Alexei, Vik, and Igor settled in among backpacks, supply crates, rifles, and water canisters.
The air inside smelled of metal, sweat, and engine oil—
the scent of war,
of motion,
of no turning back.

One by one, they tightened their belts, checked their weapons, and braced themselves.

The Black Beast roared.

VRUMMMMMM.

The engine came to life with a deep, thunderous growl.
A beast awakened—one that understood the language of war.

The garage walls trembled with the first acceleration,
as if the shelter itself shuddered while letting them go.

Then...

KRANK—KRAAAANK.

The armored doors began to open.
Heavy. Screeching.
Revealing a tunnel—
dark, endless.

The mechanical groan echoed like a funeral bell,
announcing the journey into the unknown.

On either side of the gate, two guards stood firm.
Unmoving.
Like statues from a forgotten time.

One of them, without shifting his gaze, muttered:

—Good luck…

The Black Beast rolled forward.
Slow at first.
Then more determined.
Until it vanished into the tunnel’s darkness,
swallowed by the open mouth of a dead world.

CLANG.

The gates slammed shut behind them,
sharp and final.

The mission had begun.

The Black Beast roared through the tunnel,
its growl echoing like the howl of a living creature.
Its thick wheels—worn from endless use—crushed layers of dust, debris, and broken remnants of the old world.
The vehicle vibrated with every metal joint in the ground,
as if the earth itself was trying to speak from beneath them.

And then...

A light.
Distant at first.
White.
Intense.
Blinding.

The vehicle burst out of the tunnel’s mouth,
and the world struck them like a slap to the face.

The light outside—sickly and dim—was still too much for eyes that had grown used to underground shadows.
Everyone squinted at once.
A collective reflex.

And there it was.
The surface.
Desolation.
The open corpse of what had once been a city.

Collapsed buildings like twisted skeletons.
Concrete towers reduced to rubble.
Broken windows that no longer opened into any home.
Burned-out vehicles piled like broken toys along the roadsides.
Streetlamps bent under the weight of time or violent hands.

A thick, gray fog—almost solid—hovered over everything,
coating the sky like an unhealed wound.

And among the ruins…

Shadows.
Moving.
Twisted.
Slow.
Unstable.

Ashes.

Beings that once had names. Families. Minds.
Now, they were just hollow shells.
Rotten flesh wrapped in cracked gray skin, like dry mud.
They moved erratically, dragging their feet,
leaving behind trails of filth, drool, and despair.

Some hesitated—
as if something human still stirred deep inside.
As if an ancient memory tried to break free.
But most… just wandered.
Waiting for sound,
for movement,
for the biological trigger to hunt.

The Black Beast sped through the remains of civilization like a desperate animal.
Nikolai drove with surgical precision—
weaving between overturned cars, collapsed columns,
and bodies that looked like they were only sleeping.

The truck didn’t stop.
It couldn’t stop.

Inside the cabin, silence reigned.
No one spoke.
No one dared to break the invisible pact of reverence
that formed when witnessing the graveyard of the world.

Vik stared through a side slit, his brows furrowed.
The gray reflection of the outside world bled into his pupils.
His expression was cold—hardened by routine—
but not empty.

In that silent gaze,
there was a question without an answer.
A wound that had never closed.

It was Yuri, of course, who broke the silence:

—Come on, guys —he murmured, half smiling, almost a smirk—. We’ve seen this before.
It’s not our first time on the surface.

And he was right.
It wasn’t the first.
Not the second, either.
And yet…

No one ever gets used to seeing the end of the world… live.

The Black Beast rolled a few more meters…
until the road said no more.

An improvised wall of twisted metal, collapsed steel columns, and a city bus skewered sideways like it had been vomited there by the city itself.
It was a wall.
A warning.
A natural trap.

The engine’s roar faded into a low growl,
like an animal forced to stop.

CLANG.

The rear hatch burst open, rusty metal shrieking in protest.

Anton was the first to step onto the cracked asphalt.
His silhouette—framed by the sickly gray sky—looked carved from lead.
A leader from another time, hardened by wars no one remembered anymore.

—All right, people —he said, voice low, calm, no need to yell—. Get out and secure the perimeter.
We’ll have to move this junk if we want to keep going.

No one hesitated.
No one questioned.
Alpha Team moved like a single organism.

One by one, the soldiers dropped from the Black Beast, weapons ready, boots striking the ground with weight and intent.
Dead dust rose around them—
a secondary mist, dirty and spectral.

Silence covered everything.
Thick.
Tense.
Like a breath held before a scream.

But everyone knew what that silence meant.

It never lasted long.

With tactical precision, the team spread into position:

Vik, Katya, and Alexei took the eastern flank.
They crouched behind an old rusted guardrail, using bent beams and chunks of concrete for cover.

Yuri and Igor headed west, where the ruins of a collapsed café offered shadow and protection.
Yuri settled behind a half-destroyed wall.
Igor—tense but focused—prepped his drone with expert hands, never taking his eyes off the controller.

Anton, meanwhile, climbed atop an overturned car with practiced ease,
his body moving with the memory of countless previous deployments.
From up there, he had full tactical view.
His silhouette was pure command—
a natural-born field leader.

Behind them, at the vehicle’s rear, Nikolai was already working.

The veteran, shirt stained with oil,
face carved with the experience of survival,
unfolded the Black Beast’s winch with the calm precision of someone assembling a toy.

—Hooking up… —he muttered to himself, low and steady—. Come on, old man… don’t fail me now.

The winch arm groaned as it extended toward the wrecked bus.

The machine was in motion.
The world around it didn’t know yet...

But something had already started to smell the vibration.

And then...

A voice tore through the air.
Clear as a gunshot.
Euphoric as a cursed laugh.

—Here they come, boys! Let’s have some fun! —Yuri shouted, raising his rifle with that twisted grin that made him look more mad than brave.
His red eyes flared like lit flares.

The silence shattered.

And from the ruins… they began to emerge.

Ashes.

Dozens.
Maybe hundreds.
They slithered through debris like mutated rats,
drawn by the Black Beast’s rumble,
by the footsteps,
by the voices…
by life.

Their cracked bodies rose from the fog like phantoms.
Crooked.
Rotten.
Groaning.
Growling.
Marching with the blind resolve of hunger.

Igor saw them first.
He let out a dry gasp, then bolted for the truck without a word.
He scrambled clumsily into the rear compartment and dropped to his knees,
covering his head with both hands,
as if that alone could keep hell at bay.

He knew.
This wasn’t his place.

—Take them out! Don’t let them get to Nikolai! —Anton roared, not needing to raise his voice much.
His tone alone ignited the storm.

And the storm came.

BANG!

Vik’s pistol spoke first.
A clean shot—straight through the skull of the first Ash that lunged at them.
The head burst in a rain of bone and darkness.

BOOM. BOOM.

Alexei, shotgun in hand, roared from the flank.
Each blast was a sentence.
Each impact, an explosion of rotted flesh.

RATATATATATA—

Yuri unleashed himself like a demon, firing in wild bursts,
no cover, no fear.
He moved like he was dancing, like he was playing,
like the screams were part of the show.

One, two, three… four Ashes dropped under his bullets.
And he laughed.

Katya, calm and solid, was the counterweight.
Each shot left her rifle with surgical rhythm.
She aimed. Breathed. Fired.
She covered her team without taking a single step back.

From above, Anton commanded the field like an immortal general.
Pointing. Calling. Silencing threats from the blind spots.
His eyes swept every line.
He didn’t miss.

And Vik...

Vik moved forward.
Like another weapon in the team.

Each bullet found flesh.
An Ash closed in on the flank —PAM!— headshot.
Another came from behind Katya —CRACK!— quick turn, clean shot.

The field was a killing ground.
And yet...

They kept coming.
For every mutant that fell, another rose from the rubble.
Like a biological curse.
Like an eternal swarm.

The gunfire echoed like a beacon,
a drum,
a signal.

The Ashes came.
Blind.
Hungry.
Unstoppable.

—Nikolai! We need to go! —Anton’s voice cut through the chaos—calm, firm, unshaken.

—Yeah, yeah, I know! I’m on it! —Nikolai growled, wrestling with the winch with steady hands and nerves of steel—
Give me one second, big guy—I can’t just blow this up!

Click. Creak. Released.

The path was clear.

But the escape…
was just beginning.

—Fall back! Everyone to the Black Beast—now! —Anton ordered.

No one argued. No one hesitated.

One by one, they began retreating—firing as they moved.

Katya jumped into the truck first, her face tense but focused.
Alexei followed close behind, covering Vik with precise shots that blew chunks of meat from their enemies.
Anton descended from his vantage point with a clean, practiced leap, firing one last round before climbing aboard like a seasoned wolf.

Inside the vehicle, Igor hadn’t moved.
Still curled on the floor, head between his knees,
breathing like each inhale burned.
His fingers trembled.
His world was a dark tunnel.

Only two were left outside.
Vik.
Yuri.

And the Ashes were swarming.
They surged like waves of hollow flesh,
crawling, pushing, pouncing.
The ground beneath them wasn’t ground anymore—
it was a slurry of blood, teeth, and limbs.

Yuri muttered under his breath, reloading with frustration.
—Tch… alright, alright —he growled, spinning on his heels.

But then…

The air cracked.
Like the world had swallowed its breath.
A different roar.
Pure power.
A bone-deep rumble.

Not Ashes.

From the ruins, two shadows rose.
Predators.
Twisted colossi.
Living muscle.
Biological fury.

Their eyes burned crimson—
not just rage, but something worse:
wild intelligence.

One let out a howl like a turbine from hell…

And charged.
Fast.
Lethal.

—YURI, MOVE! —Vik shouted, raising his weapon.

Yuri spun instantly, firing a burst without thinking.

But it was useless.
The Predator dodged like a trained killer.
It zigzagged—
a dance of death.

Bullets sliced the air.
Not flesh.

The second Predator saw its chance.
It charged Vik—aiming to split him in two.

But Vik wasn’t easy prey.

He dove sideways—pure reflex.
The monster missed and slammed into the Black Beast’s side, denting the armor like cardboard.

Yuri didn’t flinch.
He turned, aimed, unleashed a storm of bullets at the first one.
Direct hits.
Chunks of flesh exploded.
An agonized roar.

The Predator fell, shaking the ground like a collapsing god.

But the second one—
still there.
Still roaring.

It sprinted.
Leapt.
It was going to kill Yuri.

Vik saw it.
His heart beat once.
He launched himself.

Body to body.
Worlds collided.
They crashed to the ground in a storm of dust and debris.

Vik grappled.
Fought with every fiber.
He caught the beast’s arms, holding them back.
His own forearms cracked under the strain.

The Predator raised its tail.
Barbed.
Deadly.
It lashed toward his throat like a living spear—

Vik turned his head at the last millisecond.

CLANG!

The tail smashed the ground, splintering cement and kicking up a cloud of dust.

From a distance, Yuri shouted:
—VIK!

And threw his knife.

Vik caught it mid-air.
One motion.
One choice.

SLASH!

The blade cut clean through the creature’s neck.

A screech—inhuman—shattered the air.
Black blood sprayed like a burst pipe.

The Predator collapsed on top of him.

—Let’s go, let’s go, get up! —Alexei shouted, jumping down from the truck, shotgun still smoking as he ran to Vik.

The beast’s corpse lay still.
Its black blood soaked everything.
Vik gasped for air beneath it, shaking, drenched—
but alive.

—I'm fine… —he panted, as Alexei helped pull him from under the carcass.

Bullets still whistled nearby.
The Ashes weren’t stopping.
The world had become a symphony of gunfire, screams, and metal.

Katya, Yuri, and Anton held the line at the truck’s rear ramp, firing nonstop.

—COVER THEM! NO ONE GETS LEFT BEHIND! —Anton roared.

Alexei grabbed Vik’s arm, almost dragging him as they ran back together, dodging the shredded bodies carpeting the asphalt.

The two of them reached the back of the truck, and Yuri let out a final shot before jumping in.

BANG!

—Get in! NOW! —Anton bellowed, slamming his fist twice on the roof.

CLONC… BRUUUUMMMM.

The engine roared like a monster reborn.
Nikolai was already at the wheel—
knuckles white, eyes locked ahead.

He hit the accelerator hard.

The Black Beast launched forward.

The chassis trembled with every bump.
The ground pulsed like a living wound beneath them.
The Ashes chased after them—
a tidal wave of death.

From the back, Yuri glanced at the horde one last time.

—Well… that was close —he muttered with a crooked grin, still panting, laughter tangled with the rumble of their escape.

Vik—drenched in mutant blood, chest heaving like each breath was fire—glanced at him sideways.

—More than I’d like —he replied.

Katya rushed to them, checking for injuries with expert hands.

—Are you alright? All of you?

They nodded.

Battered.
Bloody.
Exhausted.

But alive.

Inside the truck, a strange silence settled.
Heavy.
Packed with adrenaline and echoes of death.

Outside, the world kept rotting.
The ruins faded behind them.
The city was now just a whisper of what it once was.

But then…
something stayed behind.

On the devastated road,
between potholes and rusted debris,
a thin liquid trail began to form.

Almost imperceptible.
Almost innocent.
But it wasn’t.

A line of gasoline stretched from beneath the Black Beast…
Thin.
Steady.
Like a burning scar across dead asphalt.

And in the silence…

Danger had already begun to grow.