Chapter Text
Piers reached the comms room, his mind already racing, formulating a plan. He couldn't openly defy Chris, not yet. He needed to be smart, subtle. He settled back at the console, meticulously monitoring the situation, listening to the garbled reports, the screams, the desperate pleas for help. Each sound was a nail hammered into the coffin of his resolve.
He waited for the opportune moment, a lull in the chatter, a brief window of confusion. Then, he keyed the comms.
"Commander Coryl, this is Lieutenant Nivans. I'm picking up fragmented distress signals from your location. Can you confirm if you have eyes on Bravo Team?" He kept his voice calm, professional, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside him.
A gruff voice crackled back. "Nivans, this is Coryl. Confirming Bravo Team engaged. Heavy resistance. Can't spare resources for assessment. Standing orders are to secure the primary objective."
Piers swallowed his frustration. "Commander, I understand, but I'm detecting bio-signatures consistent with a new strain. Potential for outbreak. Protocol dictates containment and immediate analysis. I'm authorized to dispatch a small reconnaissance team to assess the situation."
He was lying, of course. He had no such authorization, but he was banking on Coryl being too preoccupied to verify.
A pause. "Negative, Nivans. I have no record of that authorization. Stand down."
Piers took a deep breath. "Commander, with all due respect, this is a potential Level 5 biohazard. I'm overriding your decision based on imminent threat to public safety. I'm dispatching a team now." He cut the connection before Coryl could argue.
He quickly accessed the armory manifest, bypassing the usual security protocols with practiced ease. He needed to move fast. He grabbed a standard assault rifle, a sidearm, a medkit, and a handful of flashbangs. He needed to travel light, to be agile. He also grabbed a specialized bio-hazard scanner. He'd need to know what he was facing.
He glanced at his reflection in the polished metal of a nearby weapons locker. His dog ears twitched nervously, and his tail was tucked low between his legs. He looked like a scared pup caught in a trap. He straightened his shoulders, forcing himself to project confidence.
He left a brief, coded message for Chris on the Captain’s private terminal, explaining his actions, emphasizing the potential biohazard, and hoping, praying, that Chris would understand, or at least forgive him.
He headed towards the garage, towards a waiting transport vehicle, his mind focused, his heart pounding. He was going in.
As he sped towards the designated zone, the landscape blurring past in a chaotic mess of trees and ruined buildings, Piers couldn't shake the image of Alya's face. He hoped she was still alive. He hoped he wasn't too late.
He knew the odds were stacked against him. He was one man, with limited resources, heading into a warzone against an unknown enemy. But he had to try. He had to honor the oath he had sworn, the oath to protect and serve.
And maybe, just maybe, he could redeem himself for sending those kids into the fire in the first place.
He activated the biohazard scanner, the device humming softly in his hands. The readings were off the charts, a chaotic jumble of unknown signatures. He was heading into something truly dangerous, something unlike anything he had ever encountered. But he wasn't turning back. Not now.
The transport vehicle lurched to a halt, throwing Piers forward against his harness. He quickly disengaged, grabbing his rifle and the biohazard scanner. The air outside was thick with the stench of decay and the sound of gunfire, distant but relentless. He checked his surroundings, noting the wrecked vehicles and the skeletal remains of buildings that had likely been homes not long ago. A scene of utter devastation.
He double-checked the map overlay on his scanner, confirming his proximity to the designated rendezvous point for Bravo Team. It was a precarious position, a narrow alley between two collapsed buildings, offering limited cover and plenty of potential ambush points.
He moved cautiously, his senses on high alert. The biohazard scanner continued to pulse erratically, painting a grim picture of the biological contamination in the area. He could feel the familiar prickle of fear creeping up his spine, but he pushed it down, focusing on the mission.
As he rounded a corner, he saw them. Or, rather, what was left of them.
Two Bravo Team soldiers lay slumped against a wall, their armor torn open, their bodies grotesquely mutated. One had sprouted bony protrusions from his back, while the other's face was swollen and distorted, his eyes vacant and milky white. They weren’t moving.
Piers swallowed hard, the image burning itself into his memory. This was worse than he had imagined. He raised his rifle, prepared for anything.
A guttural growl echoed from the darkness ahead. A figure emerged from the shadows, stumbling towards him. It was another soldier, but barely recognizable. His skin was a sickly green, his limbs elongated and contorted, his eyes burning with a malevolent light. He lunged, snarling, his mutated claws outstretched.
Piers reacted instinctively, firing a short burst from his rifle. The bullets ripped into the creature's chest, but it barely flinched. It kept coming, driven by a primal rage, a twisted mockery of its former humanity.
He fired again, and again, until the creature finally collapsed, a twitching, lifeless heap on the ground. Piers stood there, breathing heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. He knew this was just the beginning.
He activated his comms, his voice tight with urgency. "This is Nivans. I'm on-site. Confirmed, Bravo Team is compromised. Repeat, compromised. We're dealing with a highly aggressive mutation. Requesting immediate backup and biohazard containment teams."
Silence. Only the crackle of static answered him.
He tried again, his voice rising in desperation. "Command, do you read? I need backup! I repeat, I need backup!"
Still nothing. He was alone. Completely alone.
He holstered his weapon and knelt beside one of the fallen soldiers, scanning him with the biohazard detector. The readings were overwhelming, a complex cocktail of viral agents and mutagenic compounds. He carefully collected a sample, sealing it in a sterile container.
He knew he couldn’t stay here, not if he wanted to survive. He had to find the recruits, extract them, and get out. And he had to do it alone.
He took a deep breath, steeling his resolve. He was a soldier. He was trained to face impossible odds. He turned and moved forward, deeper into the ruins, his rifle raised, his senses on high alert. He was hunting for them, but he knew, with a chilling certainty, that he was also being hunted. And the hunters were getting closer. He gripped his rifle tighter, his dog ears perked up, listening for any sound amidst the chaos. His tail twitched nervously, but his eyes were focused, determined. He was ready. He had to be.
A low growl rumbled from behind a pile of rubble. Piers swung his rifle around, his heart leaping into his throat. It wasn't a mutated soldier this time. Crouched low, its fur matted with grime, was a large, emaciated dog, its ribs visible beneath its skin. It snarled, baring yellowed teeth, but its eyes held a flicker of fear.
Piers lowered his rifle slightly. "Hey there," he said softly, his own dog ears twitching sympathetically. "Easy. I'm not going to hurt you."
The dog remained wary, but the intensity of its growl lessened. Piers slowly reached into his vest, pulling out a ration bar. He tore off a small piece and tossed it towards the animal.
The dog hesitated for a moment, then darted forward, snatching the food in its jaws. It swallowed it whole, then looked back at Piers with hopeful eyes.
"Alright, alright," Piers chuckled softly, tearing off another piece. He tossed it again, and the dog devoured it just as quickly. He continued feeding it, slowly closing the distance between them. After a few minutes, the dog seemed to relax, even wagging its tail tentatively.
"You hungry, huh?" Piers said, reaching out a hand slowly. The dog flinched, but didn't snap. Piers gently stroked its head. The fur was coarse and dirty, but the dog leaned into the touch, letting out a soft whimper.
"Maybe you can help me," Piers murmured, thinking aloud. "Maybe you know where some other people are." He stood up slowly, keeping his movements deliberate. "Can you find them? Can you find the recruits?"
He pointed in the direction he needed to go, hoping against hope. He was desperate. He needed any advantage he could get.
The dog looked at him, its head cocked to the side. Then, it nudged his hand with its nose and started walking, its tail wagging a little more confidently.
Piers hesitated for a moment. He was trusting a stray dog in the middle of a biohazard zone. He was losing it. But he didn't have any other options. He had to follow.
He followed the dog through the ruins, his rifle still raised, his senses still on high alert. The dog led him through narrow passages, past collapsed buildings, and over piles of debris. It seemed to know its way around, navigating the ruins with surprising ease.
As they rounded a corner, Piers saw it. A flickering light coming from within a partially collapsed building. He motioned for the dog to stay back and cautiously approached the entrance.
Peeking inside, he saw two figures huddled around a makeshift fire, their faces illuminated by the flames. They were young, scared, and desperately trying to stay warm. They were two of the recruits.
Relief washed over Piers in a wave, so powerful it almost brought him to his knees. He had found them. Now, he just had to get them out alive. He grinned to himself, his tail wagging with joy. He might just make it through this after all.
Piers took a deep breath, steeling himself. He stepped into the building, his rifle held ready, but his voice calm and reassuring. "Hello? I'm Leutinant Piers. I'm here to get you out of here."
The two recruits, a young man and a young woman, practically jumped out of their skin. Their eyes widened with a mixture of fear and hope. The woman clutched a rusty pipe, her knuckles white. The man, barely old enough to shave, simply stared, speechless. "Leutinant? You're...you're really here?" the woman stammered, lowering her pipe slightly.
"Yes, I am," Piers said, "And I have… a furry friend who helped me find you." He gestured back to the entrance, where the dog peeked around the corner, its tail thumping tentatively against the rubble.
The recruits looked at the dog, then back at Piers, their confusion evident. "A dog?" the man finally managed to say.
Piers chuckled, trying to ease the tension. "Yeah, a stray. Seemed like he knew his way around. More helpful than half my squad, to be honest." He paused, his expression turning serious. "We don't have much time. We need to move. Are you both alright? Any injuries?"
The woman shook her head. "Just hungry and scared." The man nodded in agreement.
"Alright. I've got rations. Eat something quick, then we go. Stay close to me, and do exactly as I say. Understand?"
They both nodded, grabbing the ration bars Piers offered. As they ate, Piers surveyed the building, his eyes scanning for potential threats. He knew they couldn't stay here. This place was a deathtrap.
"What about… what about Bravo Team?" the man asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Piers' tail drooped slightly. He hated this part. "I… I haven't found them yet. I'm still looking." He didn't want to lie, but he also didn't want to crush their remaining hope. "We need to focus on getting you two to safety first. Then, we'll see what we can do."
He knew the chances of finding any survivors from Bravo Team were slim. The report had been grim: heavy contact, multiple casualties, presumed KIA. But he couldn't give up. He wouldn't.
Once the recruits had finished their rations, Piers gathered them together. "Alright, let's move. Follow me, and stay quiet. Our furry friend will lead the way." He gave the dog a nod, and the dog, understanding, stepped forward, its tail wagging with purpose.
As they moved through the ruined city, Piers couldn't shake the feeling that they were being watched. The silence was unnerving, broken only by the crunch of rubble underfoot and the occasional distant groan of collapsing buildings. He gripped his rifle tighter, his senses on high alert.
Suddenly, the dog stopped, its ears perked up, a low growl rumbling in its throat. Piers held up a hand, signaling the recruits to stop. He peered into the darkness ahead, his dog ears twitching, trying to pick up any sound.
Then he heard it. A faint, metallic scraping, followed by a guttural growl. Not the dog's. Something… else.
"Mutants," he whispered, "Up ahead. Get behind me."
He pushed the recruits behind him, raising his rifle. The dog crouched low, its teeth bared, ready to defend its new pack.
A pair of mutated soldiers stumbled out of the shadows, their bodies twisted and grotesque, their eyes glowing with malevolent hunger. They spotted Piers and his group and roared, charging forward.
Piers squeezed the trigger, unleashing a volley of fire. The bullets ripped through the mutants, staggering them, but not stopping them. They kept coming, their mutated limbs flailing, their hunger insatiable.
He fired again, dropping one of the mutants. The other lunged, its claws extended. Piers sidestepped, narrowly avoiding the attack, and slammed the butt of his rifle into the mutant's jaw. It stumbled back, momentarily stunned.
"Get back! NOW!" Piers yelled at the recruits. The woman screamed, but surprisingly, the man acted quickly, dragging her behind a shattered concrete barrier.
The dog, seeing its opportunity, darted forward, snapping at the mutant's legs, distracting it long enough for Piers to reload. He fired again, finishing it off.
He quickly surveyed the area, his dog ears swiveling, listening for any other threats. "We need to move," he said, his voice urgent. "That commotion will have attracted more of them."
They scrambled behind the barrier, catching their breath. The woman was sobbing, her face pale with terror. The man, however, was surprisingly calm, his eyes fixed on Piers with a newfound respect.
"Which way, sir?" he asked.
Piers considered their options. The main streets were too dangerous, too exposed. They needed to find a more concealed route. "The sewers," he said grimly. "It's our best bet. Messy, but less likely to run into… unpleasant company."
The recruits grimaced, but they understood. They had seen enough of the "unpleasant company" to know they were willing to endure anything to avoid them.
The dog seemed to agree, nudging Piers' hand with its snout, as if urging him onward.
They made their way to the nearest sewer entrance, a gaping hole in the ground, reeking of decay and stagnant water. Piers went first, his rifle held high, his dog tail tucked between his legs to keep it clean. He dropped down into the darkness, the stench hitting him like a wall.
"It's clear, for now," he called up to the recruits. "Come on down, but watch your step."
One by one, the recruits lowered themselves into the sewer, their faces contorted with disgust. The dog followed, its paws splashing in the murky water.
As they trudged through the darkness, the only light coming from Piers' tactical flashlight, the silence was broken only by the drip of water and the squelching of their boots. The air was thick with the smell of sewage and something else… something acrid and metallic that made Piers' nose twitch.
"What is that smell?" the woman asked, her voice trembling.
Piers paused, sniffing the air. "Something's burning," he said, his voice low. "And not just trash."
He shone his flashlight ahead, illuminating a bend in the tunnel. As they rounded the corner, they saw it. A makeshift camp, built into the side of the tunnel, with a small fire burning in a metal drum. And surrounding the fire… more mutants. But these were different. These weren't the mindless, feral creatures they had encountered earlier. These were organized, armed, and… scavenging.
They were using the sewer system not just for shelter, but as a base of operations.
He quickly doused the flashlight, plunging them back into darkness. "Don't move," he whispered. "Don't make a sound."
They pressed themselves against the wall, their hearts pounding in their chests. Through the darkness, they could hear the guttural voices of the mutants, their words incomprehensible, but their intent clear. They were searching for something.
Piers knew they couldn't stay here. They were trapped, caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. But he wasn't about to give up. He had a duty to protect these recruits. And he would, even if it meant facing impossible odds.
He gripped his rifle tighter, his knuckles white. He took a deep breath, steeling himself. It was time to get creative.
He nudged the man with his elbow. "Can you hotwire anything?" he whispered, his dog ears twitching, picking up the crackling of the fire and the low growls of the mutants.
The man's eyes widened slightly. "Maybe," he whispered back. "Why?"
"Distraction. Get that generator running," Piers gestured subtly towards a rusted, dust-covered generator tucked away in a damp alcove near the mutant camp. "A loud one. Draw their attention. While they're distracted, we slip past."
The man swallowed hard, glanced at the sobbing woman, and nodded. "I'll need something to work with."
Piers rummaged in his pack and pulled out a small multi-tool. "This is all I've got. Be quick and quiet."
The man took the tool and crawled forward, disappearing into the shadows. Piers held his breath, listening intently. The woman whimpered, and he gently squeezed her hand. His dog, sensing the tension, whined softly and pressed against his leg. He stroked its head reassuringly.
Minutes stretched into an eternity. The guttural voices of the mutants continued, punctuated by the occasional clatter of metal. He could practically feel the eyes of the creatures, even in the suffocating darkness.
Finally, a sputtering cough echoed from the alcove. Then, a low rumble. A moment later, the generator roared to life, filling the sewer tunnel with a deafening cacophony of noise. The lights flickered wildly, throwing grotesque shadows across the walls. The mutants erupted in a frenzy of confused shouts and howls. They turned toward the generator, their eyes glowing with a mixture of rage and confusion. The fire in the drum blazed brighter, casting long, dancing shadows.
"NOW!" Piers yelled, his voice barely audible above the din. He grabbed the woman's hand and pulled her forward. "Move! Stay low!"
They scrambled past the distracted mutants, their hearts pounding against their ribs. Piers kept his rifle raised, ready to fire at a moment's notice. The dog darted ahead, its low growl a warning.
They moved quickly, but carefully, sticking to the shadows, using the noise of the generator to mask their movements. The stench of burning metal and sewage filled their nostrils, almost overwhelming.
As they reached the next bend in the tunnel, Piers risked a glance back. The mutants were still fixated on the generator, trying to shut it down. The man, surprisingly, was nowhere to be seen.
He felt a surge of conflicting emotions – relief that they were clear, and a gnawing guilt for leaving the man behind. But he couldn't afford to go back. He had to get the woman to safety.
They continued their trek through the sewers, the roaring of the generator fading behind them. Piers knew they weren't out of the woods yet. They still had a long way to go, and countless dangers lay ahead. But for now, they had bought themselves some time. The stench of stale water and something far more sinister hung heavy in the air. After what felt like an eternity of navigating the claustrophobic, dripping tunnels of the sewers, Piers' sensitive dog-like ears perked up. A faint, almost imperceptible whimper drifted through the echoing passage. He raised his rifle slightly, his gaze sweeping the grimy walls. He'd been leading this lost, green recruit through hell, and the weight of their survival rested squarely on his shoulders.
Rounding a corner, weapon held high, he froze. It was Alya, the woman from the gas station, the one he'd seen again in the cafeteria. Too much blood stained the front of her uniform. The blood was dark, congealing around what looked like a ragged laceration tearing across her abdomen. He swore under his breath, instantly kneeling beside her. He fumbled in his tactical pack, extracting a small, sterile roll of bandages. Experience kicked in, his movements precise and efficient as he began to clean the wound and wrap it tightly, applying pressure.
"Sir...?" Alya's voice was weak, barely a whisper.
Piers didn't look up, focusing on staunching the bleeding. "I'm here. You just gotta stay awake until we can get you out of here." His voice was gruff but reassuring.
"Who's we...?"
"I found two recruits, one... well, he helped us escape the mutants that were down here. The other one isn't far right now. Right now isn't the time for you to die, okay?" His tone was stern, leaving no room for argument. He finally looked up, his steely blue eyes locking with hers.
"Yes sir..."
"Good. Now, can you walk?" He finished securing the bandage.
"Yeah. I think I can.” She nodded, a flicker of determination in her pained gaze.
"Alright." Piers waved over the other recruit, a young woman whose face was pale with fear and grime. "Can you help her move while we get out of here?"
The woman nodded, her eyes wide. "I can sir." She moved to Alya's side, helping her to her feet, supporting her weight. Once they were both standing, they looked to Piers for direction.
Piers gave a quick nod before leading them further down the tunnel, his rifle held at the ready. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the drip, drip, drip of water and the occasional muffled groan from deeper within the sewer's labyrinth.
After what felt like another eternity, the static crackle of his radio cut through the silence. A voice, strained and distorted, battled its way through. Chris' voice.
"Lieutenant... Can... You... Read... Us... I... Need... A response now."
Piers pressed the transmit button. "Captain, this is Piers. I have two of the recruits with me now, one is injuried. Bravo team has been compromised with the virus. They look like they have been exposed to the stronger dose of the C-virus, a compromised one. The ones infected looked rusted up, but right now, we are in the South side of the sewers. We need evac. We are close to the exit outside of this side."
More static, and then Chris' voice, clearer now. "That's already been dispatched, we will rendezvous at your exit. Can you hold out there 'til we arrive?"
Piers nodded, even though Chris couldn't see him. "Yes sir. We will be there right away."
"Copy that."
Then, only static.
Piers turned to the recruits, his expression grim. "We aren't far from the next exit. Can you handle a little more?" He looked specifically at Alya, his voice laced with concern.
Alya spoke weakly, "Yeah..."
Piers nodded. "Alright.”
The illusion of safety shattered instantly. A chorus of guttural screeching and distorted yelling erupted from the tunnel behind them, halting them in their tracks. The sounds were inhuman, filled with a ravenous hunger that sent shivers down Piers' spine.
Piers cursed under his breath. "Shit. That didn't take long."
The woman looked at Piers, her eyes pleading. "What do we do, sir? We won't get there in time."
Piers went silent, his mind racing, calculating their options. He sighed, a decision made. He pulled his sidearm, a reliable 9mm pistol, and handed it to the woman. "Get going to meet up with backup. It should be down the tunnel and two turns till you reach it."
The woman looked at Piers, her eyes filled with conflicting emotions, before reluctantly accepting the weapon. "What about you?"
Piers' voice was firm, brooking no argument. "I'll stay here and distract them as long as I can. I trust you to get out of here and get the backup down here ASAP, alright?"
The woman hesitated for a long moment, fear warring with duty. Finally, she nodded, her resolve hardening. She grabbed Alya around the waist, offering her support, and they began to move quickly, though awkwardly, down the tunnel.
Piers watched them go, his jaw tight, before the screeching grew even louder, closer. He sighed, pulled back the slide on his rifle, chambering a round. He turned to face the darkness of the tunnel, his expression grim, his eyes burning with a fierce determination. He raised his weapon, the barrel pointed towards the dark hallway.
"Alright you rusted fucks, come get some!" Piers yelled, his voice echoing in the sewer tunnel. He knew it was a risky move, drawing their attention like that, but it was the only way to ensure the recruits' survival. He stood his ground, his heart pounding in his chest, waiting for the grotesque creatures to emerge from the darkness.
The first one came screeching, a hulking figure with rusted metal fused to its decaying flesh. Bones jutted out at unnatural angles, and its eyes glowed with a malevolent red light. It lunged at Piers, its mutated claws outstretched.
Piers didn't flinch. He sidestepped the attack and fired a precise shot into the creature's head. It staggered back, but the bullet barely seemed to faze it. These things were resilient, much more so than the earlier, weaker mutations. He fired again, and again, the shots echoing in the confined space, but the creature kept coming, its movements relentless.
More followed, drawn by the noise. They came in a horde, a grotesque mix of flesh and metal, their guttural roars filling the air. Piers knew he couldn't hold them off forever. He had to buy time, just enough for the recruits to reach the exit and bring back reinforcements.
He ducked behind a crumbling pillar, using it as cover while he reloaded. He tossed a grenade down the tunnel, hoping to slow them down, the explosion echoing in the confined space. He glanced back towards the direction the recruits had gone, praying that they were safe.
Meanwhile, the woman struggled to help Alya move as quickly as possible. Alya's face was pale, her breathing shallow. The pain from her wound was clearly intense, but she was fighting to stay conscious.
"We're almost there," the woman encouraged, her voice strained with effort.
"Just a little bit further."
They rounded a corner and saw a faint light at the end of the tunnel. It was the exit, and the sight of it gave them a renewed burst of energy. They stumbled towards it, their legs burning, their lungs aching.
As they reached the exit, they saw Chris and a team of heavily armed soldiers waiting for them. Chris rushed forward, his face etched with concern.
"What happened? Where's Piers?" he demanded.
"He's still back there, holding off the mutants," the woman gasped, pointing back towards the tunnel. "He told me to get Alya out and bring back help."
Chris's expression hardened. 'Course he fucking did.' he thought. "Get Alya to the medic," he ordered. "The rest of you, with me. We're going back for Piers."
Chris and his team charged into the tunnel, their weapons blazing. The sounds of gunfire echoed through the sewer as they fought their way towards Piers.
Piers was beginning to falter. The promise of endless ammunition had been a cruel lie, and with each empty click of his weapon, the encroaching horde seemed to grow larger, more menacing. He was a whirlwind of motion, dodging, weaving, and striking with a brutal efficiency born of years of training. Bruises blossomed across his skin, and the stench of his own sweat mingled with the putrid air, but he refused to yield.
Round after round flew, whittling down the grotesque ranks, but they kept coming. More than a dozen, their mutated limbs and snarling faces a testament to the bio-organic weapon's horrifying design. He felt a surge of panic as his gun clicked empty. "Shit!" He flung the useless weapon aside, drawing his survival knife. It was a meager defense against such a tide, but it was all he had. He slashed and stabbed, targeting vital areas, each strike a desperate act of defiance. Even with his skill, he knew he was on borrowed time. One misstep, one moment of hesitation, and he would be overwhelmed.
And that's exactly what happened. A slick patch of slime betrayed him, sending him sprawling. A grotesque figure seized the opportunity, its mutated arm slamming into his stomach with sickening force, tearing through his armor. The impact stole his breath and ignited a searing pain. The creature's arm was now embedded in his armor, forcing it deeper with brutal, relentless blows.
Then, a blessed roar erupted from the tunnel entrance. Chris and his team, an avenging force, unleashed a torrent of gunfire, cutting down the monsters that surrounded Piers. Chris, his face a mask of fury and terror, reached Piers's side, firing point-blank into the creature that was savaging him, finally silencing it. He then holstered his weapon, desperately pulling the creature's limb free.
Chris looked at the gaping wound, his face paling. "Shit!" He barked, "I need a medic! Now!" He turned back to Piers, his voice laced with a desperate urgency. Piers, his breath ragged, managed a weak smile. "Glad we had some reinforcements for help..."
Piers muttered, his voice slurring slightly, pain clouding his thoughts. "What about Alya... and the other recruits... Are all of them safe...?" Chris nodded, his relief palpable. "Yeah, we managed to find the majority of them huddled up in an abandoned building nearby. Alya and the woman are being treated right now. But right now, let's worry about you."
Piers laughed weakly, a sound laced with pain. "This reminds me of-"
Chris cut him off, his voice tight with emotion. "Don't. I don't need to remember that, not right now.” The unspoken memory hung heavy between them. The loss of another comrade, another mission gone wrong.
Piers, understanding the pain etched on Chris's face, relented, dropping the subject entirely. Instead, a wave of exhaustion washed over him. His canine ears and tail, usually alert and expressive, drooped listlessly. His eyelids grew heavy, blurring Chris's desperate features. He couldn't stay awake much longer; the pain was claiming him.
Time blurred. The harsh reality threatened to overwhelm him. Was he going to die here, in this filthy sewer? He fiercely banished the thought. He couldn't die. Not when he hadn't seen if the recruits would truly make their mark. A warmth spread through his body, faint light piercing through his eyelids. He slowly, painfully, began to wake.
"Ow..." he managed to groan.
Almost immediately, he felt a hand gently squeeze his. He turned his head, his vision swimming, and saw Chris sitting beside him, his face gaunt with exhaustion. He had stayed here, vigilantly watching over him, for who knew how long.
"You look like shit..." Piers quipped, managing a weak smile. The attempt earned him a chuckle from the older man.
"I can say the same thing about you." Chris said, his eyes hardening with concern. Piers knew what was coming next. "I told you to stay down. To check comms. That wasn't a command to go into an infected wasteland to get yourself killed! What would have happened if I wasn't there to save you in time? I can't deal with losing you. Not right now, alright?" Chris’s voice broke at the last sentence, raw with suppressed fear.
"Yes sir..." Piers mumbled, shamefaced.
"I'm serious."
"I am as well, Captain, but I couldn't sit there while they were getting slaughtered. They are still too young to deal with this." Piers muttered, his voice laced with conviction.
"I know, and it's my fault. I just... yeah... I shouldn't have sent those kids into a battlefield when I knew it would kill them." Chris rubbed Piers's hand in a soothing circle.
"They are all safe and okay, right?" Piers asked, his anxiety returning.
"They are actually all okay and safe. While you were resting, they were planning a party for you, thanking you for saving their lives." Chris laughed softly, the sound a little shaky.
"Isn't it supposed to be a surprise for me?"
"You really think you would sit still until you knew?"
"I guess not. Touche." Piers said, a genuine smile gracing his lips.
Chris snickered, before releasing Piers's hand. "Alright, Lieutenant, I gotta head out. Visiting hours are up, and I have to get going for paperwork." Piers nodded, though a wave of disappointment washed over him. "Stay safe then."
"I will. And while I'm gone, I expect you to get some sleep and get well soon. I don't think the decorations will stay in the cafeteria for long." Chris commanded, standing up.
Piers laughed, a genuine, heartfelt sound. "I will." As the door closed behind Chris, Piers sighed. The pain in his stomach was manageable now. He decided to take Chris's advice and finally get some rest. He closed his eyes, breathing easily now that the weight on his shoulders had lifted, the worry for the recruits finally gone. They were safe, and the thought of a party warmed him. It made him happy to know that most likely, they wouldn't leave. Which made him even more excited for training. He was too excited to sleep, really. He pushed the thought aside and drifted off, finally succumbing to the exhaustion that had been threatening to consume him.