DING—

  The elevator bell rang, dry and hollow, stretching out like a funeral chime.

  The red lights in the corridor flickered, casting the shadows of two figures on the wall — one tall, one thin — shrouded in smoke heavy with the stench of blood.

  John slipped the spatial gun into his pocket and exhaled smoke.

  “Finally done. Let’s go, Z-69. The first floor’s waiting for us.”

  Z-69 gave a slight nod. The crystal on his chest still pulsed faintly.

  Both stepped toward the elevator doors.

  BOOOOOOM!

  An explosion ripped through the air.

  The violent shockwave hurled them backward.

  The wall cracked, dust flooded the corridor, emergency lights burst, flashing wildly.

  A wave of hot wind came with a guttural roar that tore through the smoke.

  John rolled over, coughing hard, ears ringing.

  “What the hell— Z-69!”

  Z-69 sprang up, his body covered in white dust.

  From within the smoke, a massive shape emerged.

  Nearly three meters tall, muscles like living concrete, its skin torn and stitched together with metal seams.

  White, pupil-less eyes. A mouth split to the ears, lined with steel teeth sharp as saw blades.

  On its chest — a metal tag:

  [BIO-GUARD ALPHA – EXPERIMENTAL MUTANT ZC-01]

  John’s eyes widened.

  “An experimental guard… Alpha type?!”

  Its roar thundered like a pressure siren.

  Its breath spewed thick white smoke, reeking of ammonia and burnt flesh.

  Then it charged.

  THUUD!

  One punch pulverized an entire steel wall.

  Shrapnel shot out like bullets.

  Z-69 yanked John aside.

  His strength hadn’t fully recovered — his knees buckled, arms throbbing in pain.

  “You big bastard!” Z-69 growled, still backing away.

  Behind the Alpha, a pack of low-tier security zombies poured out — dozens of them, wearing broken armor, faces twisted, security masks still dangling from their mouths.

  Hissing and screeching, metal boots clanging — like a horde of feral beasts.

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  John puffed his cigarette amidst the chaos.

  “I hate teamwork.”

  “Run.” Z-69 snapped.

  They bolted down the corridor.

  Red lights flickered, the floor shook under the Alpha’s pounding steps behind them.

  A swing of its arm smashed an air duct — freezing mist gushed out in clouds.

  From the fog crawled another creature — a Type-B anomaly, human-headed, rat-bodied, with bulging red eyes like coals.

  John flinched. “This floor’s a damn zoo of death.”

  Z-69 spun and kicked — crack!

  The creature’s head burst; blood splattered the wall.

  But the zombie horde still lunged, shrieking, claws scraping the floor.

  “Right side!” John shouted.

  A door swung open — a rusted spiral staircase inside.

  They dashed in.

  The Alpha slammed down — CRASH! — breaking half the stairs, shards of metal raining down.

  Zombie screams echoed below, mixing with the sound of sliding debris.

  “Up! Move it!” John barked.

  Z-69 hauled him upward, both stumbling on the trembling steps like a sinking ship.

  The second floor had gone mad.

  Lights flickered in spasms, alarms blaring nonstop.

  At every turn, another monster — Type-B anomalies crawling across the ceiling, human torsos with entrails dangling.

  Type-U anomalies hovered, heads wreathed in black smoke.

  They didn’t chase — just watched, eyes like syringes piercing skin.

  John bit a snapped cigarette, muttering,

  “Don’t look at them. Type-U senses fear through heartbeat.”

  “And you?” Z-69 asked, still running.

  “Me? I don’t have a real heart to beat.”

  The roar came again.

  The wall in front of them exploded — the Alpha smashed through, tearing straight across the hallway.

  Dust and rubble flew.

  Its massive arm punched through concrete, dragging two smaller zombies with it like ragdolls.

  John raised his old electric gun and fired.

  ZAP!

  A weak spark danced across its skin — useless, almost mocking.

  “Pointless!” Z-69 yelled, pulling John away from another blow.

  The punch crushed the wall behind them.

  Heat rose sharply.

  Sweat and dust smeared across their faces, but Z-69 stayed focused.

  His eyes darted upward — gas pipes ran along the ceiling, leaking.

  “John! Let it taste your cigarettes!”

  “My cigarettes?!”

  “Who else here smokes? Hurry up!”

  John gritted his teeth, lit a fresh one, and hurled it toward the Alpha.

  Flame met the leaking gas — BOOM!

  White fire roared, engulfing the corridor in an explosion.

  Z-69 grabbed John; both dove through the final steel door, sliding across the floor.

  Behind them, fire and smoke swallowed the swarm.

  The screams echoed through the floor — a choir straight from hell.

  They lay gasping on the cold ground.

  The air was thick with burnt metal and charcoal stench.

  In the distance, faint metallic clanks still rang — the Alpha wasn’t dead, only trapped in debris.

  John coughed and chuckled hoarsely.

  “That chase was fun, but this old body’s not built for marathons.”

  Z-69 stood, scanning around.

  “We need a way up to the first floor.”

  “The old lab has a technical map—near the anomaly cells. If it’s intact, we might find a route.” John wiped blood from his forehead.

  Then the two of them moved swiftly through the dark hallways.

  Lights flickered weakly, like dying heartbeats.

  Each step echoed through cracks in the walls where cold air hissed.

  Suddenly, from afar came a rhythmic metallic sound — clank… clank… clank…

  John raised a hand to stop.

  “Sounds like… footsteps.”

  Z-69 tilted his head, eyes glowing faintly.

  “No. It’s… a tail.”

  A shriek tore through the air, and the right wall exploded.

  They leapt aside—barely avoiding what shot past: a serpentine anomaly clad in armor plates, over ten meters long, coiling around a pillar.

  “This is exactly why I didn’t want to come up here,” John grumbled.

  “You’re still complaining—means you’ve got energy to run,” Z-69 replied dryly.

  They kept running, ignoring the chaos around them.

  Survival instinct and madness were the only fuel left.

  They turned into a narrow corridor.

  At the end stood an old, rusted door—still sealed tight.

  Faded letters flickered on the panel:

  [CONTAINMENT CELL N-013]

  John stopped. “That name ring a bell?”

  “Probably yours, old man. I just woke up.”

  Z-69 tore the sealed door open.

  A wave of cold mist poured out, tinting the air pale blue.

  Inside the small containment cell, amid shattered IV tubes and cracked glass, something curled up.

  A fox—its fur blue as frost, glowing faintly like mist—slept soundly.

  Its breath shimmered like drifting light.

  As the door opened, a droplet from the ceiling fell onto its nose.

  Its ears twitched.

  Then its eyes opened—bright, crystalline, like twin shards of ice.

  The air froze.

  Z-69 and John stood motionless.

  John’s face went pale as realization hit him.

  He swallowed hard.

  “Oh, shit. We’re screwed.”