"Okay, I’ll try," Alexia said, her voice steady despite the storm of doubt swirling inside her. "I don’t even know if I can get there in time, but I’ll try. But, Clayton... promise me, don’t tell anyone about my powers, alright?"

"Of course. You have my word."

"Good. Now send me the address."

“Done! Thanks a ton, Alex. I’m counting on you, but listen—don’t push it, okay? If it gets too risky, back out."

“Sure, I’ll keep that in mind.” Her voice softened, "Hey, Clayton, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you earlier. I just... I wasn’t ready. Not yet.”

“It’s okay. I got you," he said quietly, before hanging up.

The second the call ended, a surge of adrenaline took over. Alexia dashed to her room, flinging open the closet. She yanked on her black leather jacket, the weight of it instantly familiar. Underneath, she layered it over a fitted black T-shirt, pulling on matching black leather gloves. Black jeans hugged her legs, and her feet slid into sleek, black sneakers. The look was sharp, cool, and intimidating—just like she used to be.

"All black," she muttered, zipping up her jacket with a quiet smirk. "Just like the old times."

Her eyes darted around the room. She needed something to cover her face.

"Face mask? Nah, won’t cut it. I need something more secure."

Frustrated, she sprinted to the garage, rummaging through the cabinets, yanking drawers open.

"Biker helmet? Was Ryland a rider?" She stared at the helmet in disbelief. "And it’s hot pink. Of course. Whatever, it’ll do. It might kill the aesthetic, but it’s full-face, so... checked."

As she was about to leave, something else caught her eye—a pair of biker knee pads and elbow pads stuffed into the cabinet where the helmet was.

"Might as well. You can never be too safe," she muttered, slipping them on with a smirk.

“You know, it’s actually not bad, it’s a vibe for sure,” she said, looking at the absurdity of her outfit—black leather everything and a bright pink helmet.

Now fully suited up, Alexia grabbed her car keys, ready to head out. But as she stared at her own vehicle, doubt set in.

“Nope. Not risking my baby on this run. Let’s just... 'borrow' the neighbor’s car," she decided, tossing her keys back onto the counter with a smirk.

Standing by the door, her nerves kicked in.

"Alright, Alexia, not your first rodeo. Why the hell am I so nervous?" She took a deep breath, the answer hitting her like a brick. "Monsters. That’s why."

She exhaled sharply, then commanded the house. "Open door."

As the door slid open, another problem smacked her in the face—the constant barrage of turret fire. Every house in the neighborhood had turrets, and hers was no different.

“Shit! I am so screwed! How did I forget about the damn turrets? And the ogres. Great. Just freaking great. How am I supposed to get past those? God, I’m rusty.”

She scanned the street quickly, spotting a car not too far down.

"Fuck it! I heal."

Without another second of hesitation, she bolted from her porch, weaving past ogres and turret fire. The turrets, luckily, didn’t target her.

"Right, biometric scanners. Thank God," she muttered, catching her breath as she reached the car. "Now, time to hot-wire."

The car purred to life, and with a grin under her helmet, Alexia hit the gas. She sped toward her destination.

The suburban streets were a war zone, with ogres smashing at doors, tearing apart fences, and trying to claw their way into homes, while enduring turrets shots. But beyond the gates, in the open fields, the scene was strangely eerie. The ogres outside just wandered aimlessly, their massive forms lumbering about like lost giants.

As soon as Alexia's car roared past them, their heads snapped in her direction. Like a pack of wolves catching a scent, they all began sprinting after her, closing in fast.

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“Whoa! Are they ogres or zombies? Come on, you piece of shit car, faster, faster!” she shouted, slamming her foot on the gas.

The engine screamed, and the car surged forward, pulling away just in time.

"So, they can run up to 50 mph? Good to know," she muttered.

She finally entered the city. The sight that greeted her was brutal: the streets were littered with the bodies of ogres, their massive forms crumpled in grotesque positions. Blood and destruction painted the road.

“Did a superhero go through here too?”

Sure enough, as she reached the gate of the subway, a figure in full-body mechanical armor stood guard. The suit gleamed under the streetlights, a mixture of black and silver, with sleek plates that looked both deadly and high-tech. The armor had retractable wings folded on its back, missile launchers built into the shoulders, and a gauntlet with rotating saw blades resting by his side. A visor covered the face, glowing with an electric blue light. On the hero's left arm was a cannon that hummed with energy, while his right carried a multi-barrel gun, primed for anything that moved.

“You in the car! Get out of here, it’s not safe!” The superhero’s voice came through a speaker, metallic and commanding.

“Iron—” Alexia started, the figure reminded her of someone.

But before she could finish, an ogre barreled into her car, sending it skidding across the pavement. Metal screeched as the car smashed into the side of a building, throwing Alexia against her seatbelt. Her heart raced, adrenaline pumping as the impact rattled her senses.

“Were you trying to give me a heart attack, you ugly fuck?!” she shouted, rage flaring in her voice.

With a swift kick, she blasted the car door clean off, sending it flying into the street. She didn’t hesitate. In an instant, she dashed toward the ogre, her boots pounding the ground. The creature, towering and grotesque, barely had time to react.

“Eat this!” Alexia growled, winding up her right arm.

Her fist collided with the ogre’s face, a powerful right hook that landed with a sickening crunch. The impact sent a shockwave rippling through the air, powerful enough to rattle nearby windows. The ogre’s head snapped back, and before its body could process the blow, its head detached completely, flying off into the distance as its decapitated body crumbled lifelessly to the ground.

Alexia stood there for a moment, fist still raised, her breathing heavy. The air crackled with the energy of her strike.

"One down," she muttered with a smirk, dusting her hands off. "Who's next?”

“This is gonna be easy!” Alexia said, flexing her fingers and admiring the sheer power in her hands.

The armored superhero turned toward her, clearly impressed by the obliteration she had just caused. “Are you here for backup? Did the association send you?.”

Alexia waved him off casually. “Nope, I’m here to rescue the civilians inside.”

The superhero's visor tilted in suspicion. “How do you know that information?”

“I got a tip from... someone,” she said, trying to sound mysterious. “Figured you guys might be a bit... overwhelmed by, uh—" she gestured vaguely at the piles of ogre bodies—"whatever this is. So, I decided to handle it myself.”

There was a pause before the superhero's voice came through the speaker again, more scrutinizing this time. “Who are you? I just ran a background check, and you’re not in the database.”

Alexia blinked. “Crap!”. She hadn’t thought about names. “Uh... just call me… Pink Helmet.”

There was a beat of silence. Then, the superhero’s laughter exploded through his speakers. “As in penis? You know, pink helmet—penis?”

“What? No!” Alexia protested, but he was already doubled over, practically howling inside his suit. "Dude, come on! Why are you laughing like that? It’s not even that funny!”

“Yes, it is!” the superhero gasped, struggling to regain composure. “Pink helmet... I can’t...”

Alexia adjusted her helmet, trying to salvage her dignity. “I said Pink Hornet! Not Pink Helmet!”

“Oh! Oh, I’m sorry,” he wheezed, trying to catch his breath. “My bad, my bad. Pink Hornet. Got it. I’m Infinite Arsenal, but you can call me—”

“Arse...” Alexia muttered under her breath, cutting him off before he could finish. “Look, I’m sorry, but I gotta go save those people. See ya!”

She bolted toward the subway entrance, leaving the superhero to his fit of laughter.

“Wait! You can’t just barge in like that, we need back up” he warned her.

Given her situation, she had no choice but to ignore him.

As she descended into the subway, she smirked, shaking her head at her near-miss with a terribly embarrassing superhero name. “Pink Helmet? Why did I say that? God, that was so humiliating”

The subway was a tomb.

Flickering lights barely illuminated the cracked tiles, casting long, shifting shadows along the walls. The air was cold and damp, carrying the faint metallic smell of rust. Every sound echoed in the silence—her own breathing, the scrape of her boots against the floor, the soft hum of the dying power lines. Everything felt too loud, as if the place was listening. Watching.

Alexia moved carefully, every step calculated, her eyes darting across the abandoned stalls and shattered glass of the station. Empty. Completely empty. The absence of life gnawed at her, unsettling in its quiet.

“Where are they?” she whispered to herself, her voice barely more than a breath. “Where’s Sarah?”

She stilled, focusing her hearing, tuning out everything else until she found the faint rhythm of racing heartbeats—fast, frightened. The sound was distant, coming from deep inside the station, but it was there. They were alive. For now.

“I have to go deeper,” she muttered, dread curling in her gut.

But something was wrong. As she strained her hearing further, trying to locate the ogres, she realized there was no sound from them. Nothing. No breath, no heartbeat. Just silence. Her spine prickled.

“Undead!” she murmured. “The ogres are… undead. Just moving corpses.”

The realization made the tunnel seem even colder, more oppressive. It wasn’t just monsters she was dealing with. It was something worse; Fear.

She crept forward, deeper into the subway, past the shattered remnants of lives once lived here. Papers scattered across the ground, overturned tables, broken signs. The remnants of panic, frozen in time.

Then, in the distance, she saw them.

Thirty ogres stood like statues in front of a sealed door. Their eyes glowed faintly in the dim light, their hulking forms casting grotesque shadows on the walls. Their skin was mottled, ashen, with the sickly hue of decay. They swayed slightly, their movements slow, unnatural. Mindless.

Alexia’s stomach churned. “They’re waiting. Just waiting… for what?”

Her breath hitched as she ducked behind a pillar, her heart hammering in her chest. She had to think. Thirty of them. She couldn’t take them all at once. Her mind raced, desperate for a plan.

Her eyes landed on a train car, its doors hanging open like a mouth waiting to swallow her whole. She slipped inside, the darkness swallowing her. The air was musty, filled with the smell of cold metal and mildew. She glanced around, searching for anything—anything she could use.

Then she saw them.

The poles.

The metal poles were cold in her hands. Each snap of the bolts as she yanked them free felt louder than a gunshot, echoing through the empty subway car. Every movement, every slight shift of the poles seemed to amplify the eerie silence around her. Her heart thudded in her chest, the pulse of it drumming in her ears. She could barely hear herself breathe.

As Alexia worked, her fingers trembled. She bent the poles together, weaving them in a desperate attempt to make something stronger, something that might hold up against what was waiting for her outside. Each motion was deliberate, slow, as though she could stave off the inevitable if she just took her time.

“How do I beat them?” The thought gripped her. “Am I strong enough?” Her mind raced, panic clawing at the edges of her thoughts. “Maybe I should just go home, let someone else handle this…”

But the fear gnawed at her, deeper than she’d felt in years. “Why am I feeling this?,” She whispered, her voice barely audible in the stillness. Her breath quickened, chest tightening. “This feeling, I thought I am finally free from it”

Her skin crawled, prickling like ice under her flesh, the sensation crawling up her spine. It was unnatural—something was off, something was wrong.

“I must be under some spell!” She thought, the words catching in her mind. Her hands stilled, the makeshift weapon growing heavy in her grip as fear sank its claws into her thoughts. “I shouldn’t be afraid. Not like this. Not now.”

Then, the light flickered again. She looked up.

And froze.

In the stuttering darkness, she saw them. Shadows, hulking and unnatural, pressed against the windows of the train car, their forms distorted by the flickering light. Her breath hitched as her eyes adjusted, and she saw them clearly.