[Current Objective: Exfiltrate]

As the elevator rattled down to the basement, I took a moment to focus on the Heartless perk I’d earned after dispatching that Porc upstairs. Ten percent more critical damage against incapacitated foes—an unsettling reward for finishing off an enemy too weak to defend themselves. The description's ambiguous phrasing wasn’t lost on me; it implied this was a perk for players who acted as executioners, who showed no mercy to those already on the edge of death.

A sour taste filled my mouth as I mulled it over. Was this the game’s way of encouraging ruthlessness? I briefly recalled the Notter who had stabbed me earlier. Would they have been rewarded for putting me down when I was defenseless? The thought left a hollow pit in my gut. I pushed it away, rationalizing that the Porc I killed had been a relentless brute, a blood-crazed monster that needed to be neutralized. It didn’t make me feel any better.

The elevator doors clanged open, and I stepped out into the basement’s eerie silence. Deserted, just as it had been when I first arrived. All that remained was to pass by Duroc, slip through the tunnel, and bolt for the woods. Simple enough in theory.

But as I entered Duroc's room, the air thickened with tension. The moment I saw him, I knew I’d miscalculated.

“Liar!” Duroc’s roar cut through the oppressive quiet like a blade.

“What are you talking about, my friend Duroc?” I asked, my voice steady despite the sudden spike of anxiety. I needed to buy time, assess the situation. He was standing between me and the tunnel, barely ten feet away. The door to freedom might as well have been on the other side of the world.

Duroc’s massive frame loomed in the dim glow of the emergency lights, his broad chest heaving with labored breaths. His muscles were taut, his spear already leveled at my throat, gleaming dangerously. This was no idle threat—getting past him was going to be far from simple.

“Duroc just spoke to Boss. Boss says no task for runt with trickery,” he snarled, each word laced with fury.

“Okay, let me explain—” I started, but Duroc cut me off with a sharp, guttural squeal.

“Boss laughed at Duroc,” he growled, his voice rising with outrage. “Laughed at Duroc for being fooled. He told Duroc to fix it. So, Duroc waits here. Duroc smart. Duroc knew lying runt would return to escape.”

Great. The pig-man was not only angry but also smart. Not the best combination when you’re ten feet from death. I forced a smile, despite the fact that every muscle in my body was screaming at me to run. Negotiation or a quick distraction—those were my only options. I’d have to choose, and fast.

In the oppressive gloom, I clung to the hope that I could reason with Duroc. Maybe I could convince him that keeping me alive would work in his favor. But that faint flicker of hope died the moment I saw the wild gleam in his eyes. He wasn't here to talk. He was here to kill.

Before I could even react, Duroc lunged at me with terrifying speed. For a creature his size, I expected a lumbering charge, something I could sidestep with a quick dive. But no, Duroc moved like a force of nature, a hurricane of muscle and rage. His spear was nearly at my throat before I realized just how fast he was.

Instinct kicked in. I drew my spatula—the pitiful excuse for a melee weapon I'd scavenged earlier—and swung it desperately downward. Somehow, miraculously, I knocked his spear off course. The tip scraped past my neck, a hairsbreadth from severing something vital.

But Duroc wasn’t finished. He barreled forward, this time leading with his tusks. Desperation surged through me as I shoved against his head, trying to use his momentum to throw him off balance. It was hopeless. His sheer strength was overpowering. With a sickening crunch, his tusks speared through my chest.

A scream ripped from my throat as a tidal wave of pain crashed through me. My vision swam in red, then dulled into a haze as Duroc hoisted me into the air, my body limp and impaled like a ragdoll. The emergency lights above flickered, casting eerie shadows across the scene, and then a notification popped up in my field of vision letting me know that I’d been hit with the Bleeding status condition.

I almost laughed. Of course I was. As if the blood pouring from my chest wasn’t enough of a clue.

Duroc’s tusks dripped with my blood as he bellowed, spraying spit across my face. His muscles bulged with fury as he thrashed his head from side to side, slamming his feet into the ground like a wild animal. Then, with a savage grunt, he flung me off his tusks. I flew backward, crashing through the door of the emergency tunnel. Wood splintered around me as I tumbled into the darkness.

Later, I'd learn that Apocalypta's permanent destruction physics meant doors didn’t magically respawn after being shattered. But right then, all I could focus on was the pain. Every inch of me screamed in agony as I slid across the filthy floor, leaving a smear of blood in my wake.

Somehow, through the fog of pain, I managed to pull out an auto-driver filled with Regeneron. With trembling hands, I pressed the injector to the ragged flesh beneath my torn shirt and pulled the trigger. The device hissed as the healing serum surged into my veins, spreading warmth through my shattered body.

The gray haze around the edges of my vision began to recede, and though I couldn’t tell how effective the Regeneron was in patching up the gaping wound Duroc had left, one thing was clear—I wasn’t dying. Not yet.

With gritted teeth, I gripped my pistol and fired blindly into the tunnel. Bullets ricocheted off the walls, a few finding their way back through the door, but most careened into nothingness. At this point, accuracy was a luxury I couldn’t afford. I just needed to survive.

And for now, that was enough.

Duroc stood still, his back facing me, his heavy breathing the only sound in the stillness. Why he hadn’t turned to finish me off was a mystery I didn't care to solve. The only thing that mattered was the chance to escape, and I was going to take it.

Every movement was agony as I pushed myself up, the hole in my chest a searing reminder of how close I’d come to death. But I couldn’t stop, not now. My legs wobbled beneath me, barely keeping me upright as I stumbled toward the exit. Each step sent waves of pain crashing through my body, but sheer desperation kept me moving forward.

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I bounced off the tunnel walls, each impact rattling my already fragile state. The pistol in my hand was pointed behind me, and in my haze, I squeezed the trigger over and over. The gunfire exploded in the cramped space, deafening in the tunnel's echo chamber. I had no idea if I was hitting anything, but in that moment, it didn’t matter. The noise felt like action, like something that could keep Duroc at bay—even if only in my mind.

I kept firing until the pistol clicked empty, the sound a stark contrast to the chaos of the gunshots. My breath was ragged, my vision swam, but I pushed forward, my one goal the ladder at the end of the tunnel.

Finally, I reached it. My body screamed in protest, but I grabbed the rungs and started hauling myself upward. Hand over hand, I climbed, my movements frantic and sloppy. The pistol was stowed now, replaced by the raw need to ascend as fast as I could. Each tug on the ladder sent fresh jolts of pain through my chest, but I didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop.

The hatch was still open from when I had descended earlier, and I slammed it shut with a loud clang as soon as I surfaced. The metal reverberated, but I didn’t care. I was outside. I was free—for now.

The clearing outside was a stark contrast to the claustrophobic tunnel. The night had fully descended, casting a pale glow over the treeline, with a full moon hanging low in the sky. Floodlights atop the hospital bathed the clearing in harsh light, turning it into a surreal, war-torn battlefield.

For a fleeting second, I was almost thankful for the return of color, the vibrant greens and blues of the night around me. But then reality crashed in. Dozens of Porcs littered the field, their snouts raised in glee as they exchanged fire with Rolland, my unseen ally in the woods. His shots were devastating, blowing chunks of Porcs into mist, but their retaliatory fire was relentless, spraying back in his general direction with reckless abandon.

My heart pounded in my chest. I could feel the inevitability of being spotted, of becoming a target for the horde of guns surrounding me. I was a sitting duck in the crossfire, separated by only a few yards from becoming another casualty of this hellish landscape.

I thought about running, praying that Rolland would somehow create enough of a distraction for me to slip away unnoticed. But I knew the truth. There was no safety here. Only a matter of time before the guns turned on me, and the next bullet found its mark.

Frozen in fear, I stood rooted to the spot, my heart racing in my chest as panic gripped me. It wasn’t until I forced myself to breathe that I finally heard it—above the chaos, the unmistakable thumping of aerocopter blades slicing through the night air. My eyes snapped upward just as the craft appeared, skimming low over the northern hills, its presence drawing the Porcs' attention away from the battlefield.

Seizing the distraction, I sprinted, legs moving before my mind could catch up. The Porcs' gunfire pinged harmlessly off the aerocopter's armored hull, utterly ineffective against its imposing frame. I silently thanked the pilot for ignoring the frenzy below as I slipped unnoticed through the chaos, aided by the Yellow Belly perk that turned my flight into a tactical advantage. Experience points pinged into my HUD, but my focus was solely on survival.

My brief respite shattered as three colossal figures slammed down in front of me, their armored boots shaking the earth with their impact. They descended from the aerocopter above with unnerving grace, despite their massive size. Their armor gleamed under the eerie moonlight, mechanical joints hissing softly as they absorbed the shock of landing. Before I could even process their appearance, they moved with inhuman speed, raising their weapons in perfect unison.

At the center of the trio stood a towering figure, clearly the leader, brandishing a gargantuan pistol embedded into a massive gauntlet. It was absurdly large, a weapon more fitting for a tank than a human. On either side, its companions wielded similarly over-the-top carbines, their barrels glowing with an ominous blue hue. There was no doubt in my mind that I was witnessing advanced, military-grade technology far beyond anything the Porcs could handle.

Without thinking, I dropped to the ground, hugging the dirt as the air exploded with electromagnetic energy. The sharp crackle of discharging weapons filled the air, followed by the piercing whistle of projectiles moving too fast to be seen. When the first electromagnetic round connected with a Porc, the result was catastrophic.

The beast didn’t just die—it was obliterated. Flesh and bone disintegrated upon impact, the electromagnetic round tearing through the Porc’s bulky form with the ease of a knife through butter. Blood and gore exploded into the air in a gruesome spray, the sickening sound of meat being ripped apart accompanied by the strangled cries of dying Porcs.

Each hit was devastating, leaving behind little more than a mangled pile of flesh where once stood a warrior bred for combat. The Porcs' powerful bodies, honed for battle, were no match for the sheer brutality of the high-velocity projectiles. Limbs flew, torsos collapsed, and the smell of blood filled the air as the armored giants unleashed a storm of death upon them.

But the Porcs didn’t relent. They threw down their ineffective firearms, swapping to crude melee weapons—cleavers, spears, and serrated knives—screaming in fury as they charged at the armored figures. The battlefield had become a blood-soaked frenzy, a mass of bodies colliding in violent desperation.

Yet the armored trio didn’t flinch. They stood their ground, firing in calculated bursts, each shot sending chunks of Porc flesh spiraling into the night. The battlefield around me transformed into a slaughterhouse, with pieces of meat and viscera raining down in a grotesque display of violence. The Porcs’ final charge became a futile effort, their numbers thinning rapidly as hyperaccelerated metal tore through them.

Amidst the chaos, I remained low to the ground, eyes wide as I watched the carnage unfold. It was an apocalypse of steel and blood, and I was just trying to survive.

The lead armored warrior stepped over me, their towering frame blotting out the chaotic battlefield for a moment. Enveloped in the protective ring of these giants, I felt safer than I had since waking up in this nightmare. Trusting their marksmanship, I pushed myself up, curious to witness the carnage unfold. I had seen the thirty or so Porcs before me, but it hadn’t dawned on me that there were dozens more hidden behind the outhouse and lurking within the hospital complex. The plan Rolland and I had concocted was ludicrous. The fact that we were still alive felt like some cosmic accident.

The leader, apparently bored with mere ranged combat, swapped to a new weapon. A gladius, broad and crackling with eerie blue energy, appeared in her free hand, the sword humming as electricity danced along its length. She moved with incredible speed—too fast to track—and began cutting down Porcs with a terrifying precision. Each swing of the sword sent arcs of blue lightning snapping through the air, ionizing the atmosphere and leaving a sharp, ozone-laced scent in its wake.

It was carnage of the highest order. What had started as a chaotic battlefield now became a slaughterhouse. The once-gleeful squeals of the Porcs turned into panicked, guttural cries. They didn’t just fight—they fled, morale crumbling as the warrior tore through them like a force of nature. The ones that survived scrambled back towards the hospital, seeking refuge behind its crumbling walls.

As if on cue, the armored trio ceased fire in perfect synchrony, their movements so coordinated it was clear they were linked by some advanced comms system. I watched, still dazed from the adrenaline, as the leader pivoted toward me. I gazed up at her helmet, feeling a chill despite the relief that moments earlier had washed over me.

The helmet was unnervingly human in design—green, unblinking eye-lenses stared down at me, while the grille-like mouthpiece mirrored a twisted semblance of human expression. The contours traced a face, complete with defined cheeks, a brow, and even a pronounced nose ridge. It was eerie, how much it resembled a human visage, yet lacked any trace of humanity.

"Are you woken?" The commander’s voice rasped through the speakers embedded in her helmet. Tinny and harsh, the voice was unmistakably female, laced with an urgency that cut through the thick air.

At the time, I had no idea the trouble Meryll Kline would soon bring upon me. If I had known the storm she was about to unleash, I might have made a different choice, taken a different path. But hindsight’s a cruel master. In that moment, I could only stare up at her, unaware of the reckoning yet to come.