The city had begun to change, slowly, imperceptibly, as August, Jude, and Cara pushed forward toward the Coliseum. The streets had become eerily quiet after the massive horde they’d narrowly escaped, but the silence felt wrong—like the calm before a storm. The three survivors, eyes constantly scanning their surroundings, moved quickly, their footsteps echoing through the abandoned streets. The world had shrunk down to survival, and nothing else mattered.
The map on August’s HUD blinked intermittently, confirming that they were getting closer. The Coliseum, marked in bright red, loomed on the horizon, a massive structure that once stood as a symbol of entertainment, now twisted into something far darker. It was hard to ignore the sense of foreboding that weighed on them, like the giant edifice had become a symbol of hope—and despair, all at once.
August wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting against the dimming light of the setting sun. The others were moving at a similar pace, Jude a little slower due to his leg injury and Cara, still nursing her wounds from earlier, keeping close behind. Despite the physical toll, there was a shared sense of determination, an unspoken agreement that they were not turning back.
The closer they got to the Coliseum, the more they saw the signs of military presence—barricades, heavily armored vehicles, and soldiers patrolling the area. At first, August thought they might be walking into a well-guarded sanctuary, but something in the air told him that the reality was far from that. The soldiers’ presence was more than just protection; it was control.
They reached the perimeter, and immediately, the group was halted by a group of heavily armed soldiers. The entrance to the Coliseum was guarded by men in tactical gear, faces obscured by helmets, and rifles slung across their chests. The once-proud gates of the Coliseum stood tall, but now they were reinforced with heavy metal barriers, bulletproof glass, and barbed wire.
“What do you want?” One of the soldiers, a large man with a scar running down his cheek, growled as he stepped forward, his rifle trained on August.
“We’re survivors,” August said, his voice steady. “We need refuge. We heard this place was a safe zone.”
The soldier’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, August thought they might be turned away. But then, a signal was given, and the soldier lowered his weapon.
“Move,” the soldier barked, stepping aside.
They passed through the outer gates into the inner compound. The area within the walls was surprisingly well-organized. Soldiers moved around with military precision, checking barricades, monitoring the survivors who had already taken refuge. The air was tense with the ever-present fear of the undead lurking just beyond the walls. Every soldier seemed to be on high alert, a nervous energy clinging to the scene.
August felt his pulse quicken. It wasn’t fear that caused it—he had already faced the horrors of the infected. No, what unnerved him was the cold, clinical atmosphere of the place. This wasn’t the last bastion of humanity fighting to survive. This felt like a prison, a controlled environment where the weak were discarded without a second thought.
The group followed the soldiers as they led them further into the compound. As they walked through the maze of barricades and makeshift structures, August noticed something that sent a chill down his spine. On one side of the compound, there were cages—makeshift cells—where survivors were kept, their faces hollow with despair. Some of them were chained, others sitting in silence, eyes vacant, waiting for an uncertain fate.
“What’s going on here?” Cara whispered, her voice low and fearful.
“I’m not sure,” August murmured, his eyes scanning the cages. “But I don’t think this place is exactly the sanctuary we imagined.”
They were led past the cages to an open courtyard in front of the Coliseum’s main building. The soldiers stopped in front of a large platform, and for a moment, August didn’t understand what he was seeing. It wasn’t until he saw the executioner’s axe gleaming in the light that the horrible truth set in.
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In the center of the courtyard, a small group of survivors—women, children, and elderly men—were being herded toward the platform. The soldiers were grim-faced, their weapons aimed at the group. But this was not a rescue operation. The survivors weren’t being given a chance at survival. They were being lined up for execution.
“Who are they?” Jude asked, his voice tight with disbelief.
“They’re infected,” one of the soldiers said, not bothering to look at them. “We have to put them down before they turn.”
“But they’re not zombies,” Cara protested, stepping forward. “They’re just… they’re just people!”
“They were exposed,” the soldier replied coldly. “We can’t take the risk. They need to be dealt with now.”
August’s stomach churned as he watched the scene unfold. The survivors, their faces filled with fear, were shoved to the platform one by one. Each one of them was put down in a quick, efficient manner, the executioners showing no hesitation as they ended their lives with a cold finality.
“Is this really how it’s going to be?” Jude muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “Is this what we’re fighting for? To become them?”
August couldn’t speak. He was frozen in place, his mind racing with thoughts of what kind of world they had ended up in. The hope they had walked in with seemed to be slipping away, replaced by the grim realization that survival came at a cost. There was no place for weakness in this new world—no place for the sick, the injured, or the unfit to fight. And the soldiers, the supposed protectors, were the ones who decided who lived and who died.
The executions continued, each one punctuated by the sharp crack of a rifle. August closed his eyes, trying to block out the sounds, but it was impossible. The cries of the innocent echoed in his ears, and he realized that they had arrived at a place that wasn’t a sanctuary at all. The Coliseum was nothing more than a cold, militarized stronghold—a place for the strong to survive and the weak to be discarded.
“We need to get out of here,” August whispered, looking over at Jude and Cara, his voice urgent.
But before they could move, a voice rang out, interrupting their conversation.
“Hold it right there!”
August turned to see a man in a military uniform striding toward them, flanked by two armed guards. The man was older, his hair graying at the temples, his posture rigid and commanding. He wore the insignia of a commander—someone with authority—and the look on his face was one of utter calculation.
“Who are you?” the commander demanded, his gaze shifting between the group. “What are you doing here?”
“We—we’re survivors,” August stammered, still reeling from the execution. “We came here looking for refuge.”
The commander’s eyes narrowed, studying August for a long moment. Then, his gaze flicked to the system interface floating just above August’s wrist, and he stiffened, his expression hardening.
“Your wristband…” the commander began, voice low and filled with suspicion. “What is that?”
August froze. He had almost forgotten about the system—the voice in his mind, the glowing interface that had been guiding him ever since he had first picked up the knife and killed that zombie. He had grown accustomed to its presence, to the system’s strange, otherworldly voice giving him instructions, guiding him to survive. But now, standing in front of this man, the weight of the system’s existence felt like a liability.
“I… I don’t know what you mean,” August said quickly, his eyes darting toward the soldiers behind the commander. “It’s just a tool. It’s helping me survive.”
The commander took another step closer, his eyes flashing with an intensity that made August’s skin crawl. “You don’t understand, do you? That thing on your wrist? It’s a potential threat.”
August’s heart skipped a beat.
“What do you mean?” Jude asked, stepping forward defensively. “We’ve been through hell just to get here. We’re not a threat.”
“You don’t understand,” the commander repeated, his voice low and dangerous. “That system on your wrist? It’s not something we can just let slide. It could be a virus. It could be a weapon. We have to assess the danger, and if you’re carrying a threat, you won’t be leaving here alive.”
August’s breath caught in his throat. For the first time since the outbreak, he truly feared for his life.
The commander gestured to his guards, and they stepped forward, weapons raised. "Take him into custody," the commander ordered. "We'll determine if he's a threat to the colony."