Miles stood still in front of the metal door, the previous barricade was already removed.

  His hand rested lightly on the M17's grip, the suppressor still fixed to its barrel.

  The night vision goggles were flipped up on his helmet now, but his eyes remained sharp, scanning every detail of the door and the door window outside.

  'Alright.. I'm ready.'

  Through the glass, he could make out the dim corridor beyond, lit only by the faint glow of emergency exit signs that cast an eerie red hue across the walls.

  The air was cool and still, carrying just a hint of the familiar putrid scent-but it was faint, as if whatever had been here had moved on hours ago.

  He pressed his ear against the metal, listening closely. He could hear a faint low growl, deep and guttural, echoing from somewhere in the corridor beyond.

  It was steady, not frantic or whatever was out there.

  Miles flipped his night vision goggles down, and the world shifted into sharp green tones as he prepared himself, positioning his feet shoulder width apart in a stable combat stance while silently easing the metal door open.

  The hinges let out not even a whisper, whether it was from luck or the building's well-maintained hardware, he didn't know, but he was grateful for it.

  The putrid scent from the staircase hit him, It was little stronger now as he stepped into the corridor, the M17 raised to shoulder level, its suppressor gleaming faintly in the green glow.

  Carrying his feet to move as silently as possible, he started to go down the staircase.

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  Each step was deliberate, his weight shifting carefully to avoid any noise that could attract the previous Cursed that was chasing him.

  Even with the suppressor on his M17 and his new tactical gear, he couldn't risk drawing them all at once.

  After all, even a elephant could fall once surrounded and outnumbered.

  Even though, he was fully geared. He was all alone, and his M17 is only a pistol. It was best for silent killing of a single target, not for taking on multiple threats at once.

  Miles' gaze was intently looking forward, as he carefully walked down the staircase.

  There was nothing in the staircase, and downstairs or rather, he still didn't see anything on the stair.

  The only sounds were his own measured breathing and the soft whisper of his boots against the concrete steps.

  The putrid scent had faded to just a faint trace now, making him wonder if the injured Cursed had moved on entirely.

  He kept his M17 raised, sweeping the dark space ahead with his night vision goggles every shadow, every corner, every crack in the wall was clear in sharp green tones.

  As he reached the bottom landing, he paused to listen. Absolute silence greeted him, broken only by the distant wail of a siren somewhere in the city beyond.

  The lobby entrance stood open before him, its double doors slightly ajar, letting in a thin stream of moonlight that cut through the green haze of his goggles.

  He stepped into the corridor slowly, his eyes scanning the empty space.

  The shattered glass from a broken window littered the floor, scattered alongside trails of dried blood. The mess spoke of panic from when the chaos first erupted, but nothing looked recent.

  Through his night vision goggles, he picked out faint drag marks on the carpet leading toward the lobby, already starting to fade into the worn fabric.

  Miles felt his stomach churn, the acrid scent of dried blood making him want to retch; but he clenched his jaw and held it back, following the trail that wound toward a room tucked in the far corner of the corridor.

  The pattern was uneven, jagged in places where the path shifted abruptly-suggesting whoever had been dragged was still conscious enough to fight back, their body twisting and pulling against whatever held them, but too weak to break free.

  His night vision goggles cut through the darkness, making every smear and splatter stark against the pale carpet.

  The trail grew thicker as he neared the door, darkening into glossy patches that looked far fresher than the mess in the lobby. With each step, his grip on the M17 tightened, the suppressor cool against his palm.

  The door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, he could hear a low growl inside-deep and guttural, rumbling like distant thunder.

  'There's Cursed inside.'

  It was obviously a Cursed, confirmed the moment he felt his phone buzz against his hip.

  Miles dropped into a low, stable stance, his feet spread slightly wider than shoulder width, his knees bent to absorb any sudden movement.

  He drew his tactical knife with his left hand, its serrated edge catching the faint green light, while his right gripped the M17 firmly, keeping it raised to shoulder level.

  Using the side of his boot to nudge the door open slowly and silently, Miles kept his weight balanced and low.

  The growl inside the room intensified, rising to a snarl as if the creature had sensed his presence.

  Once the door fully opened, Miles looked straight into the eyes of the Cursed as both pairs of eyes met.

  One with determination, the other with predatory hunger.