Dajinn opens his eyes with a sharp gasp, like someone yanked him from deep water. His lungs burn, his chest seizes, and the bright overhead lights sting until his vision slowly adjusts. He lies on the cold metal floor, toppled equipment and cracked monitors scattered around him, some sparking faintly.
Memory hits him in waves. The people he knew. Their faces twisted in fear. The assimilation. Their screams. The look in their eyes before everything went wrong. His hands tremble, jaw clenched tight. He doesn’t cry, but the pressure in his chest feels like it could crush him.
Movement catches his eye. A black, glossy crow perches on the edge of a broken monitor. One wing is twisted at an unnatural angle, healed wrong. It tilts its head, studying him with an almost deliberate focus.
Dajinn slowly raises a hand in a small greeting.
The crow mirrors him, tilting its head in the same motion. Then, without warning, it launches itself into the dim hallway, vanishing into shadows.
Dajinn exhales. “Okay… sure. That’s normal now.”
He pushes himself to his feet, legs stiff, coughing as he clears fluid from his lungs. His body feels like a broken machine, but one slowly starting to obey again.
MAIN CORRIDOR, COMPOUND INTERIOR
The hallway is silent, except for the low hum of failing power systems. Metal walls, dim emergency lights, dried blood smears, and the scent of dust and old copper. Each step echoes too loud.
Bullet holes mark the walls. A crushed warning sign lies beneath a heavy boot print:
BIOHAZARD DOOR LOCKDOWN FAILED
The compound’s purpose lies in ruins. He keeps moving, shoulders tight, scanning every corner. Something is off. He feels like he woke up days—or weeks—too late.
PROCESSING HALLWAY, ZONE C
Rounding a corner, he freezes. Six infected crouch around a torn-up body. Coral-like patterns of the Page Strain ripple beneath their skin. Their twitchy, rapid movements make them seem more machine than human.
One lifts its head. Its clouded eyes fix on him.
The others follow.
A unified screech rips through the hallway.
Dajinn bolts without thinking. Adrenaline screams through him as he sprints past overturned carts and shattered windows. Their footfalls pound behind him, too fast for anything that used to be human.
He skids around a corner, spots an open maintenance grate, and dives inside. Squeezing through, he forces the grate closed. Metal rings with the impact. Fingers scrape the slats, claws pressing close. One infected presses its face to the vent, eyes cloudy.
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
He presses against the narrow space, holding his breath, counting heartbeats until the sounds fade. Slowly, the infected scatter.
He waits another minute. Then crawls deeper.
VENT SHAFT → ARMORY ACCESS
Peering through a grate, he sees the armory checkpoint below. Two guards lie dead, one fused into the wall, flesh hardened like organic architecture.
He drops silently.
The armory is ransacked but not entirely. Moving quickly, he scavenges:
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Compact 9mm pistol
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Two half-full magazines
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Light tactical rifle, still locked in rack
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Sturdy backpack
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Med pouch
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Working flashlight
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Three unopened ration packs
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Three color-coded keycards clipped to a guard’s vest
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Folded map labeled: PH-SITE — MAIN LEVELS AND SUBLEVELS
He checks the pistol, loads the backpack, pockets the keycards. Every movement is precise, sharp with fear.
A cracked wall panel reflects his face. Pale. Tired. Faint glowing strain-patterns ripple beneath his skin. Still human. Changed. Enhanced. Reflexes sharper. Senses tuned beyond normal.
He exhales. “Alright. Gear up. Stay alive. One step at a time.”
Slipping his backpack over his shoulder, flashlight off, he moves toward the next hallway, every shadow a threat.
The corridor is dark, lit only by fading red emergency strips.
Somewhere deep in the compound, distant screeches answer one another. Above him, a faint caw. The infected crow watches from the shadows before vanishing.
MAINTENANCE HALLWAY
Dajinn rounds a corner and freezes again. The hallway is littered with overturned carts, shredded cables, and pools of dried blood that glitter under the emergency lights. Something shifts in the shadows.
He freezes. Then a low, guttural growl echoes from a side chamber. He presses himself to the wall, every nerve screaming.
A single infected emerges, staggering, its eyes sharp and calculating. Not mindless. Patient. Hungry.
Dajinn grips his pistol, heart hammering. He doesn’t fire yet. He waits, watching, learning. The creature pauses, head tilting like the crow did, before it slinks back into darkness.
Breathing hard, Dajinn mutters to himself, “…they’re learning. They’re… thinking.”
AIR VENTS → COMMAND LEVEL
Hours pass, crawling through cramped, twisting vents. He avoids patrols of infected, marks his route with faint scratches on the metal. Hunger gnaws, but fear drives him faster than exhaustion.
A faint monitor flickers below. He spots a red dot moving across schematics of the facility: a live tracking system. Someone—or something—might still be monitoring the site.
He bites back panic. Survival depends on stealth, not confrontation.
COMMAND LEVEL ENTRY
The vent ends above a heavy hatch leading to the command level. Dajinn pauses, listening. Silence.
He opens the hatch slowly.
The room is a mess of shattered consoles, overturned chairs, and flickering screens. Data flashes, frozen in time. One terminal still hums, showing a map of the compound. Alerts blink in red:
CONTAINMENT BREACH — LEVEL 1-3INFECTION SPREAD: UNCONTROLLED
He steps inside, flashlight sweeping the room.
The crow perches on a console, tilting its head at him.
Dajinn swallows. “…Okay. Let’s see how deep this rabbit hole goes.”
A faint growl answers him from the hallway beyond. The shadows are moving. The screams start again.
END OF EPISODE 1 “ARISE”