Chapter 25: Reason For Rhyme

He huffed and puffed like a gazelle he sprinted
The empty road, lights paint streaks of gold
As he ran, no signs of life he sighted
 The police he seeks, calamity must be told

His feet were sore from running bare
 His temple pounding, his body wear
From lines of clothes he stole a pair
 In such event, thievery seemed fair

Turn by turn the streets got wider
 Empty cars across they scatter
If he had stopped to ever wonder
 What seemed amiss and lacking order

The city he reached to find it empty
 No soul no sound save drizzle on pavement
A world he would sum seemed unsightly
 If not for thought clouding his judgement

Standing now before the fort
 Doors agape, he felt distress
Hello he called without retort
 Had he his senses, he would regress

Within the halls he finds a waste
 Effects strewn all over the place
He calls and calls no one to face
 A moan he heard deep within the base

It must be someone, he thought to himself
 The one he hoped is able to help
He dashed across, ducked under a shelf
 Only to find before him a whelp

The moon shed light into the bowel
 He saw the whelp hiding in cower
It turned and hollow eyes most foul
  It's face he note the intent scowl

The whelp he sees it's teeth jagged
 With dripping blood it's face corroded
Amidst the air a smell looms putrid
 What seemed awakened beyond the dead

To run he knew but legs stay stuck
 This beast before him now grows amok
First mom now this, imagine his luck
 It gave a growl and then a strut

As the whelp prepares to pounce
  Explosion he heard from way behind
It's head erupted it fell and bounced
 Then lay before him devoid of mind

He turned to find a man on the ground
 He lied in blood unable to rise
'Thank god my child you have been found'
 'You're here to look for help I surmise'

He told the man of enraged mom
 How she attacked in state of fit
Along he came away from harm
 Answers, help, a police to greet 

The man asked if there was kin at home
 Then he recalled sister in slumber
'Return home, with this bat you must haul'
'Strike their heads and send them to nether'

And off he went he headed back
 How it was he forgot his sister
During the frenzy, senses he lacked
As he left the station, dawn grows nearer







 

Chapter 24: At the 'way

"Owl. Come in Owl!" There was no reply. He heard a loud bang which could be the sniper rifle going off, but he couldn't tell if it came from Owl's gun or the enemy's.

"Team. Regroup. Head south-west to the baseball stadium."

"Roger," came the reply in chorus through the radio.

He packed up his gear and left the scene. He was already familiar with the routes taken by the roaming monsters. His enemies were camping in the northern edge of the city, constantly drawing attention by their endless gun shots and explosions. By staying out of major roads and the rim of the city, one can travel safely without encountering so much as a couple of stray human zombies. And neutralizing them using silenced handguns would not warrant additional notice.

About ten minutes later he arrived at the main entrance of the baseball stadium. It was an entire stretch of red bricks 3 storeys high. There were torn and partially burnt flags hung all around, just above the row of broken glass leading to complete darkness beyond that. Weeks ago this would have been the place of hustle and bustle. Roads would've been filled with cars and people during the Playoffs. He stepped into the darkness through the broken glass panes and found himself in a diner just as his eyes adjusted.
He could hear the clatter of utensils on glassware and the echoes of chatter. Two weeks ago they served clam chowders, fish and chips, and coffee by the pot. Two weeks ago there was life in this city. Today it became a graveyard of undeads, diner tables scattered with unfinished food now reek of mold. The people must've left in a hurry. As his mind wandered a crackle of shattered glass on the ground just outside of the building startled him. As he turned with his rifle taking lead, he found members of his squad; Tiger, Sly and Chain.

"Sir." one of them spoke. "I took a detour to Owl's checkpoint. He's gone." All three of them had masks and Night Vision Goggles mounted on one eye. 

"Taken down by a 50 cal. They even took his gun," he continued. He was Tiger, the team's recon.

"These guys are different," another, a woman, said. She had wiry blond hair tied to a tail. Her face was heavily smudged with grease and some scars, eyes hollow and deep. She was biting on a cigar. Chain was the team's Firebat, but unlike any conventional Firebat her weapon of choice was a set of modified Arclite she personally named the Ifrit Gemini; two single-handed flame throwers attached to gas tanks strapped onto her back. Chain was Soviet-born, with no affinity to smiles and warm gestures. Standing halfway over 6-feet in height she was the tallest in the team. Along her sleeveless right arm were numerous burn scars. Occupational hazard. 

" I told you we should have hunted the Major down and neutralized him when we had the chance. Now he's got reinforcements and he's gonna make it hard for us to get our job done." Sly spoke. Sly was stout with V-shaped torso and shredded arms. He appeared to be holding a massive triple-barreled rifle with ammunition belts pouring out of each one and slung all around his thick torso. The 'Minigun" weighed at least 20 kgs and with Suppressive-Fire on, it can rain 6000 rounds per minute; enough to blend an entire horde with just one casual sweep.

"Relax." the leader, Mother 1, said.
"If he's gonna try to finish what he started, I know where we can get them."
"During the kite," Tiger immediately interrupted.

 Explosions rocked the entire northern corner of the city. Previously intact glass were now scattered across the tarmac, in a million little pieces. There was silence again, but the previous din still ringing in their ears. Remnants of three fatties now smeared everywhere. We didn't think it was even possible to take down three of them in one go. The Major's ability in handling them and luring them straight into the ring of claymores was unbelievable. Seemed quite heavily practiced, even.

The fatties, or Lyganesh, were about three storeys tall and had their bodies stitched up from different parts. Some had 3-4 arms protruding out of their torsos and each hand wore a cleaver. Their skins were incredibly pale and some inner organs even visible through the translucent flesh. Bloody abominations, I call them. I could not imagine how could this monster have mutated under natural conditions, unlike other zombies we've encountered which looked like they were previously living beings.

As the ringing in my ear subsided I hit a button to retract the tripod of my gun. It turned Suppressive-Fire off and allowed me to move around. I was the last one returning to our checkpoint further south. Suddenly I felt wind blow out of the ground right behind me. I turned around to check it out but found nothing behind me.
Odd. The rain has long stopped, and there was no wind ever since. More oddly the wind pushing out off the ground.

Realizing I was already far behind the rest of them, I picked up my pace and started catching up with them. Then there it was again, wind bouncing off the ground behind me. This time it was stronger, and there were faint flapping sounds. It was rather unexpected but I immediately recalled our landing complication into Boston earlier this evening.

I turned around and instinctively looked up. There it was, a gray shadow in the darkness of the night. It's bony wings spread torn skin wider than the road I was on, with claws protruding from the ends. As my gun barrel reached the direction of the monsters my flashlight caught it's head. Six eyes, reflecting red. Jagged rows of teeth dripping blood. It had a pair of contorted horns almost the length of it's head. It's body was human-like, but skin very dark and scaly. It's muscular limbs ended with sharp claws. Then it has what looked like a thick tail.

What at that brief moment seemed like the longest few seconds, I stood motionless staring square at that monster. It then let out a shriek with pitch so high I immediately loss balance and fell to the ground.

Chapter 23: Night of The Dead

0200

His slumber was startled by a distant cry. As he slowly regained consciousness the echo of the cry faded away. He couldn't tell if it was from his dream or was it of this world. He found himself in his bedroom snug underneath thick sheets. Silence save the deep and constant drone of the air conditioner. It wasn't a particularly hot season, but he liked keeping his room extra cold and himself tightly bound in fleece blankets. 

As all sensation returned to his sleeping body, he suddenly felt the urge to pee. Reluctantly jumping out of the warmth of the bed, he quickly rushed over out of his room, pass his little sister's room door, and through the next door into the washroom. 

He turned on the lights. It blinked. Again. And again. The room was illuminated. He emptied his bladder, let out a shudder and depressed the flush button. As he turned around and reached for the door knob he heard a loud scream. This time it sounded like it came from inside the house. Not a dream, he thought. He didn't know what to do. It sounded like a man. It sounded like his dad. 

0210

Harnessing all the courage he's got, he crept out of the washroom and into his room to get his trusty baseball bat. It was tucked just behind the room door. One of the places around the house he kept crude weapons for break-in instances like this one. His mom called him paranoid, seeing as this was practically a crime-free neighborhood. She was wrong.

He got out of the room, passed his sister's room which was still closed. He walked pass the washroom, lights still on and the door halfway ajar. Then he got to his parents' room door which was just before the stairway down to the living hall. It was open, completely dark inside. 

"Mom. Dad." he whispered. No response. Slowly he pushed the door open to check on his parents. The hinges creaked and almost immediately his attention was turned to a crashing sound heard from downstairs, most probably from the kitchen. He tried as quietly as possible to descend the wooden steps, hoping not to rouse the robber and be able to  have a swing at him for messing with the wrong house. 

The living hall was pitch black save road lights flooding in through the windows. The window sheers moved slightly to breeze, but he was too focused on the kitchen to notice. As the walkway ended and the kitchen hall opened up he saw the a figure standing behind the island counter. It seemed to be digging at something on the ground just beyond the counter. 

"Oi!" He yelled, breaking silence. Just as the figure was turning around it's face was lit up by the outside light. He swore he saw blood all over the figure's face and mouth. He couldn't make out the figure's face through the mess of hair all over it. 

0220

Without thinking he rushed towards the figure and swung his aluminum weapon around in hope it would hit something. It did both times but that didn't seem to harm the figure. Instead it reached out both hands to grab him. He stumbled backwards barely missing it's reach by a few inches. But it didn't come any closer. Something below the figure seemed to have prevented it from moving. Then he heard the faint sound of his father. 

"Run, Tom. Get your sister and run!"

The figure went down and attacked his father. Refusing to let it harm his father, he swung the bat right onto it's head. Twice it hit the head, causing a loud cracking sound. His father was screaming out, he could see the figure plunging it's hands into his chest and ripping flesh off. One more hit on it's head and it cracked. It landed on the ground next to his father with a loud thump, lifeless. 

Dropping the bat he crashed onto his knees, landed on a massive pool of blood. He removed his shirt and compressed it against his father's open chest. 

"Dad. You're gonna be okay."

"Tom." his voice weak. It sounded as if those words took all his energy to muster.

"I'm gonna call the ambulance now. Hang in there."

"Tom. Listen to me."

"No dad. You should keep quiet. Your wound don't look that bad. You're gonna be fine." He was lying. His father's wound was so bad he could barely look at it again. He didn't dare press too hard against the wound because he could already feel the broken ribs and something that could've been the organs beneath. 

"Tom!" His father grabbed his arm. He was shivering, sweating. He was trying so hard to hide the panic that was overwhelming him entirely. 

"Get your sister and run. There are more of them around. Be careful. Go for their heads. Find the police. Your mom is gone." Words came out very slowly and very difficult.

0300

No words were uttered after that. Slowly he watched as his father groaned in pain, threw a few episodes of fits, and began chocking in his own blood before passing out. He cried and shivered. He didn't know what to do. He sat there in the pool of blood right over his father's body. He cried. He trembled. He didn't know what to do. 

0335

He sat right over his father. No longer crying. He was trying to recollect what happened the past hour. What was that figure? Why did it want to hurt his father? How was it able to tear open his father's chest with it's bare hands? 

Mom is gone? Where has she gone to? She has to be somewhere around. Maybe she will know what to do. 

He stood up, for the first time since the whole incident his head was clear. He knew what he needed to do. He needed to find his mother. She would know what to do. As he turned around to head to the front of the house, a sparkle from below caught his eyes. It was an object below shiny from the reflection of the outside lights. The object was around the dead figure's neck. With it's head crashed open he could not see the person's face. But that reflective necklace looked mighty familiar. It was... 

"Mom?" It suddenly dawned to him that the figure was his own mother. The very person who tore his father open. The very person he killed with the baseball bat. 

His own mother. 

"M.. Mom?" 

"Mom!!!" 

0400

The police needed to know this. He needed to contact them. They would know how to handle it. But he would be going to jail for killing his mother. But his mother tried to kill his father. And why would she try to kill him? What on Earth is going on here?

He stood up and started towards the front door. His legs soft, gave way a few time s causing him to crash onto the ground. He got up again, headed through the main door and slammed it close behind him. 

He needed to get to a police station. His body was soaked with blood. He was without a shirt. His right hand still holding the baseball bat with traces of his mother's brain matter still stuck at the edge. The cold air struck his bare skin, but he couldn't feel anything. The neighborhood was dead silent. There were two people dead in his house, and not a single soul heard what happened. Both his parents were dead and he killed one of them.

The police will have the answers. They have to have the answers. 

Chapter 22: Strays

"I'm just here to look for some lost items, not to harm anyone." His arms were still tucked behind his neck with both his elbows pointing outwards. He was kneeling down at the moment.

He closed his eyes.

"If you let me go, I will give you everything I have and be on my way. I promise I will not leave this spot for ten minutes to give you a headstart." 

He needed the little time. Just a little more. He felt the cold barrel behind his neck tremble slightly. This could very well be his lucky day after all. But he had to be very sure what kinds of people he was up against. He needed a little more time.

"Take the guns. I have ammunition and med kits in my waist pouches. Take them and go." Nobody tried to do anything. The slight tremble of the barrel behind him was still present. Crucist got the time he needed.

He opened his eyes. What little light around him gushed into his pupils and flooded him with temporary sight before it adjusted. He could see a figure, no more than 5 foot tall, standing before him with a handgun held out towards him.

'A kid?!' he thought to himself. Quickly he ducked and rolled leftwards through the doorway back into the room he exited just moments ago. Just as he thought, no shots were fired. As inexperienced as they seemed, they were smart enough to realize they were standing in each other's line of fire. Both stumbled towards the doorway, with their guns held out as far as their arms can reach. Silently Crucist crawled up behind the wall just next to the doorway waiting.

A handgun was seen passing the doorway. Amateurs. They're doing this all wrong, he thought. Keeping the firearm too far away from the body in such a tight environment creates a very cumbersome distance between the user and it's weapon, which also slows the user's reaction time and accuracy. 

Crucist's right hand went straight for the wrist, thumb and middle finger pinching the nerve point that would incapacitate the person's arm completely without much effort. At the same time his left hand reached out below to fetch the falling handgun. Maintaining grip of the wrist Crucist pulled the person towards him, twisted his arm around the neck with his back directly against Crucist. The handgun now against the kid's left temple and both of them facing the doorway awaiting his accomplice to show himself. 

It wasn't very effective. The kid's inferior height and body mass left Crucist still exposed to gunshot in too many corners, should his accomplice decide to take the chance. He walked in, exiting the darkness behind him... Or her. A girl?! Barely taller than the boy he was holding as his shield. Her hair short and dressed in shorts and an over-sized T-shirt, but no mistake it was the face of a little girl. 

"What the fuck is this?" Crucist thought to himself, but somehow the words escaped his mouth in a whisper. Although it wasn't the best time to be prim and proper in front of children he couldn't help but feel a slight guilt for spilling the words out. 

The girl inched closer, still unyielding. Her hands trembling more now, the gun still pointed dead at Crucist. 

"Lady, I'm not here to harm anyone. You put down your gun, and I will let your friend go." 

She inched closer. Crucist started to panic. But he tried very hard not to let the two see it. What is worse than a person with a gun is a person with a gun, and her hands trembling. 

"Let. Him. Go." her voice was soft and rusty but stern, as if haven't been used in a while. She was barely 5 feet tall, clothes dirty and torn in some edges. Her face was visible now, covered with dirt and grease. 

"Listen. I'm not here to harm anyone. I'm with the United World's Committee Omega Squad. I'm here to rescue some people stranded a couple of weeks ago here in Boston."

That didn't seem to calm her nerve. What ever happened to the days when army uniform and ranks instill sense of security? And why hasn't anyone thought of this before, the fact that there could be surviving civilians in the city?

"That was what they said, too." His eyes widened suddenly. 

"Who they?"

He wasn't sure if she was referring to the same people. Could be from the team who's marksman Night Cat killed a few hours ago. 

"You met them?"

No response from the girl. She was standing still now. And Crucist could already see the weight of the gun building acid 

"One of them tried to kill my team member, and we took him down."

"They will come for you. All of them, like they did your friends."
"Our friends?" 

He didn't know what to make of the words he had just heard. The people they were sent to rescue were not casualties of the monsters created from this disaster? Who are these other groups of marines? What are they here to do? What is this girl talking about? 

"We don't want to have anything to do with you and your marine shit." The boy he was holding finally spoke. Crucist looked down at him, and it suddenly dawned to him that he was using a child as a shield against another child. So much for instilling a sense of security. Slowly Crucist release the boy and he walked away towards his accomplice, massaging and flicking his right wrist to try to ease the discomfort.  

"As you promised, don't follow us." The boy said, then he grabbed the girl by her arm and fled the scene. None of the guns and ammunition were taken. Crucist was left alone in the room, flabbergasted and unable to make sense of what he had just heard. 

Chapter 21: 24 Hours Later

There was a white wooden door. Beyond that was a room, with a round window directly on the opposite end. This window was bordered by vertical and horizontal lines splitting it into four equal panes. To the left end of the room were a series of sliding doors with grilles running across them from left to right - what would appear typically as the doors of a wardrobe. The far corner between the wardrobe and the window was a dresser with a small square stool underneath, and a mirror against the wall right in front. Colourful tubs, tubes and boxes of trinkets litter the table along with a couple of odd-shaped combs with handles shaped like butterflies. On the other end of the room was a double bed, flanked by two bedside tables. A thick layer of pink sheet lined the bed, and underneath it a little girl laid in deep slumber.

The golden ray of morning sun stroked the girl's face, stirring her a little. Her eyelids parted slightly, then squinted at the harsh morning light. The clock on one of the bedside tables read 7:15 AM. It was a Saturday, which meant she would still be able to sleep a little longer for there was no school that day. But she rolled out of bed anyway. Her feet struck warm carpeted floor beneath her, the same carpet that would run throughout the entire first floor of her house. Having found her fluffy slippers, the girl shuffled out of her room and down the stairs. There was complete silence in the house, save the occasional creaking of wood from beneath her feet. Her hair in a mess, her pyjamas riddled with an array of cartoon prints.

She remembered her mom promising her pancakes this morning, and she directed herself towards the kitchen at the back end of the house. Passing through the archway into the kitchen, the floor switched from the comfortably warm timber to cold tiles. Inside were rows of cabinets spanning three walls, both overhead and table-top. In the middle of the square room was an island counter with stoves and sinks. No sign of her mom. 

"Mommy?"

She should still be making pancakes now. But the entire kitchen was empty. The girl walked halfway around the island counter, eyes scanning the table tops for any plate filled with pancakes left there by her mom. Nothing. If she would have paid attention to the ground she would have found her feet barely missing a few knives scattered on the ground, and that there were a thick puddle of dark liquid on the far corner of the kitchen floor. The sudden crashing sound caught her attention. She figured, judging by the direction of the sound, that it could've been the trash can at their front porch. Backtracking, she made her way out the front door. Opening the door sent a gust of sunlight pouring into the else dark living hall, blinding the girl for a while. 

After regaining sight, she walked through the doorway into the porch. To her right was a grass lawn with a wooden patio. To her right was a garage. Her mom's car was parked right outside, it seemed to have been untouched since yesterday evening. Along the rocky path leading to the outer edges of the unfenced yard was the trash can, now toppled over and it's contents strewn across the ground. As she approached the toppled trash can she couldn't help but notice the neighbourhood rather quiet that morning. Uncle Bob from the opposite house wasn't blowing dried leaves. The next door dog would not bark at her like it would always do. She did not catch it, but birds were not chirping either that morning. 

It could've been a stray cat rummaging the can for leftover food. Scanning around the vicinity, she found a figure a few houses down to the left of her's. From far she seemed to be hovering around one spot, with her head slightly stooped as if looking for something she'd dropped. Being the kind Samaritan everyone seemed to be in this neighbourhood, the girl hurried over to offer a hand. 

"Good morning lady. Did you lose something?"

She approached the figure and saw it had long, slightly unkept hair. 

"Maybe I can help you with it."

As she got closer she noticed the lady's skin along her arms and legs pale grey with dirt marks all over. It didn't bother her much until she came face to face with the lady and found her facial expression empty, her cheeks sunken and eyes hollow. For a split second, both of them stood motionless staring at each other. The girl had no idea what to make of what was standing before her. Then as the lady reached her arms out and opened her bloody mouth, letting out a growl. Panic set in. Sensing danger, the girl turned about and started for her house as fast as her little legs can take her. She let out a loud shriek. She could hear the growl of the lady growing louder and louder behind her, but she didn't have the courage nor the time to turn around and scan her position. In the midst of the panic her foot caught what could have been the curb and crashed face first to the ground. Her heart was already pounding as if it would tear off her chest right now. 

She turned around to find the lady right over her, arms with bony long fingers reaching out. She closed her eyes and cried.

"MOMMY!!!!!!!!" 

Chapter 20: White Knuckles

His eyes caught the dog, less than a foot from him, its mouth agape and bloody teeth threatening to puncture into his flesh. His Arclite could not reach the dog in time. Even if it could, lighting the dog on fire at this distance would create a splash-back onto himself. I released my rifle and the sling around my body caught it at my left thigh, hurried for the handgun strapped to my waist holster. As quick as I can be, I was clearly not quick enough. Kheez ducked to his right, using his left arm as his shield. 

Just as the dog was about to claw onto Kheez, I saw it's head exploding from behind. And again. Blood spewed out and the dog dropped lifeless on the ground, it's head resting on Kheez's left foot. I turned around and saw Pyut walking towards me, lowering his handgun. He managed to sink the two bullets into it's mouth. 

"Reload. Now!" He commanded. 

I threw my right knee to the ground, turned my rifle over and ejected three empty magazines. They jumped out and landed onto the tarmac nearby, smoking from heat. Kheez and Pyut overlapped my corner and protected me while I reloaded the three slots on my rifle. Night Cat was already exiting his post inside the building, which usually signals that fatty is nearby.

"Guys, we got a slight problem."
Simultaneously we searched for him over on the far left corner of the street. He was back-pacing towards us with his eyes through the scope, still throwing as much damage as he can possibly deal to his target. A stray dog was racing towards him, but he was clearly unaware as his attention was through the scope. Pyut neutralized it with two bullets, the hollow shells from his handgun barely made din when hitting the ground under the thunderous echo of the Black Arrow.

"There are three of them."

Our eyes grew wide. A sudden panic flooded our heads. For a moment there I could see myself fumble on the cartridges. We looked at each other and even under the warm street halogen I could already see the faces of Kheez and Night Cat pale. I could not imagine mine in any better condition. Handling one fatty itself has already taken so much of our explosives, we couldn't imagine the damage needed to neutralize three of them at the same time. Then we turned to Pyut, he appeared calm and collected.

"As the waves progress, we attract more fatties. The plan is to be able to get all or most of the fatties together in one place so we can run around town without the risk of being cornered." Pyut explained.
"Then you can go save your hostages and retrieve your data." So it was in Pyut's plan all along to complete our mission.


"I'm gonna slowly drop my guns and raise my hands." He carefully squat to his knees and placed his handgun onto the cement floor. Then with both hands he unslung the rifle out and dropped it down. He raised both his hands and placed them just behind his head, slowly he stood up again. There it is, movement in the darkness behind some tables some few meters in front of him. There was shuffling as the figure crawled out from below one of the tables. Just as he thought, one person act as a decoy in one side and the other one wait on the opposite corner to take advantage of the situation. He was already cursing himself for falling into a trap as stupid as this. As the figure drew closer, some light managed to illuminate it very slightly, then it was gone. Crucist could see the figure holding something extended far out, pointing at him. Must be a gun. This is the perfect opportunity.

Chapter 19: The Scavanger

Before him was a long corridor stretching into what seemed to be eternal darkness. Tables and chairs scattered all around. If he would have to run across this hallway, he thought, he'd have some trouble navigating around. There was darkness along this hallway but it wasn't complete to allow his eyes the opportunity to adapt. Doors leading into rooms would flood street lights into the hallway and occasional breeze that managed to find its way into the building would cause the dust sediments otherwise dormant to lift and retard vision further. But vision wasn't the only sense Crucist relies on. 

He turned to face one of the rooms to his left and entered. The sound, previously ambient, now grew louder. They echo from the walls beyond the shattered windows leading out of the building he was in. The inconsistent tapping of triggers from two rifles overlapping each other. They must be Ixate and Pyut. Then there was a constant thumping sound that rattled the walls. Night Cat was concentrating his fire on the fatty. This was the third one tonight. 

Just how many are there? What was Pyut planning to do, keeping us stuck in one place? 

With his rifle against his back swinging from a sling across his chest, Crucist managed to free both his hands to look for whatever Pyut sent him to find in this building. He was told there were some medpacks and ammo boxes stashed in here, and he was to find them and bring them back to the team before their supplies run out. As he was quietly pulling drawers out to examine their insides a loud shriek came from the hallway behind him. Immediately he pulled out his handgun from his waist holster and disengaged the safety lock. He was now facing the door leading out of the room, silent, his gun ready. Slowly he crept towards the edge of the doorway and peeked out of the corner where he thought the sound came from. 

It must've been one of the steel-legged tables being moved. Apart from the shadows of scattered furniture and stagnant dust hovering in the air nothing was out of the ordinary. No sign of life. Only the top half of the hallway was lit, so whatever moved the table could be hiding at the bottom half. He moved out into the hallway and slowly inched towards the sound. Suddenly he could hear a deep exhale behind him, and just as he was about to throw his gun around, he felt cold steel touching the back of his neck. It was the barrel of a gun. He could swear on it. 

There was one on my left. Two taps on the forehead and it collapsed, the back of it's head exploding and dark blood splatting all over the wall behind it. That used to be a living person. As it dropped, three more emerged from behind. One person and the other two animals. Two on the forehead of the person, and two by the neck of the animal. The dogs were harder to kill. I had to get the bullets in between their armored shells. I spent four bullets on the last dog - one on the foreleg to slow it down, one at the forehead to lift it's head and the other two at the gap between the armored shells beneath it's neck. Further right was Kheez. He swung the Arclite rightwards, drenching a dog full of fire and kicking it back with his left leg  

His left side was exposed. There was a dog running towards him. I aimed at it, bullets catching it's body, throwing it onto the ground right in front of Kheez. The bullets did not kill it. It regained it's stance and was about to make the pounce again when I found the base of it's neck with my iron sight and squeezed the trigger to kill. 

Click.. Click.. Click...

"Fuck. Kheez!"