Colonel Schaefer and the rest of his squad creeped down the main street of the Dead Center in their APC's. Deadmen were blasted to shreds by mounted machine guns while a soldier in another vehicle was hurling Molotovs at the surrounding structures. Jonah and Kat were in the farthest APC all the way at the back of the line, completely unaware their comrades were being killed off by their best friend.

Jonah had a rifle in one arm and his backpack in the other. He had ditched all of his collectibles except for the nail bomb. Kat sat across from him wearing the same kind of mask Aaron wore earlier, her arm curled around her favorite sniper rifle. Unlike most missions, they were silent the whole ride from Longridge. They feared having to see the day where they'd have to hunt down someone they cared deeply about. And today felt like that day.

"You don't think it's him, is it?" Jonah asked.

"Some of them say it's one of the Cutthroats from Lovecraft," Kat replied. "I didn't think a Cutthroat would be capable of killing multiple DZI so fast, especially since both of them are in danger of being attacked by Deadmen."

"You think we're being killed off by an infected Cutthroat?"

"What I'm saying is," Kat continued, now glancing back at Jonah, "whoever is out there will clearly do whatever it takes to survive."

Someone started banging on the wall of the APC. It turned out to be Vaughn from Matheson's forensics department, marking one of a few rare moments where he actually left the safety of the tower to join the DZI. "Mathis!" he shouted from the passenger's seat beside the driver. "Schaefer needs a sniper on deck."

"But Garrison is already manning the machine gun," Kat replied.

"That doesn't mean he's good at using it. Now get up there and take your sniper rifle with you."

Kat rolled her eyes before stepping out of her seat, still holding onto her rifle. "Sorry, Jonah," she said, grabbing his hand apologetically. "Duty calls."

"No worries, bruv," Jonah replied with an amiable grin as he let go of her hand. He watched her disappear up the ladder to the roof of the vehicle before awkwardly returning his view to the rest of his comrades.

Aside from him, Kat, and Vaughn, the rest of the DZI officers in the vehicle were Pyro Boys, named for their preference to use flamethrowers and Molotov cocktails when fighting Deadmen. They wore bright red hooded coats over bulletproof armor along with gas masks and goggles with reflective lens to hide their eyes. Hardly anyone knew who they were or what they looked like underneath those masks, but everyone could agree they were major assholes to say the least. Some of them were regulars of Matheson's prostitutes while others were known for setting animals on fire or getting drunk off the alcohol they used for their Molotovs. In fact, Jonah realized he wasn't the only one watching Kat disappear up the ladder.

"If she doesn't kick your arse, I will," he threatened.

Kat peaked her head out of the hatch and planted her sniper rifle's bipod on the edge of the vehicle. Her fellow DZI officer Garrison had his hands on the mounted machine gun, with most of his face obscured by the same green mask Kat wore. "Y'know I can take them out alone, Mathis," he said in his Geordie accent. "Or does Schaefer not trust my aim?"

"In all honesty, I know you could've taken them out on your own," Kat replied, looking into the scope. "I guess he wanted me to finish off any strays."

A horde of Deadmen came charging in from around the corner of an abandoned shop. "Guess we'll find out," Garrison added.

He rotated his gun over to the Deadmen and opened fire. The beasts were shredded apart by bullets in the blink of an eye, limbs flying and blood splashing. Several DZI soldiers outside the vehicle helped finish off them off with their own guns.

"Nice work," Kat said. "Except for one thing."

Before Garrison could ask what, he was interrupted by the crackle of static emitting from his walkie. "You missed one," Schaefer's voice chimed in from the device.

Kat and Garrison turned to see another Deadman, a rather muscular one with a bull-like resemblance, attacking their allies on the street. That was Kat's moment to shine. She rotated the gun until her scope was aimed directly at the creature's head and pulled the trigger, the bullet shattering its skull as if it were ceramic. The creature crashed to the ground, never to rise again.

Garrison chuckled. "Guess I really do need you up here. Great shot."

"Thanks," Kat replied. Now fully motivated, she continued her job, successfully taking out two more Deadmen.

Garrison spun his seat toward the left side of the APC and bombarded another incoming horde with bullets. Kat continued overlooking the right side of the vehicle and resumed taking out Deadmen, never missing a shot. She kept glancing at the vehicle in front of them, where Schaefer was in control of the mounted machine gun. He repeatedly gave her the thumbs up before returning back to his duty, taking out windows and doors alongside the real threat.

Further down the road, Kat spotted another Deadman stumbling down an alley. Unlike the other ones she put down, this one wore a DZI uniform and seemed unaware of the incoming threats. Kat hesitated to pull the trigger since she was too busy staring at the crude bloody gash in the middle of its throat. Instead of the hisses and screeches one would expect from other Deadmen, only a deep groan exited the hole in its throat like a yawn. Below its neck, its entire torso was mangled beyond repair, innards and ribs visible in multiple spots.

Kat only had a few more seconds to study its wounds before Schaefer obliterated it with gunfire. There was nothing left of the creature aside from the bloodstains on the wall as a result of its death.

Another click occurred from Garrison's walkie. "Mathis," Schaefer spoke, "if you're listening, please remember not to hesitate next time. Even if they were one of us, we cannot let anybody turn. Understand?"

Little did either of them know, the only reason that DZI officer came back from the dead was because of Aaron.

* * *

Aaron kept himself pinned against the wall of a building after having witnessed the DZI slaughter one of their own. He only bit him one time, yet once they had realized their old comrade was a Deadman they annihilated him as if he were nothing more than a pest. And now that the infection had taken over him, he probably didn't realize his killers were his old squad mates.

In fact, Aaron—the real culprit responsible for sealing that soldier's fate—wasn't aware of what he had done either.

Ever since he killed that man, he was too busy licking the blood off the wall and his hands. The chunk of flesh he ripped out of the man's throat was one of the most delicious things he had ever tasted in his life and he couldn't help but want more. The vein that kept threatening to slither up his neck had now reached both of his eyes, turning them into milky white pools of insanity. He felt a loss of control over his movement, and his limbs and neck repeatedly twitched as if insects were crawling through his body. When he tried to speak, all that came out were hisses and screeches.

What is going on? he thought. Why can't I feel anything?

He tried taking one step forward and soon found himself planted face-first in the dirt. The color returned to his eyes and the dreaded vein disappeared back into his skin. He regained control of his body, which he confirmed by clenching his fists repeatedly. And once he remembered what he enjoyed eating so much a few minutes ago, he puked onto the street, the succulent taste of flesh replaced with the metallic tang of blood.

What the fuck is wrong with me? Why is there so much blood in my mouth?

He spat out the remaining pieces before dragging himself over to a lamp post and leaned against it. After everything that had happened, he realized he had only a few more hours until his humanity and his memories would vanish for good. He tried crying again, but the dryness of his throat prevented him from letting out sobs. He wondered if it was because he cried more than ever before in just the last few days or because the Ambrosia hindered his ability to cry as part of its dehumanizing effects.

He glanced over to the side to see a broken glass bottle. One of the shards was long enough to be a switchblade. He knew exactly what to do with it.

Squeezing the shard in his hand, he slowly brought the tip to his neck. If he recalled correctly, jamming into the carotid artery would finish him off for good. It would be messy, but at least he wouldn't feel it. Not like he had been feeling much beforehand.

"Shit!" Harry exclaimed as he crashed to the floor, knocking over a trash can. Aaron froze in place, immediately ditching the shard.

"Harry?" Aaron said.

Harry stepped from the ground and dusted himself off. There was a disembodied arm beside him, the edge of it chewed off like a corn dog. "I hope nobody saw that," Harry chuckled as he picked the arm off the ground.

"Harry!"

Now it was Harry's turn to freeze in place. He nervously turned his head toward Aaron. "Oh fuck. You saw that, didn't you?"

"What the hell are you doing?" Aaron asked as he scooted up against the streetlight.

Harry sheepishly raised up the disembodied arm and started shaking it around so the hand looked like it was waving at them. "Just finishing off dinner, mate. I ripped this off this one guy near the destroyed inn. He wore a weird mask and--holy shit, look at those muscles."

Aaron's eyebrow raised. "You ripped it out of his socket?"

"Of course. But he was already dead. His skull looked like a flower after you trample it a bunch of times. Ain't that right, Edgar?"

Right on cue, Edgar scrambled out of a pile of garbage behind the lamp post. "Yes, Harry," he said. "Hi, Aaron."

"Edgar?" Aaron said. "You shouldn't be out here, especially not now!"

"It's fine," Harry chimed in. "He's survived worse."

Aaron jumped from the floor and pulled Harry to the side. "Have you forgotten that this kid is the son of Troy Schaefer, AKA the guy who destroyed the world?"

"Pretty sure it's not the whole world."

"Shut it! The real problem is that Schaefer doesn't know his son is still alive...sort of. If he ends up killing his son, he's gonna lose whatever sanity he has left."

"Isn't that the point?"

"No, that's not the fucking point! If he does, he'll start taking it out on innocent people. And not just the Deadmen. If he gets his hands on Nika, I'll never be able to forgive myself."

A fire broke out in the building next to them. More gunfire sounded through the streets, bullets digging through the walls and nearly missing the three of them. Aaron pulled Edgar out of the trash and ran to the back of a destroyed shop as Harry followed suit. They watched as more of their fellow Deadmen were ripped to shreds in the crossfire. But they could only do nothing but run.

Once they reached the wall, Aaron sat Edgar down on the ground beside him. Harry joined up with them and sat against the wall as the three of them waited for the gunfire to subside.

"Damn it!" Harry exclaimed. "Not again!

"What's wrong?" Aaron asked.

"My arm is missing."

Aaron leaned over to see a bloody stump where Harry's left arm used to be. Then to his right lay the arm, both Harry's and the remains of the one he was previously eating.

"What the hell, man!" Harry whined. "Now I can't play with Jade's hair anymore! I love doing that. I can't even rub Kyle's shaved head either! He hates it when I do that."

Aaron ignored him and looked down at Edgar. "Where are Jade and Kyle?"

"They're probably at the City of Stone like the others were headed," he replied. "They said that would be the safest place to go in situations like this."

"Then why aren't you with them?"

"I got separated from Jade. Kyle tripped, and she let go of my hand to help me up. I heard guns going off over here, and three minutes later I was back here in the Dead Center."

"You heard guns going off and decided to go toward it?!"

"Uh, Aaron," Harry chimed in, his arm still regenerating. "Isn't that exactly what we did?"

Aaron didn't respond. He just let his mouth gape open as Edgar snickered to himself. "Son of a bitch," Aaron uttered.

Then he and Harry collapsed to the floor as bullets exploded through their backs and the walls they thought would keep them safe. Edgar was saved only by his short stature and the fact he was smart enough to duck.

"Edgar," Aaron wheezed as he looked up from the ground. He burst into a mass coughing spree and started gasping for air. The bullet punctured a lung, and he felt like he was drowning without ever being able to die.

"Aaron," Harry muttered somberly. "I can't feel my legs, mate. Please help me."

"Can't...breathe..." Aaron wheezed.

"Actually, forget about me, mate. Where's Edgar?"

"I'm right here, guys," Edgar replied, crawling over to the two of them. He kneeled down on the ground between them.

"Hey!" a DZI soldier called out from the street. "I found more of them!"

Still struggling to retrieve his oxygen, Aaron pulled out his automatic pistol and took a shot at the soldier, who was perched up on an APC at the mounted machine gun. Red mist sprayed out of his wounds and he tumbled off the vehicle. The Deadmen charged in to feed off the body.

"Send out the Pyro Boys!" declared a rather livid Colonel Schaefer from the other side of the Dead Center. "Burn everything to the ground!"

"Oh shit," Aaron croaked. The oxygen had finally returned to his lungs. He jumped to his feet and dragged Harry, whose ability to walk was still hindered by his fractured but currently-healing spine, toward the edge of the building.

"What's going on, Aaron?" Edgar asked.

"We need to get out of here," Aaron replied nervously as he peaked around the corner to see the APC's halting. "You said the City of Stone is your safe place, innit?"

As a legion of Deadmen swarmed around the last APC, the vehicle doors swung open. Long streams of fire blasted through the creatures like geysers. The flames only began to spread, and soon a wave of fire had engulfed the Deadmen. The Pyro Boys slowly emerged from the safety of their vehicles, swinging their flamethrowers side to side to spread the chaos.

And then came the screams.

During his days in the DZI, whenever Aaron witnessed a Deadman burn to death, the only sounds he heard were the same beastly screeches they always made, but more shrill and tormented. Now that he was becoming one of them, all he heard were the sounds of men, women, and children shrieking in excruciating pain. As they stumbled over each other while slowly being snuffed out by the flames, Aaron felt like he was watching a genocide carried out right in front of his eyes. They were no longer monsters. Just innocent people being relentlessly murdered without reason.

"There's more over there!" one of the Pyro Boys shouted. "Fuck 'em up!"

Through the flaming bodies, Aaron could see one of those pyromaniacal bastards lighting up a Molotov. On impulse he emptied out the next magazine in his gun until he finally hit the glass bottle. Two of the Pyro Boys were swallowed by their own method of destruction, and they writhed around in pain a little longer before finally collapsing to the ground.

"Incendiary!" another Pyro Boy shouted.

"Shit," Aaron muttered before screaming the rest at the top of his lungs. "HARRY! RUN!"

"What?!" Harry replied as he bolted toward Aaron and Edgar.

"GET OUT OF HERE! TAKE EDGAR AND FUCKING RUN!"

Harry did as he was told and grabbed Edgar's hand. "What's going on?" Edgar asked.

"We have to get out of here, buddy," Harry replied frantically. "I don't know why, but Aaron wants us to."

Another horde of Deadmen appeared out of nowhere, stampeding through the streets to escape the flames. Harry found himself shoved around and grew increasingly distant from Edgar. His hand lost his grip on Edgar's, and the two of them were pulled away from each other.

"Harry?!" Edgar cried.

"Edgar!" Harry exclaimed as he was pulled toward the forest. "Where are you?!"

Aaron pushed himself through the crowd in a final attempt to rescue Edgar. He ended up punching several Deadmen in order to make space for him to walk through, but in the end he couldn't find the symbol of innocence among these so-called monsters. He continued to call out Edgar's name, only to hear his own name along with Harry's being called back in return.

But once Aaron heard the terrifying whistle of an incendiary bomb soaring through the sky, he only had one option: duck for cover.

"AARON!"

The bomb made impact with the surface. And just like that, this unfortunate group of Deadmen had disappeared into the flames. Aaron could feel another piece of his soul die off as he heard the sounds of Edgar's agonizing screams among countless others. He couldn't even see him anymore. Only large fires taking the forms of people.

"EDGAR!" Aaron shrieked as he watched each of the burning Deadmen take turns dropping to the ground for good.

Just as he was about to rush in to save whatever was left of the boy, he was tackled into another building by Harry. He couldn't understand most of what he said, but the only things he could make out were the words, "Take cover." Then the two of them crashed through the door and tumbled to the floor.

"Harry!" Aaron screamed in a raspy voice. "What the fuck are you doing?! We just abandoned Edgar out there!"

Harry rose from the floor. "He's gone, mate," he replied, almost sounding as if he were on the verge of tears. "I heard his screams. They grew more faint until I couldn't hear them anymore."

Aaron struggled to say anything else. He found himself stricken by a panic attack. He couldn't comprehend the ability to speak. Everything he wanted to say didn't come out complete. He stammered too much and choked on nearly every thought that involved Edgar or his friends. He felt like someone had their hands on his neck squeezing the life out of him.

"I'm sorry, Aaron," Harry whispered, a single tear drifting down his cheek. "I'm sorry."

Aaron couldn't say another word. He dropped down to his knees and toppled over to the floor, rolling up into a fetal position and gazing out the door. He sported the infamous thousand-yard stare. He felt cold and alone, trapped in a hopeless abyss that could never be escaped nor could one redeem themselves for descending into it. He was at the bottom and the people he wanted to save were at the top being slaughtered, their corpses eventually joining him at the bottom of the numbing darkness.

He watched as the Pyro Boys and several other DZI officers closed in on the burnt remains of the Deadmen, firing their rifles at a new threat, perhaps any other Deadmen who went unscathed. But then they all disappeared with the swipe of red energy blasting through the street. They all collapsed to the pavement, sliced into chunks by their new enemy.

"He's here," Harry whispered, slowly turning toward the door.

Aaron continued staring out into the Dead Center, feeling like an eternity since he last blinked. Someone stepped into his line of sight. Blood was dripping down his arms and his clothes. Sunlight glinted off the tip of his helmet and shone on the crusty red X forever plastered on the front. Streams of crimson floated around him, growing thicker with every second.

"I knew this day would come," Bloodletter said as he gazed at the stream of his own blood floating around him. "I've always known I was never the one responsible for this destruction."