A few days earlier, in the neighborhood…
Barely a day had passed since Elion and the others had fled. The place, which had once been filled with voices and activity, now seemed frozen in time: doors left ajar, dark windows, and bloodstains spreading across the floor and walls, like traces of something that had happened too quickly to be understood. Night covered everything, lending the atmosphere an uncomfortable stillness.
From the alley, a figure appeared, staggering through the shadows. It was Enzo. His breathing was heavy and irregular; his clothes, torn in several places, revealed fresh bruises and cuts. His left arm hung stiffly, as if every movement cost him effort. He had fought… and had barely survived.
As he looked up and recognized the neighborhood, a shadow of relief crossed his face.
—…Finally —he murmured, almost voiceless.
But as he crossed the threshold, that relief vanished.
Silence enveloped him immediately. There were no voices. There were no footsteps. Only that metallic smell hanging in the air, heavy, impossible to ignore.
He moved forward cautiously, his gaze scanning every corner… until something stopped him.
A body.
Aslan.
He lay on the ground, motionless. Dried blood spread around him in a dark trail. But it wasn't just that. His skin was pale, mottled, with dark veins standing out beneath the surface. His face had gone stiff, contorted… as if the infection had overtaken him before he died.
He had been one of them.
Enzo stopped in front of him, watching him in silence for a few seconds. He tilted his head slightly, as if analyzing him.
—…Look at that —he murmured—. You didn't even manage that.
A faint, empty smile crossed his face.
—You ended up like one of them… and even then, you were useless.
He lingered for a moment longer, without a trace of pity, and then looked away as if he were no better than the rest.
He continued walking through the bloodstains that marked the floor. Under his footsteps, some areas crunched slightly, dry; others still held a dark dampness.
Then, a sound broke the stillness.
A sharp thud. Then another. Irregular. Insistent.
Enzo stopped. His body tensed slightly, and his gaze slowly drifted toward one of the windows.
There they were.
The grandparents… or what was left of them.
The window was already shattered. Only shards of glass clung to the edges, and the exposed metal bars were slightly bent, as if they had given way under the force of the blows. Through that jagged opening, the bodies of the infected thrashed about, crashing against the bars with clumsy, desperate movements.
Their hands clung to the bars, sliding between them, trying to reach something that was no longer on the other side. Their deformed faces peered through the gaps, skin taut, eyes dull… but fixed on him.
They had detected him.
A low, harsh growl escaped their throats.
The sound grew more constant, more annoying. They pounded against the bars, shook them, scratched at what little remained of the frame, as if they wanted to tear it away.
Enzo watched them in silence for a few seconds. There was no fear in his expression. Nor doubt. Just a slight irritation that furrowed his brow.
—Seriously…? —he muttered, letting out a heavy sigh—. They won't even stay still when they're dead.
One of them managed to pull half an arm through the bars, waving it clumsily in his direction.
That was enough.
Enzo raised his gun firmly and fired twice.
The shots rang out sharply in the air.
Direct hits.
The infected's heads jerked violently. Their bodies remained trapped for a moment between the bars, tense… before slumping and falling lifelessly backward, disappearing into the darkness inside.
The echo spread through the neighborhood and then faded, leaving behind an even heavier silence.
Small fragments of loose glass fell with a faint tinkling sound.
Enzo lowered the gun slowly, exhaling through his nose.
—What a nuisance…
He looked at the motionless bodies for another second, but this time he didn't move forward right away. Something didn't feel right. That silence… it was too eerie.
Then he sensed it.
Movement.
He spun around toward the entrance. Several shadows were gliding through the darkness. For a moment, he thought he recognized them.
—Finally! —he shouted—. Where the hell were you? What the hell happened here?
There was no answer.
The figures advanced. Slowly. Steadily.
The moonlight revealed enough to dispel any doubt. They weren't his men.
They were two men.
The first was tall, with a lean but sturdy build, his dark hair slicked back. His face was sharp, expressionless, almost cold. He wore dark tactical gear and held his weapon with a naturalness that spoke of experience.
The second was more robust, broad-shouldered, with short, light hair and a light beard framing his jawline. There was something unsettling about his eyes, a strange calm, as if he were savoring the moment. A faint smile played on his face.
Both advanced without haste.
Enzo's body tensed. He took a step back.
—Who are you? —he demanded—. Stop right there.
They didn't obey.
They kept coming.
Enzo raised his gun, but he wasn't quick enough.
A sharp crack split the air. The bullet struck his gun directly, knocking it from his hands and sending it flying. The impact jolted through his arm, causing him to lose his balance.
He fell.
Before he could react, the two men were already on top of him. They pinned him down with precision, immobilizing him effortlessly.
—Let me go! —he struggled—. Who are you?! I don't know you!
They didn't answer.
They just tied him up.
—Hey! You've got the wrong guy! I don't have anything! —he insisted, now in desperation—. I'm not the one you're looking for!
Nothing. Not a word.
They lifted him roughly and dragged him out of the neighborhood. Outside, a dark car was waiting for them with the engine running. They shoved him inside. The doors slammed shut.
One took the wheel. The other sat in the passenger seat.
The engine roared and the vehicle began to move forward.
The driver picked up a radio.
—We've got the target —he said in a cold voice—. Let's head back.
Enzo's heart raced.
—Target? —he repeated—. What are you talking about? I don't have anything!
The man in the passenger seat slowly turned his head toward him.
He smiled.
An icy smile.
—Relax… —he said in a low voice—. You'll find out soon enough.
A chill ran down Enzo's spine as the car disappeared into the darkness, leaving behind the neighborhood… silent, bloodstained, and completely empty.