Drip… drip… drip…
It wasn't rain that fell from the sky.
It was blood.
The crimson droplets sizzled against the cracked stone of the ruined battlefield, steam rising with every splatter. The sky hung low like a bruised wound, and above it all was the echo of a sound far worse than thunder.
Laughter.
Unhinged. Bone-chilling. A laugh so full of madness it made even the flames hesitate.
Pentagon stood at the center of it all. His trench coat whipped in the wind, a tattered flag of war. His arms were crossed, body unmoved. A faint, unreadable smirk played on his lips.
He knew it wasn't over.
From the darkened sky, something fell.
A body—or what remained of one—plummeted like a broken meteor, crashing into the ground with a wet, fleshy crunch. The earth shook. Cracks spidered across the surface.
Ash and mist cleared.
A head. A torso. One arm.
Hitlas.
Somehow, impossibly, still alive.
One eye opened.
Burning red. Burning hate.
He clawed at the ground with his lone arm, dragging himself forward. Bones splintered. Flesh squirmed. A horrible sound came as his broken body shivered… and grew.
A leg formed.
It sprouted from the stump like a tumor given purpose. Muscle coiled. Skin stretched. A foot slammed onto the dirt.
He stood.
Lurching. Broken. Alive.
Pentagon chuckled."Persistent little bastard."
Hitlas charged.
Faster than before. His form blurred, but it didn't matter. Pentagon's boots shifted slightly. He dodged with inhuman precision, not even looking directly at him.
Blow after blow missed.
Pentagon sighed, "You never learn."
He tapped the side of his transceiver. "Zombieman. Apocalypse."
The world shuddered.
The air split open.
A new presence dropped like judgment from the heavens.
A body slammed into the ground beside them, forming a crater deep and wide. Fire erupted. Wind howled. Blood mist turned to vapor.
From the crater rose a man or something beyond that.
Six feet tall. Titanium armor. Red veins glowing beneath the plates.
One hand dragged a limp body.
Dr. Feral Bullet.
Beaten. Shackled. Barely breathing. "Ah… Zombie," Pentagon smiled. "Finish it."
The metal figure turned toward Hitlas.
He didn't speak.
Agent Xavier Deals.
No longer the man he once was.
He lunged.
Hitlas roared, trying to strike. Zombie caught his arm mid-swing and shattered it with one twist. The ground cracked with every move. Hitlas screamed, flailing, but Zombie smashed him down, over and over.
Flesh split. Bones crumbled. Blood sprayed.
Pentagon approached Dr. Feral.
The scientist looked up weakly. Eyes swollen. Breathing ragged, "The heart," Pentagon said. "Where did you find it?"
Feral winced, "In… my coat. After Yellowstone… I thought it was just tissue… but the scan… it was his. My son's."
His voice trembled, "And the arm?"
"Locker… the lab locker… and the brain fragment… that was from the experiment. I had it removed… years ago… kept it hidden."
Pentagon narrowed his eyes,"Zombie. Show me the interior."
Zombie nodded.
He inserted his fingers into Feral's chest.
Feral gasped.
With one violent pull, the abnormal heart was ripped free.
Then the arm.
Then, with delicate brutality, Zombie placed two hands on Feral's skull and cracked it open like a nut.
Inside, the brain fragment pulsed faintly.
All three pieces—arm, brain, heart—were laid on the stone before them.
For a moment, all was still.
The arm twitched once… then went limp.
The brain fragment glowed faintly… then dulled.
But the heart— It spasmed.
Then pulsed.
Then writhed like an octopus starved for oxygen.
Everyone stepped back.
Too late.
The heart launched upward, veered toward Feral—and dove into his mouth.
He screamed.
The heart tore through his throat and embedded itself in his chest, ejecting his original heart in a bloody explosion.
He writhed. He burned.
Memories flickered across his face.
His wife. Pearl.
Her smile. Their first date. The day Hitlas was born. The moment she died.
His son's laughter. His own trembling hands as he became Yellowstone's lead scientist.
All of it.
Then silence.
"End it," he whispered, voice breaking. "Please… Pentagon… End me."
Pentagon closed his eyes, "Zombie. Turn around."
Flames rosé.
And in a single, silent second, Dr. Feral Bullet turned to ash.
As his form disintegrated, a whisper floated in the smoke.
"Try… again… on my son…"
Pentagon looked down.
Only the partial remains of Hitlas were left now.
They gathered them. Bones. Tissue. Fragments.
A portal opened.
Post-Mission Debrief:
Case: Feral Bullet's organ laundering — Closed.
Casualties in Shanghai: 36 confirmed dead. 179 injured. 12 million dollars in property loss.
The portal surged to life.
They stepped through.
Back to headquarters.
The lab assistants stared in shock as Zombie entered, dragging the specimen cases.
Behind them, Pentagon stepped over the safety line and ran.
Down the corridors.
To the emergency wing.
He burst through the doors.
Rouxie sat on the ground, sobbing.
Behind the glass, Vargara lay unconscious in surgery. Monitors beeped steadily.
Multiple broken bones. Internal bruising. A minor transplant.
Not life-threatening.
But for Pentagon—
It was too much.
He collapsed to his knees, fists clenched.
Tears spilled.
He didn't care.
Until a metal figure blocked the door.
Zombie, now reverted to Xavier, stood silently.
He walked over and wrapped his coat around Pentagon, shielding him from the world.
They remained like that.
Silent.
Together.
Six months later.
The sky above Antarctica was silver.
Snow flew as the Founders Academy helicopter hovered over the frozen plains.
Vargara and Rouxie, now fully recovered, stood with their bags, waving back at the base.
Everyone had come to see them off. Squad 5. Medical. Command.
Pentagon gave a faint nod as the chopper rose.
Rouxie and Vargara looked down from the air.
The future awaited.
But just as they disappeared into the clouds—
Alarms blared.
Red lights. Volcanic activity detected. Ozone layer degradation. Tectonic instability.
Global signals rising.
Pentagon smirked,"Now it feels like home."
He turned to the agents, "Xavier, you're in charge. I have one last stop to make."
Another portal shimmered to life.
The wind shifted.
Pentagon stepped through.
On the other side—
Russia.
A snowy forest. A lone house.
Standing before it, arms crossed, was a man.
Ivan Martell.
Eyes like ice. Power in his blood.
Behind them, the girls reached Antarctica's central base.
Jets approached from all sides.
Soldiers disembarked.
Rouxie and Vargara exchanged a glance.
It wouldn't be easy.
Not anymore.
Not for any of them.
– END OF VOLUME 1 –
TO BE CONTINUED.