Darkness didn't come all at once.
It leaked in.
Malisha was vaguely aware of the floor against her cheek—cold, rough, real. Her fingers twitched once, twice, as if they were trying to remind her body of its duties. Somewhere far away, voices overlapped, sharp with panic, but none of them could reach her properly.
The adrenaline had done its job.
And now it was collecting its price.
Her heart raced—too fast—then skipped, then corrected itself violently. Every breath felt borrowed. Heavy. Unreliable.
The phone slipped from her fingers.
The last thing she remembered clearly was a name.
Ashu.
Reality crashed back in for the others.
Freshly converted zombies clawed and screamed beyond the walls. Poisonous gas seeped in through gaps they couldn't fully seal. And at the centre of it all lay Malisha—unconscious, breathing irregularly—like the final cruel addition to an already impossible situation.
Aditya snatched the phone that had fallen from her hand just as Siya dropped to her knees beside Malisha.
"This is bad—no, no, no," Siya muttered, checking her pulse, her breathing. Panic crept into her voice. "She's not stable. She might—" She swallowed hard. "She barely has five to seven minutes. Maybe less."
The call connected.
Aditya brought the phone to his ear, his voice rushed, raw.
"Hello—hello. I'm from Malisha's team. She's not fine—she's in very bad condition. We need help. Please."
There was a brief pause.
Then a calm, steady male voice replied, "I don't know anyone named Malisha."
Aditya's chest tightened. He didn't hesitate.
"Then maybe Queen Conquera. Rank Two. Does that ring any bell? We need help—now."
Silence.
Then, sharper this time, "Who are you? Where are you calling from? And why are you calling me?"
"I'm Aditya," he said quickly. "OG. Malisha—Rank Two—she's with us."
The line went quiet.
Too quiet.
Then, softly, almost carefully, the voice said,
"Mayank?"
Aditya froze.
His heart skipped a beat.
That name hadn't been spoken in years—not since before the apocalypse, before identities were erased and rewritten to survive. He forced himself back into the moment.
"Yes," he said. "Who is this?"
"I'm Ashish," the man replied. "Kavya's cousin. The doctor."
A beat.
"It's about her, isn't it? What happened?"
Aditya exhaled shakily. "She's not fine. She's been injected with… different things. I don't even know what. All I know is our nurse says she barely has five to seven minutes."
He hesitated, then added quietly, almost resigned,
"But I don't think you can help now. We're in the new small red zone—fresh conversions everywhere. This is a Rank Eight base. If you can call someone… anyone—please do. And—" his voice cracked despite himself, "—bhaiya, it's good to know you're alive."
For a moment, Aditya thought the line had gone dead.
Then Ashish spoke again, unshaken.
"Oh. I live in the same area."
A pause.
"I'll be there in six to eight minutes."
Aditya blinked. "What?"
"If you're Rank Twenty and still choosing to stay neutral in world politics," Ashish continued calmly, "you learn how to pick very good hiding spots."
He added, almost casually,
"And don't worry. Kavya's immunity is strong. Tell your nurse to breathe—she has fifteen to twenty minutes. At least."
A beat.
"She's not Rank Two for nothing."
The line disconnected.
Aditya stood frozen, phone still pressed to his ear, as hope—dangerous, fragile hope—crept back into the room.
.
"What—what did he say?" Raghav asked.
"He says he'll be here in six to eight minutes," Aditya replied.
Raghav's face drained. "But Siya said Mal won't survive that long. Do something. Call someone else."
Aditya looked around helplessly—at the sealed door, at the weapons, at Malisha's still body. He didn't know what to believe.
Finally, he nodded and started adjusting the phone's frequency.
"What are you doing?" Siya asked sharply, still searching the medical case.
"I'm calling Raj."
The room froze.
Siya straightened slowly. "She told you OGs can't help. Didn't you hear her?"
"He's our supervisor," Aditya said, not meeting her eyes. "He'll arrange extraction. That's his job."
Siya's control cracked. "This won't work, Adi. She's not stupid. We should wait for your bhaiya."
"You just said she doesn't have time," Aditya shot back. "Multiple options matter right now."
He fixed the frequency.
Siya snatched the phone from his hand. "You're wasting time."
"What are you doing, Siya?" Dweep snapped. "He's right."
"No, he isn't."
"She'll die," Raghav said.
"And if he calls," Siya said hoarsely, "we will die."
Silence swallowed the room.
"What… why?" Aditya asked.
Siya's voice broke. "I overheard Malisha talking to Raj. He knows she's Queen Conquera. He knows she helped build the OGs—for her siblings' safety. And he thinks we are a threat to that." Tears rolled freely now. "He told her to handle us. Or finish us. If she didn't—he would."
Aditya shook his head slowly. "No. He knows us. He knows me."
"That's why you're the biggest risk," Siya said. "If he comes—or sends someone—we're dead. That checkpoint drama? It wasn't about control. It was about keeping us invisible."
Malisha's breathing hitched.
Siya rushed back to her side.
Aditya took the phone back, hands shaking. "I don't care," he said quietly. "If he comes, he'll come for her too. I won't let her die."
"They'll kill us," Dweep said.
"Then let them," Aditya snapped. "She saved all of you. Over and over. You owe her your lives." His voice broke. "I owe her mine."
Aditya's finger hovered over the call button.
For a second—just a second—he almost pressed it.
Not because Malisha mattered any less now.
But because Dweep spoke.
His voice was low. Calm. Almost painfully steady.
"Yes," Dweep said quietly, "we do owe her our lives. All of us do."
Aditya didn't look away.
"But she's in this state because she chose our lives," Dweep continued. "Because she wanted us to live."
His words sank in slowly.
"If we do something that turns everything against us—if we make a move that puts us all in danger—we won't be saving her." He paused. "We'll be betraying her."
Aditya's jaw tightened.
"We don't just owe her our lives," Dweep said, meeting his gaze head-on. "We owe her our survival."
Silence filled the room—not heavy, not tense. Listening.
"We've trusted her before," Dweep went on. "Even when we had every reason not to. And every time… she proved us right."
He glanced briefly at Malisha—her uneven breaths, her stillness—then back at Aditya.
"If she called someone before she passed out," he said, "then that person will do the job. Just like she always does."
A beat.
"She's Malisha Ramaniya," Dweep said softly. "She's always three steps ahead."
He exhaled, almost a breath of faith.
"I don't think she'll die," he added. "You know why?"
A faint, sad curve touched his lips.
"Because dying would be easy. And she never chooses the easy way."
He turned slightly, looking at Siya now. "That's what I've learned about her. I don't know about you."
Something shifted in the room then.
Not happiness.
Not relief.
Not even hope.
But belief.
And with it—assurance.
So they waited.
They waited for someone they didn't know.
Someone they weren't sure would even come.
There were many things they could have been afraid of—but none of them compared to Malisha's breathing.
Every rise of her chest felt stolen.
Every fall felt like it might be the last.
Minutes stretched—three, maybe five. Time lost its shape.
Then a sound cut through the silence.
Faint. Distant.
At first, no one moved.
Then it came again—louder. Closer.
The sound grew, layered over itself, until the crew realised what it was.
An engine.
Raghav's head snapped up. "That's… not possible."
The noise kept coming—steady, unmistakable.
But it was impossible.
They were in an underground base. Deep enough to be insulated from the surface. At the centre of it ran long corridors—once guarded by armed men, now flooded with poisonous gas.
No vehicle should have been able to reach them.
No road should exist.
And the most illogical part of all—
The freshly converted zombies weren't reacting.
No screams.
No rushing footsteps.
No chaos.
The engine roared on, unchallenged.
That was when fear shifted into something colder.
Because if something could move through a red zone, through gas, through silence—
without drawing the dead—
Then whatever was coming…
wasn't ordinary.
Within seconds, the left wall trembled.
A crack split through the concrete.
Then another—wider this time.
Before anyone could react, the wall exploded inward.
A massive beast of a vehicle tore through it—thick iron body, reinforced plating—less a truck and more a tank. Bigger. Heavier. Unstoppable.
But it didn't come alone.
The poisonous gas found its way in too, rolling after the destruction like a living thing.
Three figures jumped out of the vehicle immediately.
Emergency masks. Oxygen cylinders. No hesitation.
One woman.
Two men.
One of the men tossed masks toward the crew. "Put them on. Now."
The second man didn't spare them a glance. He went straight to Malisha.
The woman followed him closely.
He dropped to his knees beside Malisha, checking her pulse, her breathing.
"She's not stable," he said sharply. Then corrected himself. "No. Not even close."
He looked up at Siya. "What was she injected with? Tell me. Everything."
Siya handed him the syringe—unlabelled. "This," she said. "They said it would slow her down. And… she took adrenaline too. She was exposed to the gas for a while."
The man passed the syringe to the woman. "Test it. Fast. We don't have time."
Then to the other man, "Get the stretcher. We move her now."
He finally turned to the crew, his voice cutting.
"What are you waiting for? To die? Get into the ambulance. Now."
No one argued.
As the stretcher was rushed in, the man muttered under his breath,
"Why do you always make things next to impossible, Kavya?"
Malisha was placed carefully onto the stretcher and rushed inside the vehicle.
The interior was a full medical setup—monitors, oxygen, IVs—an ambulance in every sense.
The doors slammed shut.
The engine roared.
They moved.
Walls, debris, even bodies—nothing slowed them down.
Inside, the woman looked up from her scanner.
"It's a low-grade cyanide," she said. "Slow poison. Adrenaline intake right after it worsened the reaction."
Ashish didn't hesitate. "Stabilizer. And find the antidote. It should be there."
The nurse searched the racks quickly, then handed him a syringe.
Ashish glanced at it—and scowled.
"What is this dosage?" he snapped. "Is she an elephant?"
The room stiffened.
"This is my sister," he continued coldly. "And these conditions don't leave room for your mistakes—or my lack of patience."
"I'm sorry, Doctor," the nurse said quickly.
Ashish adjusted the dose himself and injected Malisha cleanly.
Minutes passed.
Her breathing slowed. Evened out.
A drip was set. Monitors steadied.
Then Ashish reached for another injection.
"This should do it," he said quietly.
He administered it.
This time, Malisha's body responded properly.
Ashish finally exhaled, a sharp breath he hadn't realised he was holding. He placed a hand on her head.
"That was close."
As the nurse tended to Malisha's other injuries, Ashish's eyes caught something else.
The cut on her wrist.
He looked up sharply. "What's this?"
"She did it herself," Siya said. "It's not deep."
Ashish scoffed. "Of course she did. No one else would be that stupid." Then, dryly, "Did you manage what most people die trying—making Queen Conquera suicidal?"
"No," Dweep said quickly. "She was drugged. Couldn't move properly. She used it to draw them in."
Ashish shook his head, almost fond despite himself.
"So typical," he muttered. "Will she ever change?"