The smoke lingered like fog, thick and heavy with the scent of burnt powder and sweat. Raven crouched low, body angled behind the metal crates she’d slipped behind after the last three dropped. Her goggles painted the haze in bright silhouettes. Five more moved in the cloud, barely fifteen feet in front of her, fumbling with face shields and yelling to one another as their AK-47s rattled off bursts into the smoke.
She raised her MP5.
Pew. Pew. Pew. Pew. Pew.
Each trigger pull was mechanical. Precise. Five rounds. Five head shots.
Five men collapsed, red mist spraying into the air as their skulls cracked and their bodies dropped. They’d tried to mask up while firing. Dumb. They didn’t even have helmets.
Raven exhaled slowly. These weren’t disciplined fighters. They were fanatics fools playing terrorists with no training.
Her mind, cool and clinical, reflected on the contrast. The apocalypse hadn’t made her cold. It had refined her. Focused her. In her past life, she had learned to go days without sleep, weeks with minimal food. Not because she was stronger, but because her powers allowed her to endure. Her plant manipulation powers were not just about healing her body. They gifted her sustainability in combat and high stress situations.
Self-regeneration. Infection control. Cellular repair.
She could push harder. Run farther. Kill longer.
And that’s what made her dangerous.
Because when society falls, it isn’t the dead that hunt you. It’s the people.
The liars. The looters. The desperate. The cruel.
The silence that followed her latest kills was telling.
No more random bursts of gunfire. Just confusion. Footsteps and panic.
Then a voice called out.
“We surrender!”
Another chimed in. “We want to be taken into custody! We surrender, we have rights!”
Raven raised an eyebrow beneath her helmet. She moved slowly, deliberately around the crates as the smoke thinned.
Two men stood in the open.
They placed their rifles on the floor, then stepped forward with their hands behind their heads. Knees dropped to the concrete. Heads bowed.
They looked terrified.
They expected police.
They expected law enforcement.
They expected the rule of law.
Raven walked forward, her MP5 steady in her arms. Her boots echoed faintly across the metal flooring.
One of the men stared at her.
His eyes widened beneath sweat-slick hair. “I thought… I thought there were more of you. You took out all of us?”
Raven didn’t answer.
She stopped a few feet in front of them. Her silhouette a shadow in the lingering smoke. The voice from her helmet came out filtered and flat.
“You’re surrendering?”
Both nodded quickly, still on their knees.
The first man spoke up again. “Yes. We demand to be read our Miranda Rights and taken into custody as prisoners of war. Our country will negotiate”
Raven’s voice cut him off.
“Too bad.”
She lifted the MP5.
“I don’t take prisoners.”
Two suppressed rounds cracked through the air. Point-blank. One shot each to the head. Clean and cruel.
The men fell backwards. Dead before they hit the floor.
She stared down at them, her weapon still raised.
“Besides,” she muttered, “dying here is better than turning later.
There was no room for sympathy.
Terrorists didn't get mercy. Not in the apocalypse. And definitely not from her.
They had built this place. Hidden it. Armed it. Planned for something they’d never get to see through. She just made sure of that.
Raven walked forward, stepping around the bodies. Her goggles scanned for movement. None.
She started the sweep.
Moving corner to corner. Clearing the crates. Checking every path. Her footsteps were calm, deliberate. She checked for tripwires, false floors, disguised corridors.
Nothing.
After fifteen minutes of searching, the results were clear.
Twelve bodies.
No survivors.
The base was empty.
She had taken it. Alone.
Raven slung her MP5 back against her side, finally letting herself exhale fully. Her heart rate didn’t even spike. This was normal for her just another day taking out the trash.
And now, she could finally see what these men had been planning.
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