Marcus Trenholm’s gaze slid down Raven’s form, lingering on her bare midriff, the smooth curve of her waist, the toned muscles of her legs. His expression sharpened, lips curling into something hungry. Like a butcher eyeing a prize cut of meat.
Raven caught it immediately.
Her clothing was simple—light, breathable fabric cut short to let her move freely. It exposed the lines of her body, a design meant for practicality. She’d once worn bulkier clothes to hide what she couldn’t defend. She thought she would need to hide her body. But that was before she knew she would awaken her powers.
Her powers have awakened now. Making her skin and body flawless. She is immune to the zombie virus, and her powers can kill with a look.
She didn’t need to hide anymore. She could protect herself.
This wasn’t vanity. It wasn’t pride.
It was simply fact.
Marcus spoke, voice smooth but dripping condescension. “Well… you did help clear out that little infestation of zombies. I guess I can overlook you trespassing… if you and I spend a little private time together in my quarters to get to know each other better.”
His soldiers shifted. Some felt grossed out. A few of the women tightened their grips on their rifles, exchanging uneasy glances. Raven watched the subtle shifts. Not all of them these soldiers were rotten. Just the man in front of her.
She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing.
“Marcus, that doesn’t sound like something a U.S. military officer should say.”
Marcus sneered, responding. “Why the hell should I care what you think? I’ve got the guns. I make the rules here.”
Raven’s gaze moved to a young female soldier in the group. Her voice was soft but steady. “You’re a soldier too. What do you think of your captain using his rank to threaten women?”
The woman hesitated. Then spoke—quiet but firm. “Captain… I don’t think this is right. We should be trying to reach command. Figure out what’s going on. Not… this.”
Marcus’s head snapped towards her. His hand lashed out—sharp, sudden. The sound of his palm against her cheek echoed through the empty lot.
'Smack'
“Shut the hell up, Private Shirley! Don’t you dare question me. Or I will make you join her.”
The air changed. Tension fractured. Raven saw it—the shift in body language, the tightening of jaws, the averting of their eyes.
A crack in the chain of command.
Raven’s voice was calm, measured. “Captain Marcus, I’m going to politely decline your offer. So why don’t you leave while you still can?”
Marcus laughed, loud and ugly. He turned to a scruffy man in the back—a dull-eyed soldier holding his XM7 like a club.
“Should we do as the lady says privte?”
The solder sneered, his greasy voice saying. “Nah Captain, Just let me have some fun with her when you’re done.”
Marcus smiled, his yellow teeth showing as he said. “Priavate your a smart kid. You’ll go far in this new world."
These words were the last straw.
One soldier—then another—stepped back, letting their rifles hit to the pavement.
“I didn’t sign up for this shit,” one of them said.
“Hell no,” another said, turning away. “I’m not following a rapist into the apocalypse.”
Private Shirley wiped her cheek, lifted her chin, and joined the deserters.
More followed. A slow exodus, one by one, moving away until half the unit dropped their weapons and left Marcus standing alone with his few supporters.
Raven watched, arms crossed, eyes cold.
She was using psychological warfare. Let the enemy weaken themselves for her.
She said nothing. Just studied the ones who stayed. The men who didn’t flinch when Marcus barked, the ones who stared her down with empty eyes. Not all of them were scum—but enough were.
Raven exhaled softly. A small smile, barely there.
“Not everyone’s rotten to the core here,” she thought. “Even in the apocalypse, some people still have a conscience."
Her drones hovered in the air above her, silent, and waiting for orders.
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