The skies over Sector 17 burned red, reflecting the inferno that raged below. The battlefield was a wasteland of shattered metal, crumbling buildings, and blood-soaked earth. Smoke curled into the air like dying spirits, carrying the stench of war.
At the heart of the devastation, General Viktor "Bloodfang" Kruger stood unshaken. His black combat vest was streaked with ash, his red beret still perched perfectly on his head. He reloaded his custom pistol with the methodical precision of a predator preparing for the next kill.
"Sir," came the gruff voice of Sergeant Darius "Hellhound" Rook over his earpiece. "The resistance forces have fortified themselves in the west block. Morales led them there. Should I send the hounds?"
Kruger smirked, his fingers tightening around the grip of his firearm.
"Negative," he said coldly. "This one, I handle personally."
He strode forward, boots crunching against the rubble. His undead shock troops—twisted abominations of former soldiers—parted as he passed, their lifeless eyes locked onto him in wordless obedience.
The west block was a crumbling industrial facility, its rusted walls barely standing. The rebels had barricaded the entrance with debris, but it would not hold. Kruger did not knock. He kicked—his enhanced strength blasting the barricade inward in a shower of steel and concrete.
Gunfire erupted immediately.
Bullets slammed into his vest, ricocheting off reinforced plating. Three rebels opened fire from cover—rookies, desperate, foolish.
Kruger moved like a phantom. One shot. A rebel collapsed, a bullet between his eyes. Two steps. A knife left Kruger's hand, burying itself in another's throat. Three strides. His pistol hammered against the last man's skull, shattering it like glass.
Kruger pivoted, just in time to meet Eva "Black Widow" Morales head-on.
Her combat knife streaked toward his throat. He deflected, countering with a brutal kick that sent her crashing into a workbench. Sparks flew as tools and equipment scattered across the floor.
"You never learn, Morales," Kruger said, cocking his pistol. "Bravery won't save you."
Eva wiped blood from her lip, her glare sharp as razors. "Neither will blind arrogance, you undead bastard."
She lunged again, but this time, Kruger was ready. He caught her wrist mid-strike, twisting her hard. The knife clattered from her grip as he drove her into the wall, his strength overwhelming.
"You should have run," he growled, his gun pressing against her forehead.
A detonation charge blinked red on her wrist—activated.
Kruger's eyes narrowed. "You wouldn't—"
The explosion engulfed the west block in flames.
From the outside, Rook watched the fireball rise, his earpiece crackling.
Was this the end of Bloodfang Kruger?
Or just the beginning of something worse?