Sergeant Darius "Hellhound" Rook sat in the back of a military transport truck, his wrists bound with reinforced cuffs. Across from him, General Kruger smirked, arms crossed, watching Rook with the patience of a predator that had already won.
Between them, Captain Wolfe lay unconscious, his breathing shallow. His veins still pulsed with the unnatural energy Kruger had forced into him, and every few minutes, his body twitched as if struggling against an unseen force.
Rook glared at Kruger. "What the hell did you do to him?"
Kruger chuckled, tapping a finger against his temple. "I simply showed him the future."
"That's not an answer."
Kruger leaned forward, his smile fading into something colder. "You still don't understand, do you? This war is already over. The world as you know it is collapsing, and you're clinging to the ruins like a fool." He gestured to Wolfe. "Your friend saw the truth. He accepted the change. And soon, you will too."
Rook pulled against his restraints. "Like hell I will."
Kruger sighed and leaned back. "I expected resistance. But no matter. Soon, we'll be home, and you'll see firsthand what I've built."
The truck rumbled forward, and through the reinforced bars, Rook saw Fort Ebonfang rising in the distance. A fortress of steel and concrete, surrounded by towering walls and hordes of undead soldiers patrolling alongside Kruger's living troops. Spotlights swept the perimeter, and mechanical turrets tracked movement with cold precision.
Rook's stomach twisted. Kruger had turned the undead into an army. A disciplined, controllable force.
The truck halted at the gates, and heavily armed guards flanked both sides as they were escorted inside. Rook struggled, but Kruger's enforcers held him firm.
Inside, a cold, sterile chamber awaited them. Monitors lined the walls, displaying battlefield footage—some of Kruger's forces overwhelming resistance fighters, others showing mutated soldiers—twisted, monstrous versions of men—tearing through survivors like paper.
At the center stood Dr. Sylvia "Plague Mistress" Voss, her sharp features illuminated by the glow of her screens. She smiled at Rook, adjusting her surgical gloves.
"Ah, the infamous Hellhound," she mused. "I've been dying to study you."
Rook sneered. "Don't touch me, freak."
Voss simply chuckled, turning to Kruger. "His vitals are strong. He'll make a fine candidate."
Rook's blood ran cold. Candidate for what?
Kruger clapped a hand on Rook's shoulder. "I told you, Sergeant… you'll see the truth soon enough."
The last thing Rook saw before darkness took him was a massive syringe being plunged into his arm.