"You are safe now," Derek said, patting the head of a boy with dirt-streaked cheeks and trembling hands.
The boy looked up at him with wide eyes, barely old enough to understand the danger he'd just survived. But he clung tightly to Derek's coat like it was the last solid thing in his crumbling world.
A wave of emotions hit the shelter. People who moments ago had been ready to die now surged with hope, some collapsing to their knees in relief, others crying out in praise and disbelief.
"Who are you?" an older man asked, his voice hoarse. " Are you a superhero? "
" Grandpa, at your age, you still believe in superheroes? " Derek thought.
He glanced around at the battered shelter—cracked walls, soot-smudged faces, the smell of smoke and metal still clinging to the air. "I'm just a guy doing what needs to be done."
"But the way you fought… the armour, the blades, those things didn't even touch you…" The man continued, almost in awe. "We thought we were finished."
More voices joined in, overlapping.
"You saved my son—he would've been taken like the others—"
"Thank you, thank you, thank you—"
"Please, what do we call you? You can't just walk out of here without telling us your name."
Derek sighed. He hadn't done this for praise. He never had. But something in their eyes—not worship, but raw, desperate gratitude—made him pause.
"Derek," he said after a beat. "Derek Carter."
A ripple went through the crowd.
"Derek Carter…"
"He's the one on the broadcast!"
"The guy with the mech suit— in the government broadcast!"
Derek looked away as the voices rose again, quietly reverent. The government's plan to turn him into a symbol that would boost morale was working. If it kept people moving forward, he didn't care.
He was even looking for ways to utilise the situation to his advantage.
"Alright, the soldiers and your families are outside, you can all move out with me."
Derek's voice cut through the chatter like a clean blade, firm but calm. He turned, leading the way out of the shelter. Behind him, footsteps echoed—slow at first, uncertain, but growing steadier with every step.
The battered door creaked open, revealing a small squad of army personnel already stationed nearby, watching the perimeter.
The squad, now aware of who he was, were respectful to him.
One of them saluted him immediately, the others falling in behind as civilians began to pour out in small, stunned groups.
Sunlight bathed them in warm gold. It wasn't salvation, but it looked like it.
Derek lifted a hand, tapping into his communicator. He connected to Andrew and the rest of the Genesis crew.
"Get Mayor Harkland and the army brass. Meeting. Ten minutes. Same place as before."
He could see the look of awe and silent thanks in their eyes; however, Derek would not wait for them to muster the courage to approach him. There were more important things to do, and...he was not used to being thanked a lot.
He walked out of the crowd to the waiting members of the Genesis Unit.
Yvalna looked at him, her exact thoughts unknown.
Three SUV rolled out towards the command centre beneath the city hall.
The meeting began shortly.
The command centre's overhead lights buzzed faintly before dimming, letting the flicker of wall-mounted monitors take over. A pale, bluish hue washed over the room as Derek stepped forward, the worn soles of his boots brushing over cracked tiles. Evelyn stood beside him, her breath still slightly ragged from the field. She handed him a small, battered drive—its casing nicked and warm from overuse, the etched symbol of the Genesis Unit almost rubbed off.
"This is all we got before the drone went dead," she said, voice low, lips tight.
Derek took the drive without a word. It was cool in his gloved palm, heavier than it looked, like it carried more than just data. He had asked Evelyn to use a drone to scout the beast horde beforehand.
He inserted it into the central console.
A low hum built beneath their feet as the main screen snapped to life with a sharp crackle, throwing sharp white-blue light across their faces. The console's holographic interface activated, thin lines of code streaming like rain over the surface of the table. The room stilled. Even the steady beeping from the medical equipment in the corner seemed to quiet in reverence.
Everyone leaned in.
The feed started with a smooth aerial shot—jagged rooftops jutting out from patches of ash and wild overgrowth. Smoke curled from blackened windows, and vines coiled around collapsed scaffolding like they had grown hungry.
Then, the drone zoomed in.
They saw the streets.
First seen on *.
A moving sea of bodies.
Creatures flowed down the roads like blood in veins, side by side, flank to flank—disciplined, silent. A grotesque rhythm to their march. Insectoid beasts with carapaces that pulsed like diseased organs. Towering brutes of muscle and bone, dragging crude, jagged weapons. And among them, quadrupeds with serpentine grace, their eyes glowing dimly, alert—too alert.
A collective exhale escaped the room.
Derek's eyes narrowed.
This wasn't a random migration. This was a convergence. They were all heading toward one spot.
The city centre, towards the shelters, if all these beasts walked into the city, there would be a bloodbath, and no one would walk out alive
The screen trembled suddenly. A high-pitched screech stabbed through the speakers like broken glass against skin.
"What the hell—" someone started.
Static overtook the feed for a heartbeat.
Then—
A flicker.
A blur.
And the image jerked violently.
A split-second frame: something sharp, black, curved like a scythe, flashing past.
Then the camera spiralled, tumbling through the air. A final glimpse of burning sky before everything turned dark.
The feed was cut to static.
A choked silence hung in the air like smog. Even the commanders who had seen death more times than they could count were still, breathing slowly and quietly.
"…Oh god," someone finally muttered. Their voice sounded too small for the room.