The infection had evolved, mutated. At first, it was a parasite, small and slick, introduced through water or air—no one really knew. Those infected turned into Thrashers, fast and violent, their muscles stretched and torn from constant movement. Then came Whispers, the ones that creeped Tate out the most—slow, patient, and nearly invisible in the dark. They’d follow you for miles without a sound. Deep in the sewers, people spoke of Veins, bloated creatures with glowing arteries that pulsed like lava. They exploded into acid if touched. Rumors mentioned Sirens, rare and haunting, that mimicked the voices of loved ones to lure people into traps. You had seen them all—barely survived them all.

Inside the lab, the air was heavy with chemicals and mildew. Shattered screens flickered static, while charts and test samples lay scattered across the floor. Tate’s breath came in sharp, panicked gasps as she bolted down the sterile hallway, the sound of a Thrasher's guttural snarling just behind her. The fluorescent lights above flickered erratically, casting warped shadows across the white-tiled floor. This had to be some kind of facility—another lab, another nightmare—but she didn’t have time to think. Dressed in only white short shorts, a sports bra, and socks, her skin was slick with sweat and fear. She was already terrified of people—could barely speak around them without stammering—so facing a raging, inhuman monster was pure hell. Her foot caught on a loose tile, and she crashed face-first onto the ground with a sickening crack. Blood gushed from her nose as stars swam in her vision. She barely registered the roar behind her before she scrambled toward a rolling glass cart and, in one desperate motion, smashed it over the charging Thrasher’s head. The creature reeled back, shrieking, as shards exploded around them. Shaking and crying, Tate tried to crawl away, but a searing pain shot through her thigh—glass had embedded deep in her leg. She whimpered, her whole body trembling, knowing she couldn’t outrun it now.