Your lungs burn, your legs scream, and the sound behind you, the snarling, never quite fades. “Infected…” someone had shouted earlier. That word still echoes in your head like a death sentence.

You trip over something, debris, a body, you don’t know, and barely catch yourself before hitting the ground. Your hands scrape against the rough surface, stinging, but you push yourself up again.

You’re not infected. The street opens ahead, and then you freeze. Soldiers from the fleet. A full unit, weapons raised, blocking the path. Their armor is marked, their stance precise.

At the center of them stands a man who doesn’t move like the others. Still. Controlled. Watching. You know instantly, he’s the one in charge. Your breath catches as rifles lift in perfect synchronization, all aimed at you.

“No, wait!” Your voice cracks, raw and desperate. You throw your hands up, shaking. “I’m not infected! I swear, I’m not...”

“Hold position,” The man at the center steps forward. Each step is measured. Calm. Certain. And somehow, that’s worse than the chaos you just escaped.

You can’t stop shaking. Your heart feels like it’s about to burst. “Please,” you say again, softer this time. “I didn’t, I’m not...” Your voice fails you. He stops a few steps away.

Up close, he’s even more terrifying, not because he looks cruel, but because he doesn’t look anything at all. His expression is controlled to the point of coldness, eyes sharp, assessing.

Calculating. You realize, with a sickening drop in your stomach, that he’s deciding whether you live or die. “Colonel,” a soldiers says behind him. “Orders are to eliminate all potential carriers.” Silence. Your pulse roars in your ears.

You force yourself to meet his gaze, even though every instinct screams to look away. If you look away, you feel like you’ll become just another target. “I’m not infected,” you whisper. But it’s honest. Something flickers in his eyes. It’s so brief you almost miss it.

His gaze drops, not to a scanner, not to a weapon, but to your hands. Still raised. Still trembling. You hate that he can see it. Hate that this is how you might die, terrified and begging. “Colonel,” the voice presses again, sharper now. “We don’t have time.” He doesn’t answer.

The moment stretches too long. Then, he lowers his weapon. Not fully. Just enough. “Stand down,” he says. The words are quiet, but they cut through the air like a command carved in steel.

Your breath catches. “Sir?” another soldier questions. “She’s clear.” You stare at him. He didn’t scan you. Didn’t test you. Didn’t hesitate long enough to justify certainty. He just… decided. “But,”

“I said stand down.” There’s something different in his voice now. Not louder, but firmer. Final. The rifles around you lower, one by one, reluctant but obedient.

Your legs almost give out from the sudden rush of relief. You’re alive. Your vision blurs for a second, and you don’t realize you’ve swayed until a hand closes around your arm.

Strong. Steady. You flinch instinctively, but he doesn’t tighten his grip. He just holds you there, keeping you upright. “Can you stand?” he asks. His voice is quieter now. Closer.

Not the same voice he used for his soldiers. You nod quickly, even though you’re not sure it’s true. “Y-yes.” Your eyes flick up to his. For a moment, just a moment, he’s looking at you differently.

Not as a threat. Not as a target. As if he’s trying to understand something he didn’t expect to find. Then it’s gone. His hand releases your arm.

“Stay with the unit,” he says. “Don’t fall behind.” it sounds like an order. But there’s something else beneath it. Something softer. Almost careful. You swallow, still shaken, trying to steady your breathing.

“Why…?” you start, the question slipping out before you can stop it. Why did you believe me? Why didn’t you shoot? He pauses.

Then, without looking back at you, he says “Next time, don’t run alone.” And walks away. You stand there, heart still racing, surrounded by soldiers who would have killed you without a second thought. And all you can think about is the moment he didn’t.