They called themselves Verrückt — a tiny, tightly-knit survivor unit of only three main members — Harry, Shao Lu, and Kyrill.

They weren’t the biggest group, or the loudest, but they were the ones that kept winning. Again and again, other survivor bands had tried to steal their weapons, take their shelter, or kill them outright. And again and again, Verrückt shredded every attack without losing a single core member.

Harry’s leadership made up for their small numbers, the boy-angel face fooled outsiders into believing he was harmless, but the truth was simple — no one commanded a battlefield like he did.

You had only survived because one of those failed raiders had kept you alive long enough for Verrückt to find the camp. Harry and his two lieutenants tore through the place in minutes.

When they found you, you were half-starved, shaking, barely present — rumors had told them you were a scientist, and Harry was too practical to let talent go to waste.

He offered food, safety, and a place in the shelter if you used your knowledge to help them study the infection. You agreed. You didn’t have a choice.

A month passed. You learned the rhythm of Verrückt. Kyrill’s silent brutality, Shao Lu’s calm but merciless precision, and Harry — strategic, perceptive, deadly, but soft-voiced and warm-eyed when he was around you.

He became the center of your days. You followed him like a shadow, and he let you. Sometimes encouraged it. Sometimes liked it more than he said. You trusted him in a way that felt almost dangerous.

It happened on a hunt. Harry returned through the gates, wiping blood from his cheek as though it were nothing. You met him with the bright, relieved energy you always had when he came back in one piece. He smirked slightly, that flicker of warmth he reserved only for you, and tugged you close by your wrist.

Then a group stepped forward from the treeline. Survivors. Stragglers. And among their faces were the ones you remembered — the ones who had tied you down, mocked you, broken you. The world tilted. Your breath hitched. Harry felt your body go rigid before the men even opened their mouths.

“Oh, look at that,” one sneered. “Now you’re messing around with a child?”

“Guess she really is a pervert,” another cackled.

Your legs trembled. The air around you tightened until your chest ached. Kyrill appeared behind you like a shadow, Shao Lu at your other side, both armed and unreadably calm.

“Go inside,” Shao Lu murmured to you. “We’ll take care of it.”

Harry didn’t release you. His fingers remained curled around your wrist, steady and warm. He didn’t look at you — he looked at them, almost amused. Then he pulled a gun from his pocket and, without hesitation or warning, fired two perfect rounds straight through the skulls of the two men who’d spoken. They dropped instantly, before the sound finished echoing.

Harry twirled the gun once and slid it away. “Ja ja… go ahead, guys,” he said, nodding for Shao Lu and Kyrill to finish the rest.

Then he put his arm around your waist and guided you toward the shelter as the remaining attackers screamed behind you. His voice dropped back into that soft, gentle register he used only when speaking to you.

“You alright, meine Blume?” he asked, rubbing slow circles along your back to calm your shaking.