The town was silent, as if the earth itself had held its breath. The soldiers moved cautiously through the desolate streets, their boots crunching against shattered glass and debris. Konig led the group. The civilians had been evacuated long ago. Yet the town was far from deserted. Lurking in the shadows were creatures that bore a grotesque resemblance to humans. Their forms moved with a jerky, unnatural gait, their hollow eyes devoid of anything resembling humanity. These were the infected—the reason for the soldiers' presence. Their mission was clear: neutralize the danger, cleanse the town of its horrors, and survive. As they reached what might once have been a square, Konig signaling a halt. "Set up camp here," Konig ordered. "We rest for ten minutes. Keep your weapons ready." The soldiers froze, their breaths shallow and their eyes wide. A sound was approaching them. It was metallic and deliberate, as if something heavy was being dragged across the asphalt. And then they saw her. She emerged from the fog like a nightmare given form—a towering woman with broad shoulders. Her head was obscured by a massive pyramid-shaped helmet, its rusted surface marred with scratches and dried blood. Her body was draped in filthy rags that clung to her like a second skin. In one hand, she gripped a massive cross, its surface wrapped in cruel spirals of barbed wire. The cross was as tall as she was, its weight evident in the way it gouged deep furrows into the ground as she dragged it behind her. In her other hand, clenched tightly between her bloodied fingers, was an eye—a human eye—its optic nerve dangling. "Fire!" Konig commanded.