Ezra was quick to realize that this was the fade and not his friend Ryan.
Instinct kicked in. Adrenaline rushed through him and he turned and ran.
The garden flew by as he ran, broken pots, dead bushes, and cold air biting at his lungs.
He felt it behind him. Chasing. He glanced back at it. And it wasn't running at him. No it lurched, jerky and wrong, but fast. Too fast for something as brainless as it was.
Moonlight illuminated its twisted form. Making it look even scarier.
Ezra kept running through the garden, his boots slipping on broken stuff scattered everywhere.
He burst into Ryan's house, slammed the door shut, and locked it with a sharp click.
Backing away, he stared at the door, hoping the Faded wouldn't be able to open it.
And he was right. locking the door technically worked.
Too bad the Faded didn't bother with doorknobs, it just blasted through like a wrecking ball.
"Shit," Ezra breathed, already running again.
He dodged furniture, hoping the tight space would slow it down. Nope. The Fade was still faster.
A snarl, a blur, and it slammed into him. Ezra hit the floor, air almost knocked out.
The thing that used to be Ryan pinned him and tried to bite him. It was all waxy skin and wild strength.
Ezra had seen zombies in movies back in his old life they were slow, clumsy, weak. But this one? It was insane. Strong as hell, and moved like some kind of rabid animal.
He fought back, adrenaline pumping. He twisted, got his legs under, and kicked hard. The blow landed with a sick thud, sending it staggering. It shrieked, a sound like metal on bone, and collapsed, its arm bent at a grotesque angle.
For a split second, a sliver of hope, and raw anguish, pierced through Ezra's terror. "Ryan!" he gasped, scrambling backward, "Snap out of it! It's me, Zaeryn! What the hell is happening to you?!"
The Faded snarled again, a primal, mindless sound. Its arm lashed out, a clawed hand raking across Ezra's side. Pain flared, sharp and immediate, even through his fabric.
Ryan was gone, all that was left was the mindless monster wearing his skin. And Ezra was still having a hard time admitting that.
"Fuck!" Ezra realized it had touched him.
No, that was an understatement. It had actually scratched him right across the ribs with those Fade-infected arms.
Did that mean he was going to turn too? Was that it? One scratch and boom, monster mode?
The infected lunged again, snarling. Ezra kicked it in the chest, hard, and it went crashing into a shelf, knocking it over in a loud, splintering mess.
But then, his vision swam and he saw the room tilting sideways. And his legs felt weird. Like they weren't his. Wobbly. Heavy.
Ezra stumbled, catching himself against a wall. His heart was still pounding, but now it felt all... off. It was beating too fast, like it was trying to outrun whatever was already in his bloodstream.
A cold sweat broke out across Ezra's skin. Was it hot in here? Or freezing? Both?
His side burned where the scratch was, but it wasn't normal pain. It itched, deep under the skin, like something was crawling inside. "Shit," he whispered, blinking hard. "Is this it? My worst fear is coming true!"
He was losing balance.
Losing control.
But the infected got back to its feet and growled, and Ezra's adrenaline kicked in again like a slap to the face, making him realize: now was not the time to turn, he had to get out of here.
Ezra bolted, ignoring the fire ripping through his ribs. He burst through the door and into the open night, breath ragged, heartbeat a war drum in his ears.
But it was right behind him.
Ryan… no, the thing that used to be Ryan, chased with inhuman speed, faster than it had any right to be. For a walking corpse, it sure moved like a starving predator. Some instinct buried deep in its rotted brain still knew how to hunt.
Ezra barely turned when he hit the pavement hard. His ankle twisted, momentum gone. The faded was on him in a second, snarling, jaws open wide for his throat.
"You're a persistent one aren't you!?" Ezra snapped.
With a roar, he grabbed the creature by the throat and slammed it into the ground so hard the concrete cracked. He didn't once. Then twice. And a third time for good measure.
It writhed, but he didn't let up.
"You're not Ryan," Ezra growled, eyes burning. "You're just wearing his damn face."
The thing clawed at him, but Ezra drove a knee into its chest and punched, not out of desperation, but with fury.
It was the kind of punch that shattered bones. The kind that made the thing twitch. Even Ezra was surprised by how much strength he had, it was immense. It tried to bite him again, but Ezra grabbed its jaw.
And ripped.
The scream it let out wasn't human anymore. Neither was Ezra, at that moment.
Breathing hard, chest heaving, he stood over the twitching remains. Blood soaked his hands and his outfits.
He looked down at what was left of the fade. He didn't blame himself because he knew that was not his friend anymore. This world wasn't fair. But that didn't mean he had to play by its rules.
Just then, a dark blue hover-cruiser descended like a shark from the sky, thrusters hissing as it slowed to a hover just above the cracked asphalt.
Blue underglow lit the street below in erie halos as the side doors hissed open with a hydraulic shhk.
Two women stepped out, tall, commanding, wrapped in sleek navy suits layered over polished power armor.
The taller one had silver-gray hair slicked back in a braid, her blade glowing faintly blue.
The other had short crimson locks, and her blade pulsed red. Both were curvy as hell, their suits clinging to their bodices in all the right places, in ways that made it hard not to notice. They looked like they'd stepped off the cover of Deadly & Delicious.
And they moved like they'd already assessed fifty ways to kill him.
Their eyeshade masks retracted with a soft click, revealing cold, calculating eyes. Swords were already in their hands, aimed and steady.
In this world, guns were rare, basically useless. Humanity's wars weren't against each other anymore, but against monsters from space that shrugged off bullets like rain.
So instead, the elite warriors, known as War-Ladys, used swords. Not ordinary swords. These were high-tech, magic-infused blades made to slice through things guns couldn't even scratch.
"Oh, now they fucking show up?" Ezra muttered, his voice dry but tight with fatigue.
The two women approached, their boots crunching against the cracked asphalt, but came to a stop several meters away. "Look, behind him. A dead infected?" said the one with the red blade, her tone wary. Her name was Arya.
Mireille, the one with the blue sword, looked just as stunned as her partner.
And honestly? Fair enough. Infected were ridiculously strong. It usually took a War-Lady to put one down, and even then, it wasn't a clean fight. It was blood, grit, and sometimes if the War-lady was not powerful enough, they would need help. So to see one lying there, twisted in a mangled heap?
Yeah. That was shocking. Even more shocking? Was that, it was a guy who did it.
Arya lowered her weapon slightly, eyes wide with disbelief.
"No way. What in goddess Marea's mercy is going on here? He ripped that thing apart? But… but he's a male. That's impossible."
Ezra just stared at the ground, too exhausted to answer. His body shook, not with fear, just with the effort of still being alive.
Mireille's eyes sharpened as she stepped closer. Her gaze locked onto his, and didn't blink. "Arya, careful. He's scratched. He could turn any second now." She warned.
In a heartbeat, both women raised their swords again. A whisper of steel. A breath away from violence.
"Hey. Don't move, man," Mireille warned.
Ezra raised his bloodied hands slowly, chest heaving.
"Uh… hi?"
They didn't blink.
"State your designation," Mireille snapped, voice like polished glass.
"Designation?" Ezra blinked, annoyed, "Dude, I barely know my blood type right now."
Arya confidently took a step forward. "You're infected." Compared to Mireille she sounded less hostile.
Ezra's spine stiffened, he looked at his scratched rib, and realized that he wasn't in pain anymore or feeling like something was wrong with him. "No. Maybe. I mean, I got scratched. But I'm still talking, and I don't feel any pain, infact, I feel better. That's gotta count for something, right?"
Now that the two women were closer, Ezra finally got a good look at them.
Mireille, the taller one, had a bold presence that practically smacked you in the face. Her dark blue suit hugged her curves under the power armor, showing off her full chest and thick thighs like it was designed to distract. Her long silver braid swayed behind her with every step, like it had its own attitude.
Arya stood just behind her—slim, but not soft. Her hips flared just enough to make you look twice, even if she wasn't as stacked as Mireille. Her short red hair framed a sharp, serious face, and the look in her eyes said she didn't miss much.
Their swords didn't lower. If anything, they leaned in.
"Protocol is clear," Mireille said. "Potential Fade contamination. Quarantine or neutralize."
"Neutralise?" Ezra laughed, more from getting annoyed by them than humor. "You know, I had a real crap evening already. I killed my friend. Almost got infected. Ripped his jaw off. I think I've earned, like, five minutes before you start slicing."
The two women stayed silent, buffled by his sarcasm in this situation. They looked at each other.
Then Mireille's blade dropped half an inch.
Arya said, "Impressive, he's resisting conversion," she said, almost curious.
Mireille's eyes narrowed. "Unregistered immunity?"
"Maybe I'm just built different," Ezra muttered, swaying slightly. "Or maybe I'm about to hurl my spleen onto this street. Could go either way."
That earned him a twitch of Arya's lips. She was smiling, at the sarcasm, the absurd defiance. Like she couldn't decide if he was brave, stupid, or both.
The she looked at Mireille.
The women exchanged a glance. Some silent message passed between them. Mireille nodded.
Mireille, the stern one sighed. "You will be detained. Not terminated, yet."
Ezra wobbled. "Detain as in... 'spa day with supervision' or like 'chained in a dungeon until I sprout extra limbs'? I'm okay with the first option, but I'm not with the latter, so which one is it?"
Neither of them answered.
Just at that moment, Ezra felt his vision going weak again. The scratch on his side that had stopped hurting, began to burn again, but it was more than just pain; it was a creeping chill, spreading through his veins, turning his limbs heavy.
He felt a weird, distant buzzing in his head, a growing pressure behind his eyes.
No. Not now. Not like this.
He tried to run, to scream a warning to the two War-ladies In Front of him, but his legs faltered. The world tilted. The flashing lights of the cruiser seemed to stretch and warp, pulling into long, distorted streaks of color.
The War-ladys exchanged some words, probably panicking, but he couldn't hear them.
The figures of the armed women blurred, their voices fading into a muffled roar.
He felt himself losing control, a cold wave washing over him, stealing his breath, his strength, his consciousness. He swayed, then pitched forward. Was this him, losing control, turning into an infected too?
It seemed like what he feared the most had happened.
Darkness took over.
When Ezra finally opened his eyes, he wasn't lying on the street. He wasn't in Ryan's ruined garden, or Ysmeine's apartment, or any place he knew.
He was standing in a vast, empty space.
Everything was black, stretching endlessly in all directions, as if he were suspended in the deepest void. Yet, he could see his own hands, his outfits, the faint outline of his body against the profound darkness.
There was no sound, no sensation of ground beneath his feet, no air to breathe, yet he felt perfectly stable, perfectly whole.
It was unnerving, serene, and utterly impossible.
'What the hell is this? Am I dead? Is this... What being a fade infected feels like?' he asked himself.
A sudden flash of light, like a burst of captured starlight, flared directly in front of him. It wasn't blinding, but rather inviting, swirling into a perfectly formed, crystalline cube. Inside the cube, shimmering symbols and intricate glyphs rotated slowly, alien yet strangely compelling.
As Ezra stared, a soft, resonant voice, clear as chimes but deep as the earth, echoed through the boundless silence.
It spoke directly into his mind, not through his ears.
[Welcome, Ezra]
[Your System has been awakened]
*Sigh.*
"The system decides to show up now?"