The screech of claws against metal set Keith’s teeth on edge. The chain link rattled, the fence bowing under the weight of too many hands. Not wild, mindless thrashing—this was coordinated. Testing. Probing.
Lance’s voice was low, tight. “They’re not just trying to break through. They’re… looking for weak spots.”
Keith’s stomach twisted. He’d seen the infected before. Relentless, yes, but never like this. Never thinking.
Shiro’s voice carried across the courtyard, steady and commanding. “Hold positions. Lanterns up. Don’t waste ammo unless they breach.”
The compound was still dark, the generator silent, but the patrol moved with practiced precision. Survivors lined the barricades, weapons raised, lanterns casting shaky circles of light into the night. The glow caught glimpses of faces beyond the fence, sunken eyes, twisted mouths, too many of them to count.
Then one of the infected did something Keith had never seen before. It gripped the fence high, pulling itself up, its movements jerky but purposeful. Another followed, then another, climbing like grotesque shadows.
Lance swore under his breath. “They’re climbing. They’re actually adapting.”
Keith’s grip tightened on his knife. “Then we adapt faster.”
The fence groaned under the weight. The infected at the top reached through the links, clawing at the air, their guttural cries rising in a chilling chorus.
Shiro barked orders. “Torches! Drive them back!”
Flames flared along the barricade as survivors lit makeshift torches, thrusting them toward the fence. The infected shrieked, recoiling from the fire—but they didn’t scatter. They clung tighter, their claws raking sparks from the chain link. Keith’s pulse hammered. This wasn’t just another attack. This was a warning.
Lance’s shoulder brushed his, steady despite the fear in his eyes. “Guess the honeymoon’s over.”
Keith smirked grimly, knife ready. “Then let’s make sure they don’t get an invitation inside.”
The night erupted with sound, the clash of claws against steel, the roar of fire, the shouts of survivors holding the line. And in the dark, Keith realized the world outside wasn’t just dangerous anymore. The fence shuddered again, the chain links groaning under the weight of too many bodies. The infected weren’t just pressing, they were climbing, clawing, pulling in unison. The sound was unbearable: metal shrieking, claws scraping, guttural cries rising in a sickening chorus.
Keith’s knife was steady in his hand, but his pulse hammered. This wasn’t the mindless horde he’d fought before. This was something else. Something worse.
Lance’s voice was low, tight. “They’re coordinating. You see it, right? They’re not just throwing themselves at the fence...they’re working together.”
Keith nodded grimly. “I see it.”
From the courtyard, Shiro’s voice cut through the chaos. “Hold steady! Don’t fire until they breach!” His tone was calm, but Keith could hear the strain beneath it.
The lanterns flickered, their weak glow barely holding back the dark. Shadows writhed beyond the fence, dozens, maybe hundreds. And then Keith saw it: one of the infected crouched low, boosting another higher up the chain link.
His stomach dropped. “They’re getting smarter.”
The one climbing reached the top, claws hooking over the edge. Its face pressed against the wire, eyes sunken but sharp, too sharp. It let out a sound that wasn’t a moan, wasn’t a scream. It was a call. A signal.
The fence bowed inward, the metal groaning. Survivors shouted, torches flaring as they thrust fire toward the climbing infected. Flames licked the air, driving some back, but others clung tighter, shrieking as their flesh blistered.
Lance raised his rifle, jaw tight. “If they get through—”
“They won’t,” Keith snapped, though his voice was harsher than he meant. He forced himself to steady, to breathe. “We won’t let them.”
The infected slammed against the fence again, harder this time. The posts rattled in their concrete bases. One of the welds popped with a sharp metallic crack.
Shiro’s voice rang out, louder now. “Reinforce the line! Everyone on the north barricade!”
The compound erupted into motion, survivors rushing with torches, weapons, anything they could carry. The dark pressed in, the generator still silent, every flicker of flame throwing monstrous shadows across the courtyard.
Keith’s grip tightened on his knife. The infected weren’t just evolving. They were learning.
And if the stronghold didn’t hold tonight, there wouldn’t be a tomorrow.
The fence bowed inward with a metallic groan, the sound sharp enough to cut through the shouts and the roar of fire. The infected weren’t just clawing, they were climbing, pulling, working together.
Keith’s chest tightened. This wasn’t chaos. This was intent.
Shiro’s voice rang out across the courtyard, steady but urgent. “Reinforce the north line! Torches forward, rifles ready!”
Survivors surged into position, their faces pale in the flickering lantern light. The compound was still dark, the generator silent, but the patrol moved with grim precision.
Keith pressed shoulder to shoulder with Lance at the barricade. The heat from the torches licked at his skin, the smell of burning cloth and oil thick in the air. Beyond the fence, the horde writhed, dozens of them, maybe more, their guttural cries rising in a chilling chorus.
One of the infected reached the top of the fence, claws hooking over the edge. Its eyes locked on Keith, too sharp, too aware. It hissed, a sound that wasn’t mindless at all.
Lance raised his rifle, jaw tight. “Tell me that thing didn’t just look at you.”
Keith’s grip tightened on his knife. “I think it did."
The infected lunged, claws raking through the chain link. Keith slashed upward, steel meeting flesh. The creature shrieked, tumbling back into the mass below. But another was already climbing, then another.
The fence shuddered again, the welds popping one by one.
“Hold the line!” Shiro barked. “Don’t let them through!”
Flames flared as torches thrust forward, the fire driving some of the infected back. But others clung tighter, shrieking as their skin blistered, refusing to let go.
Keith’s pulse hammered. They weren’t just surviving anymore. They were evolving. No, the virus was evolving.
Lance’s voice was low, almost a growl. “If they get through—”
“They won’t,” Keith snapped, though his voice was harsher than he meant. He forced himself to steady, to breathe. “Not while we’re here.”
The horde slammed against the fence again, harder this time. The posts rattled in their concrete bases. Somewhere in the dark, another weld gave way with a sharp crack.
And then the fence began to buckle.
The fence lurched inward, the chain link bowing under the weight of clawed hands and bodies pressing in unison.
Shiro’s voice cut through the night, firm and unyielding. “Open fire!”
Gunfire cracked in the dark, muzzle flashes strobing against the barricade. The smell of gunpowder mixed with smoke and sweat, the air thick with the roar of rifles and the shrieks of the infected.
Keith moved without thinking, blade flashing as one of the creatures clawed through a gap in the fence. He slashed upward, steel biting into flesh, and shoved the body back into the mass beyond.
Beside him, Lance fired in controlled bursts, his jaw tight, eyes sharp. “They’re not stopping!” he shouted over the gunfire.
Keith’s chest heaved, adrenaline burning through him. “Then neither do we!”
The infected pressed harder, climbing over their dead, clawing higher up the fence. The posts rattled, concrete bases cracking under the strain. Every shot dropped one, but two more took its place.
A torch flared to Keith’s left, the firelight catching the twisted faces beyond the wire. For a heartbeat, he swore he saw recognition in their eyes. Not hunger. Not instinct. Awareness.
The thought chilled him more than the night air.
Another weld snapped. The fence sagged dangerously, the infected surging forward with renewed force.
Shiro’s voice rang out again, steady but urgent. “Hold the line! Reinforce the center!”
Keith shoved his shoulder against the barricade, bracing it as Lance fired over his head. The recoil jolted through Lance’s arms, but he didn’t falter.
“Keith!” Lance shouted, his voice raw. “If this fence goes—”
Keith gritted his teeth, muscles straining. “Then we make damn sure it doesn’t.”
The night was chaos, gunfire, firelight, the shrieks of the infected, but Keith felt the line hold, if only barely.
Muzzle flashes lit the barricade in stuttering bursts, each shot carving brief, violent snapshots of the chaos: twisted faces pressed against the chain link, clawed hands reaching through gaps, survivors bracing the fence with their shoulders as the metal screamed under the strain.
Keith slashed at a hand that broke through, the blade biting deep. The creature shrieked, jerking back into the mass beyond. But another was already climbing, its claws raking sparks from the wire.
Beside him, Lance fired in controlled bursts, his jaw clenched, sweat streaking his face in the firelight. “They’re not breaking off!” he shouted over the din.
Keith shoved his shoulder harder against the fence, muscles burning. “Then we don’t either!”
Another weld snapped. The fence sagged dangerously, the infected surging forward with renewed force. One of them managed to hook its arm through, clawing wildly. A survivor screamed as the claws raked across his chest, dragging him toward the wire.
Keith lunged, knife flashing. He severed the arm at the elbow, shoving the survivor back into the line. Blood sprayed, hot and metallic in the air.
Shiro’s voice rang out, steady even in the chaos. “Hold the line! Reinforce the center! Don’t let them breach!”
Torches flared, firelight roaring against the dark. The infected shrieked, recoiling from the flames,but they didn’t scatter. They pressed harder, climbing over their dead, their guttural cries rising in a chilling chorus.
Keith’s chest heaved, adrenaline burning through him. This wasn’t just survival anymore. This was war.
Lance’s shoulder pressed against his, steady and unyielding. “If this fence goes—”
Keith cut him off, voice raw but certain. “Then we fight them here. Every last one.”
The fence groaned again, the posts rattling in their bases. Beyond the wire, the horde surged, clawed hands reaching, eyes glinting with something Keith had never seen before.
Not hunger. Not instinct.
And in that moment, Keith knew: the infected weren’t just evolving. They were learning.
The fence sagged dangerously, the posts groaning in their bases. Another weld snapped, sparks spitting into the night. The infected surged, clawed hands reaching, guttural cries rising in a single, awful chorus.
Keith braced his shoulder against the barricade, knife slick in his grip. Lance fired over his head, muzzle flashes strobing the chaos. “They’re gonna break through!”
Not from the courtyard. Not from the fence. From across town.
A shrill, wailing siren. Piercing. Relentless.
The infected froze. For a heartbeat, the horde went still, their clawed hands tightening on the chain link. Then, as one, their heads turned toward the sound.
Keith’s breath caught. “A siren.”
Lance blinked, lowering his rifle slightly. “That’s… that’s a police siren.”
The horde shrieked, the sound rising into a frenzy. And then, like a tide shifting, they began to peel away from the fence. Clawed hands released the chain link. Bodies dropped back into the dark. The fence rattled as the weight lifted.
One by one, then in clusters, the infected turned and lurched toward the sound, their cries echoing through the night as they poured into the streets beyond.
The survivors held their breath, weapons still raised, torches still burning. No one moved until the last of the clawed hands slipped from the wire.
The fence sagged, battered but holding. The courtyard reeked of smoke and blood, the air thick with the stench of gunpowder. Survivors stood frozen, eyes wide, chests heaving.
Lance exhaled shakily, lowering his rifle. “Well. That’s… convenient.”
Keith didn’t relax. His grip on the knife stayed tight, his eyes fixed on the empty street beyond the fence. “Convenient doesn’t mean safe. Something set that off.”
Shiro’s voice rang out, steady but grim. “Stay sharp. We don’t know how long we’ve got.”
The siren wailed on in the distance, drawing the horde farther into the city. But Keith’s chest stayed tight. The infected weren’t mindless anymore. They were adapting.
And if they could learn to climb, to coordinate…
It was only a matter of time before they came back.
The last of the infected melted into the dark, their guttural cries fading toward the wailing siren across town. The sudden silence was almost worse than the chaos, like the air itself was holding its breath.
Keith stayed braced against the fence, knife still in hand, until Shiro’s voice cut through the quiet. “Hold positions. Don’t assume it’s over.”
The survivors didn’t move. Rifles stayed raised, torches still flared, eyes locked on the empty street beyond the barricade. The fence sagged inward, battered and bent, but it held. For now.
Shiro strode down the line, his voice steady but grim. “We’ve bought time, nothing more. Stay sharp. Patrols double up until the generator’s back online.”
Keith glanced toward the hospital. The windows were dark, the halls inside swallowed in shadow. Without the generator, the stronghold felt exposed, fragile.
Matt and Katie were down there, racing to bring the power back. He trusted them, but every second the compound stayed dark was another second the infected could return.
Lance nudged his shoulder, his grin faint but forced. “Hey. Look on the bright side. At least they didn’t get through.”
Keith’s jaw tightened. “Not this time.”
Because he couldn’t shake the image of those clawed hands gripping the fence, the way the infected had boosted each other higher, the way their eyes had locked on him with something more than hunger.
They weren’t just surviving anymore. They were adapting.
And Keith knew, deep down, that the next time the horde came back, the fence might not be enough.
The generator room stank of oil and ozone, the air heavy with heat despite the blackout. Emergency lanterns cast weak pools of light across the machinery, shadows stretching long and jagged against the walls.
Matt crouched by the control panel, hands moving fast, pencil tucked behind his ear. The hum that should’ve been steady and reassuring was gone, replaced by silence broken only by the distant thud of gunfire outside.
Katie was already elbow‑deep in the wiring, her small hands moving with practiced precision. Sparks spat as she twisted two frayed ends together, her jaw tight. “The main line’s fried. Again.”
Matt swore under his breath. “That’s the third time this month, according to the engineers.”
“Yeah, well, the infected don’t exactly give us time for routine maintenance,” Katie snapped, though her voice trembled just enough to betray the strain.
Another burst of gunfire echoed through the concrete walls. Both of them froze, listening. The fence. The others.
Katie’s eyes flicked to him, wide in the lantern glow. “They won’t hold without power.”
Matt forced his hands steady, flipping through his notes. Schematics, half‑finished calculations, scrawled reminders. “We reroute through the auxiliary coil. It’ll bypass the fried line, but…”
“But it’ll overload if we push it too hard,” Katie finished, already reaching for the tools.
Matt nodded grimly. “Better a short burst of light than none at all.”
Katie’s hands moved fast, sparks flying as she stripped wires and jammed them into place. Matt adjusted the dials, sweat dripping down his temple. The silence outside stretched, broken only by the faint, awful chorus of the infected.
Katie muttered, “Come on, come on…”
Matt threw the final switch.
For a heartbeat, nothing.
Then the generator roared to life, coughing and sputtering before settling into a low, uneven hum. The lights flickered, weak but steady, spilling across the concrete walls.
Katie let out a shaky laugh, wiping her forehead with the back of her hand. “We’ve got power.”
Matt didn’t smile. He stared at the trembling needles on the gauges, the way the hum wavered. “For now.”
Outside, the gunfire still echoed. The fence still groaned. And Matt knew the generator wasn’t the only thing being pushed past its limits.
The courtyard was still thick with smoke and the acrid tang of gunpowder when the lights flickered back to life. Weak at first, bare bulbs sputtering overhead, then steadier, humming faintly as the generator held steady.
A ripple went through the survivors. Shoulders eased, rifles lowered just a fraction. The dark no longer pressed so close.
Keith didn’t relax. He kept his knife in hand, eyes fixed on the sagging fence. The claw marks were deep, gouged into the chain link like signatures. Proof.
Lance let out a long breath, lowering his rifle. “Well, would you look at that. Our geniuses pulled it off.” He tilted his head toward the hospital. “Remind me to hug Pidge later.”
Keith smirked faintly, though his chest was still tight. “She’d stab you.”
“Worth it,” Lance muttered, but his grin didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Shiro moved down the line, his voice steady but grim. “Good work holding the barricade. But don’t fool yourselves, this wasn’t a victory. The horde didn’t retreat. They were drawn away.”
Keith’s gaze flicked toward the city, where the siren still wailed faintly in the distance. “And when it stops?”
Shiro’s jaw tightened. “Then they’ll most likely come back.”
The survivors shifted uneasily, the flickering lights casting long shadows across their faces. The reprieve felt thin, fragile.
Lance nudged Keith’s shoulder, his voice low. “You saw it too, right? The way they moved. The way they… worked together.”
Keith nodded, his throat tight. “They’re evolving, adapting... changing.”
Lance swallowed hard, his usual bravado stripped away. “Yeah. And if they keep changing…”
Keith didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The claw marks on the fence said enough.
The siren wailed on, pulling the infected deeper into the city. The generator hummed weakly, the lights trembling overhead. And in the uneasy quiet, Keith knew this was only the beginning.
The infected didn't return.
The morning after the attack, the compound felt different. The fence still stood, but it bore the scars of the night before, deep gouges, twisted links, posts leaning where the welds had given way. Survivors moved along the perimeter in grim silence, patching holes with scavenged steel plates, welding reinforcements where they could. The acrid smell of burnt metal hung in the air.
Keith worked shoulder‑to‑shoulder with Shiro, bracing a section of chain link while sparks flew from the welder’s torch. Every clang of hammer on steel echoed like a warning: this won’t hold forever.
Lance leaned against a post nearby, rifle slung over his shoulder, trying to mask his unease with a grin. “You know, if we keep patching this thing, it’s gonna look more like a junkyard sculpture than a fence.”
Keith shot him a look. “As long as it keeps them out.”
Lance’s grin faltered, but he nodded. “Yeah. As long as it holds.”
Below, Matt and Katie worked tirelessly, the generator’s uneven hum filling the concrete chamber. Katie’s hands were blackened with grease, her eyes sharp as she adjusted the wiring.
Matt scribbled notes, muttering calculations under his breath. “We’ve bought ourselves time, but the coil’s unstable. If we push it too hard again, it’ll blow.”
Katie didn’t look up. “Then we don’t push it. We make it better.”
Matt frowned. “With what parts? We’re running on scraps.”
Katie finally glanced at him, her expression fierce. “Then we find more.”
By afternoon, the scavenging team was assembled. Shiro gave the orders, his voice steady. “We need fuel cells, wiring, anything that can stabilize the generator. Keith, you’re with Lance, Matt, and Katie this time. Stay sharp. The horde’s been drawn off, but they’ll circle back.”
Keith adjusted the strap on his blade, nodding. He’d wanted to be out there, to see the city for himself. To face what was changing.
The streets were eerily quiet as they moved out, the siren long since silenced. Burned‑out cars lined the roads, windows shattered, the smell of rot lingering in the air. Every shadow felt alive.
Lance kept his rifle ready, muttering under his breath. “Hate this part. Too quiet. Like the city’s holding its breath.”
Keith scanned the rooftops, the alleys, every broken window. “Stay focused.”
They reached the husk of an old electronics store, its windows shattered, shelves overturned. Katie darted inside first, eyes scanning for salvageable wiring. Matt followed, already pulling tools from his pack.
Keith and Lance took up guard at the door. The silence pressed in, broken only by the distant caw of crows.
A figure stepped from the shadows of the alley across the street. Tall, lean, his pale hair catching the weak light. His clothes were worn but intact, his posture calm, almost regal.
He didn’t lurch like the infected. He didn’t carry himself like the desperate scavengers Keith had seen before. He moved with purpose.
The stranger raised his hands slowly, palms open. His voice carried across the empty street, smooth and deliberate.
Lance muttered under his breath. “Famous last words.”
Keith’s grip tightened on his knife. The man’s eyes were sharp, calculating, too calm for someone alone in a city crawling with infected.
“Name’s Lotor,” the stranger said, his gaze flicking between them. “And if you want to survive what’s coming… you’re going to need me.”
The silence stretched, broken only by the faint hum of the generator back at the compound and the distant caw of crows.
Lotor stood in the middle of the street, hands raised, his pale hair catching the weak light. He didn’t flinch under the weight of their weapons. If anything, he looked… amused.
Lance muttered, rifle steady. “I don’t like this. Too smooth. Too calm.”
Matt’s voice carried from inside the store, muffled but urgent. “Keith? What’s going on out there?”
Keith didn’t answer. His eyes stayed locked on Lotor. Something about the man set his instincts on edge. He didn’t move like a scavenger. He didn’t look like someone who’d been scraping by in the ruins. His clothes were worn but intact, his posture straight, his gaze sharp.
Lotor lowered his hands slowly, deliberately. “You’re not the only ones who’ve noticed the infected changing. They’re adapting. Learning. And if you think a fence and a sputtering generator will save you, you’re already dead.”
Katie appeared in the doorway, arms full of wiring, her eyes narrowing. “And you’re what? Our savior?”
Lotor smiled faintly. “I’m someone who knows what’s coming. And I can help you survive it.”
Keith’s grip tightened on his knife. “Or you’re someone who wants inside our walls.”
The smile didn’t falter. “Both can be true.”
A sound cut through the air, low, guttural, too close. Keith’s head snapped toward the alley. Shadows shifted, and the unmistakable scrape of claws against concrete echoed.
Lance swore under his breath. “Great. Company.”
The infected spilled from the alley, drawn by the voices. Not a horde, half a dozen, maybe more, but their movements were wrong. Too fast. Too deliberate.
Matt cursed, dropping his pack. “We don’t have time for this!”
Lotor didn’t hesitate. In one smooth motion, he drew a blade from beneath his coat, curved, gleaming even in the weak light. He moved with precision, cutting down the first infected before it could lunge. His movements were fluid, practiced, almost elegant.
Keith’s chest tightened. This wasn’t luck. This was training.
Lance fired, dropping another. Katie ducked back into the store, dragging Matt with her. Keith stepped forward, blade flashing, cutting down one that lunged too close.
When the last infected fell, silence returned, broken only by the ragged sound of their breathing.
Lotor wiped his blade clean on the hem of his coat, his expression calm. “You see? You’ll need me.”
Keith stared at him, chest heaving, knife still slick in his grip. He hated it, but he couldn’t deny what he’d just seen.
Lance muttered, lowering his rifle. “Well… damn.”
Katie’s voice was sharp from the doorway. “We can’t just bring him back.”
Matt adjusted his glasses, eyes darting between them. “But we can’t leave him out here either.”
Keith’s gaze stayed locked on Lotor. Friend or foe, he didn’t know. But one thing was certain.
The world was changing. And so were the rules.
The street was littered with bodies, the stink of blood and rot thick in the air. The silence that followed the skirmish pressed down heavy, broken only by the faint hum of the generator back at the compound and the distant echo of the siren still wailing somewhere in the city.
Lotor stood calm in the middle of it all, blade gleaming faintly as he wiped it clean on his coat. His breathing was steady, his posture unshaken. He looked like someone who had done this a hundred times before.
Katie’s voice was sharp, cutting through the quiet. “We can’t just bring him back. We don’t know who he is, what he wants.”
Matt adjusted his glasses, his voice low but firm. “He just saved our lives. That counts for something.”
Lance lowered his rifle, though his eyes stayed locked on Lotor. “Yeah, but people don’t survive out here alone. Not like that. Not unless they’re hiding something.”
Keith said nothing. His knife was still slick in his grip, his pulse still racing. He couldn’t deny what he’d seen, Lotor’s precision, his calm, the way he moved like he’d been trained for this. But that was exactly what unsettled him.
Lotor finally spoke, his voice smooth, deliberate. “You’re right to be cautious. Trust is earned. But you’ve seen what’s happening. The infected are changing. And if you think you can face what’s coming without help…” He let the words hang, his gaze steady. “…you won’t last.”
Katie bristled. “And we’re just supposed to take your word for it?”
Lotor’s faint smile didn’t falter. “No. You’ll take my actions.”
Keith’s jaw tightened. He hated it, but he couldn’t argue. The man had fought like no one he’d ever seen. And the truth was, they needed every edge they could get.
Matt broke the silence. “We can’t decide this here. We take what we came for, get back to the compound, and let Shiro decide.”
Katie shot him a look, but she didn’t argue.
Lance muttered, “Great. Another mouth to feed.” But his eyes flicked to Keith, searching.
Keith finally sheathed his knife, though his gaze never left Lotor. “Fine. You come with us. But one wrong move…”
Lotor inclined his head slightly, almost regal. “Understood.”
As they gathered the wiring and fuel cells, Keith felt the weight of the decision settle heavy in his chest. Bringing Lotor back could save them. Or it could doom them.
And as they moved through the ruined streets, Keith couldn’t shake the feeling that the balance of power in their fragile world had just shifted.
The walk back to the compound was heavy with silence. The streets were too quiet, the kind of quiet that made every broken window feel like an ambush waiting to happen. Keith kept his knife loose in his grip, eyes scanning the rooftops.
Lotor walked with them, calm as ever, his blade sheathed at his side. He didn’t fidget, didn’t glance nervously at the shadows. He moved like someone who belonged here, like the ruined city was his domain. That unsettled Keith more than the infected ever had.
Lance muttered under his breath, just loud enough for Keith to hear. “He’s not even sweating. Who is this guy?”
Keith didn’t answer. He didn’t know.
When the compound finally came into view, the survivors on watch stiffened. The fence was scarred and bent, fresh welds glinting where the night’s battle had nearly torn it apart. Torches still burned along the perimeter, their smoke curling into the gray sky.
Shiro was waiting at the gate, arms crossed, his expression unreadable. The moment his eyes landed on Lotor, the air shifted.
“Report,” Shiro said, his voice steady.
Matt stepped forward, adjusting his glasses. “We got the wiring and fuel cells. Enough to stabilize the generator for now.” He hesitated, glancing at Lotor. “And… we found him.”
Katie’s voice was sharp. “He found us.”
Lotor inclined his head slightly, almost regal. “Lotor. I mean you no harm. I’ve seen what’s happening out there. The infected are changing. You’ll need more than patched fences and sputtering generators to survive.”
Shiro’s gaze hardened. “And you think you’re the answer?”
Lotor’s faint smile didn’t falter. “I think I can help. If you’ll let me.”
The survivors on the wall shifted uneasily, whispers rippling through the line. A stranger at the gate was one thing. A stranger who spoke with calm certainty, who carried himself like a leader, that was something else entirely.
Keith’s hand tightened on his blade. He didn’t trust Lotor. Not yet. But he couldn’t deny the truth in his words.
The infected were changing. And if last night had proved anything, it was that the stronghold couldn’t hold forever.
Shiro’s silence stretched, the weight of the decision pressing down on all of them. Finally, he spoke.
“Inside. But under watch.” His eyes flicked to Keith. “We'll have to keep an eye on him.”
Keith’s chest tightened, but he nodded. “Understood.”
Lotor’s smile widened just slightly, like he’d expected nothing less.
And as the gates creaked open, Keith couldn’t shake the feeling that letting him in had just changed everything.
The compound had been noisy all morning hammering on the fence, the hiss of welding torches, the low murmur of survivors patching wounds and counting ammo. But when Lotor walked through the gates, the noise shifted. Conversations dropped to whispers. Heads turned. People stared.
Keith felt it in his chest, a tightening coil that wouldn’t let go.
Lotor didn’t shrink under the scrutiny. He moved with the same calm, deliberate grace he’d shown in the city, his pale hair catching the weak light, his posture straight as if he were walking into a hall built for him. He didn’t look like a scavenger. He didn’t look like someone who’d been scraping by in the ruins. He looked like someone who belonged in command.
And that unsettled Keith more than the infected ever had.
Lance, of course, was the first to break the tension. He leaned against a support beam, rifle slung casually, flashing that easy grin he always wore when things got too heavy. “So, Lotor, huh? Gotta admit, you’ve got style. That blade work back there...smooth. Almost made me jealous.”
Lotor’s faint smile widened, his gaze flicking to Lance. “Coming from you, I’ll take that as high praise.”
The way he said it, measured, deliberate, his eyes lingering just a moment too long...made Keith’s stomach twist.
Lance chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well, you know. I’ve got an eye for talent.”
Keith’s jaw clenched. He stepped closer, voice low but edged. “We don’t know him. Don’t start acting like he’s part of the team.”
Lance blinked, caught off guard. “Relax, mullet. I’m just being friendly.”
Lotor tilted his head, watching them both with that infuriating calm. “Friendship is a strength. Especially in times like these.” His gaze slid back to Lance, sharp and assessing. “And you strike me as someone worth knowing.”
Keith’s chest burned. He could feel the eyes of the other survivors on them, the whispers starting again. He wanted to drag Lance away, to put distance between him and that too‑calm smile. Instead, the words snapped out before he could stop them.
The courtyard went still. Survivors froze mid‑step, pretending not to listen but failing miserably.
Lance’s grin faltered, his brows knitting. “What the hell, Keith? He’s just talking.”
Keith’s pulse hammered. He knew he was overreacting, but the thought of Lotor’s calculating gaze fixed on Lance made his skin crawl. “You don’t get it. He’s not like us. He’s hiding something. And you—” His voice cracked, raw. “You don’t see it because you’re too busy… being you.”
Lance’s eyes widened. “Being me?”
Keith’s throat tightened. The words tumbled out before he could stop them, sharp and unguarded. “Because I can’t stand the thought of him looking at you like that. Because I—” He swallowed hard, the confession tearing free. “Because I care about you, Lance. A lot more than I should.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. The clang of hammers on the fence had stopped. Even the generator’s uneven hum seemed distant. Survivors shifted uncomfortably, eyes darting anywhere but at them.
Lance stared at him, stunned, his usual quick wit gone. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Keith…”
Keith’s chest heaved, his hands trembling at his sides. He hadn’t meant to say it, not like this, not here, but the words were out now, raw and unbridled.
Lotor’s faint smile lingered, unreadable. He inclined his head slightly, as if he’d just confirmed something he already suspected.
Katie’s voice finally cut through the silence, sharp as a blade. “This isn’t the time.”
Keith had said it. Out loud. In front of everyone.
And there was no taking it back.
The words still hung in the air, heavy and unshakable. I care about you, Lance. More than I should.
The courtyard was too quiet. Survivors who had been hammering, welding, or carrying supplies now stood frozen, pretending to work but stealing glances. The hum of the generator seemed louder, filling the silence Keith wished he could crawl into and disappear.
Lance stared at him, wide‑eyed, his usual quick wit nowhere to be found. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. “Keith… you can’t just—” He broke off, running a hand through his hair, his voice caught between disbelief and something softer. “You really mean that?”
Keith’s throat was dry. He wanted to take it back, to bury the words, but they were out now, raw and unguarded. He forced himself to meet Lance’s gaze. “Yeah. I do.”
Lance’s expression flickered, shock, confusion, something unreadable. He looked away, as if the weight of Keith’s stare was too much.
Katie stepped forward, her voice sharp, cutting through the tension. “This isn’t the time. We’ve got a fence to reinforce, a generator that could blow any second, and a stranger we barely know standing in the middle of our compound.”
Her eyes cut to Lotor, who hadn’t moved. He stood with his hands clasped loosely behind his back, his faint smile still in place, as if he were watching a play unfold exactly as he expected.
“Interesting,” he murmured, just loud enough for Keith to hear.
Keith’s blood ran hot. “Shut up.”
Lotor inclined his head slightly, unbothered. “I meant no offense. It’s simply… revealing.” His gaze slid back to Lance, lingering a moment too long.
Lance shifted uncomfortably, his usual bravado stripped away. “Look, Keith, I—” He stopped, glancing at the watching survivors, then back at Keith. His voice dropped, quieter, almost pleading. “Not here. Not like this.”
Shiro finally stepped in, his voice carrying the weight of command. “Enough. Everyone back to work. We don’t have the luxury of drama right now.” His eyes locked on Keith, steady but firm. “We’ll talk later.”
The crowd dispersed reluctantly, whispers trailing in their wake. Katie stalked off toward the generator room, muttering under her breath. Matt lingered a moment, his expression unreadable, before following her.
That left Keith, Lance, and Lotor in the uneasy quiet of the courtyard.
Lance rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding Keith’s eyes. “We’ll… figure this out. Later.” His voice was softer now, stripped of its usual sharp edges. He turned and walked off toward the fence line, leaving Keith standing there, exposed and raw.
Lotor’s faint smile lingered. “You’ve complicated things,” he said softly, almost amused.
Keith’s hand tightened on his knife. “Stay out of it.”
Lotor’s eyes glinted, sharp and knowing. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of interfering. But you should know—jealousy can be a dangerous thing. Especially here.”
Keith turned away before he did something reckless. His chest still burned, his confession echoing in his head.
He’d said it. He couldn’t take it back. And now everything had changed.
The compound tried to return to normal, but the air was different now, thicker, charged. Survivors hammered at the fence, sparks flying as welders patched the weakest points. Others hauled scrap metal, reinforcing the posts with whatever they could scavenge. The clang of steel on steel echoed through the yard, but beneath it all, Keith could feel the weight of eyes on him.
He kept his head down, helping brace a section of chain link while sparks rained from the torch. His arms ached, his chest still tight from the words he couldn’t take back.
Across the yard, Lance was working with a patrol, his usual chatter muted. Every so often, Keith caught him glancing over, then looking away quickly.
Lotor had slipped into the rhythm of the compound as if he’d always belonged. He moved among the survivors with quiet confidence, offering suggestions on reinforcing the barricades, pointing out weak welds, even lending a hand with the heavy lifting. People listened. Too easily.
Katie bristled every time he spoke, muttering under her breath, but Matt seemed intrigued, scribbling notes as Lotor explained some technique for bracing the posts.
Keith hated it. Hated how quickly the stranger had found a place here. Hated how his calm voice carried weight. Hated the way his eyes lingered on Lance when he thought no one was watching.
By dusk, the fence repairs were holding, the generator humming a little steadier with the new wiring. The compound was tired, but alive.
Keith was heading toward the barracks when a voice stopped him.
He turned. Lance stood a few feet away, arms crossed, his expression unreadable in the fading light.
Keith’s stomach dropped. He followed Lance to a quiet corner near the storage shed, away from the others. The silence stretched, heavy and suffocating, until Lance finally spoke.
“You dropped a bomb out there.” His voice wasn’t angry, but it wasn’t soft either. “In front of everyone.”
Keith’s throat tightened. “I didn’t mean to—”
“Yeah, well, you did.” Lance ran a hand through his hair, pacing a step before stopping. His voice dropped, quieter now. “And I don’t know what to do with that.”
Keith’s chest ached. He wanted to look away, but he forced himself to meet Lance’s eyes. “I meant it. Every word.”
Lance’s expression flickered, confusion, frustration, something Keith couldn’t name. “You can’t just throw that at me in the middle of all this. We’re fighting to survive, Keith. We don’t have room for…” He trailed off, shaking his head.
“For feelings?” Keith asked, his voice raw.
Lance’s jaw tightened. “For distractions.”
The words cut deep, but Keith didn’t flinch. “It’s not a distraction. It’s the only thing that feels real anymore.”
Lance stared at him, stunned into silence.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The sounds of the compound carried faintly, the clang of tools, the murmur of voices, the hum of the generator, but here, in the shadows, it was just the two of them.
Finally, Lance exhaled, his shoulders slumping. “You’re impossible, you know that?” His voice was softer now, almost weary. “I don’t even know what I feel right now.”
Keith’s chest tightened, but he nodded. “That’s fine. Just… don’t pretend it’s not there.”
Lance looked away, his profile sharp in the dim light. “Yeah. Okay.”
The silence stretched again, heavy but different this time. Not empty. Not final.
And somewhere across the yard, Keith caught sight of Lotor watching them, his expression unreadable, his faint smile lingering like a shadow.
The quiet corner near the storage shed felt too small, the air too heavy. Lance stood with his arms crossed, shifting his weight like he wanted to pace but couldn’t decide where to go. His eyes were sharp, but beneath the frustration Keith caught something else, something raw.
“You can’t just drop that on me, Keith,” Lance said, his voice low but edged. “Not in front of everyone. Not when everything’s already falling apart.”
Keith’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t plan it. It just—came out.”
Lance let out a sharp laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah, no kidding. You think I don’t have enough to deal with? The fence nearly came down last night, the generator’s hanging by a thread, and now you—” He broke off, dragging a hand through his hair. “Now you tell me this.”
Keith’s chest burned. “I’m sorry. But I’m not taking it back.”
Lance’s eyes snapped to his, wide and conflicted. “That’s the problem! You mean it. And I don’t know what to do with that.” His voice cracked, softer now. “I wish things were different. I wish life was… normal. If it was, maybe we could actually figure this out. Maybe we could have something real.”
The words hit Keith like a blade. He stepped closer, his voice rough. “Normal? If life was normal, Lance, we never would’ve met. You’d be some guy at a different school, living a different life, and I’d be—” He shook his head. “I’d be nothing to you.”
Lance flinched, his expression twisting. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” Keith pressed, his voice rising despite himself. “Everything’s broken, yeah. But it’s the only reason we’re here, together. You want normal? Normal would’ve kept us strangers.”
Lance stared at him, breathing hard, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “You think that makes this easier? That I should be grateful the world ended so we could...what? Maybe figure out if this is real?”
Keith’s throat tightened. “It is real. That’s the only thing I’m sure of anymore.”
The silence that followed was jagged, sharp as glass. Lance’s eyes searched his, torn between anger and something softer, something Keith couldn’t name.
Finally, Lance looked away, his voice barely above a whisper. “You make everything so damn complicated.”
Keith swallowed hard, his chest aching. “Maybe. But I’d rather have complicated with you than nothing at all.”
Lance didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring at the ground, his shoulders tense. And in the distance, Keith caught sight of Lotor again, leaning casually against the fence line, watching them with that faint, unreadable smile.
The shadows stretched long across the compound, the last light of day bleeding into the yard. The hum of the generator filled the silence between them, steady but fragile, like everything else.
Lance’s arms were crossed tight, his jaw set. “You think saying it makes it simple? Like I can just—what—flip a switch and know how to feel back?”
Keith’s chest tightened. “I didn’t say it was simple. I just said it’s real.”
Lance let out a sharp breath, pacing a step before turning back on him. “Real doesn’t mean it’s the right time. We’re fighting to keep the fence standing, Keith. People are dying out there. And you—” He jabbed a finger toward him. “You drop this on me like it’s some kind of ultimatum.”
Keith’s voice rose, sharper than he meant. “It’s not an ultimatum! It’s the truth. And I’m done pretending it’s not there.”
Lance’s eyes flashed. “You think I don’t want normal? You think I don’t lie awake wishing we weren’t stuck in this nightmare, that maybe we could figure this out without blood on our hands every damn day?” His voice cracked, raw. “I want something real, Keith. But this—this isn’t it. Not like this.”
Keith stepped closer, his pulse hammering. “You’re wrong. This is all we’ve got. And it’s real because it’s happening now, not in some fantasy where the world didn’t end.”
Lance shook his head, frustration etched across his face. “You don’t get it. If the world hadn’t ended, maybe we’d have had a chance to figure out who we are without all this—” He gestured wildly at the compound, the fence, the smoke curling into the sky. “Without death breathing down our necks.”
Keith’s voice dropped, low and rough. “If the world hadn’t ended, we never would’ve met. You’d be out there living your perfect normal life, and I’d be nothing to you.”
Lance froze, his expression faltering. “Don’t say that.”
“It’s true,” Keith pressed, his voice breaking. “Like I said before... you want normal, but normal would’ve kept us strangers. This—” He gestured between them, his hand trembling. “This is the only chance we’ve got.”
Lance’s hands curled into fists at his sides, his voice rising again. “You make it sound like I should be grateful the world burned just so you could tell me this!”
Keith’s chest ached, but he didn’t back down. “I’m saying I’d rather have this—messy, complicated, terrifying—than nothing at all.”
The silence that followed was jagged, filled with the weight of everything unsaid. Lance’s breathing was ragged, his eyes locked on Keith’s, torn between anger and something softer he refused to name.
Finally, Lance tore his gaze away, muttering under his breath. “You don’t make this easy.”
Keith swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not trying to make it easy. I’m trying to make it honest.”
Lance didn’t answer. He just stood there, staring at the ground, his shoulders tense.
The air between them was thick, charged, like the moments before a storm. Lance’s fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw tight, his eyes burning with something Keith couldn’t quite name, anger, fear, maybe both.
“You don’t get it,” Lance said, his voice low but sharp. “I don’t want this to be the only version of us. I don’t want to look back and think the only reason we ever mattered was because the world ended.”
Keith’s chest ached. “So what—you’d rather we were nothing? Strangers?”
Lance flinched, his voice rising. “I’d rather we had a choice! That’s what you don’t understand. Everything we do now is survival. Every word, every move—it’s all because we’re fighting to stay alive. How do I know what’s real in the middle of all this?”
Keith stepped closer, his voice rough. “It’s real because I feel it. Because I can’t stop thinking about you, even when I should be thinking about the fence, or the infected, or anything else. That’s how I know.”
Lance shook his head, frustration etched across his face. “You make it sound so simple. Like feelings are enough to fix this. But they’re not. They don’t keep the lights on, they don’t keep the fence standing, they don’t stop people from dying.”
Keith’s voice cracked, raw. “No, but they’re the only thing that makes any of this worth it.”
The words hung between them, jagged and heavy. Lance’s breathing was ragged, his eyes locked on Keith’s, torn between fury and something softer he refused to let surface.
Finally, Lance tore his gaze away, muttering under his breath. “You’re impossible.”
Keith swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “And you’re a coward.”
Lance’s head snapped back toward him, eyes blazing. “What did you just—”
“You heard me,” Keith said, his voice steady now, though his hands trembled. “You’re scared to admit what you feel, so you hide behind excuses about timing and survival. But I see it, Lance. I see the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention.”
Lance’s face flushed, his mouth opening, then closing again. For once, he had no quick retort.
The silence stretched, sharp as a blade.
A voice cut through the tension, smooth and deliberate.
“Fascinating,” Lotor said from the shadows, his faint smile visible even in the dim light. “You two argue like soldiers, but underneath it… it’s something else entirely.”
Keith spun, fury sparking hot in his chest. “Stay out of this.”
Lotor only tilted his head, unbothered. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of interfering. But you should know—conflict like this can tear a group apart. Or bind it tighter than steel. Which one it becomes… depends on you.”
His eyes lingered on Lance a moment too long before he turned and walked away, leaving the words hanging like smoke.
Keith’s pulse hammered. He turned back to Lance, but Lance was already stepping back, shaking his head.
“Not now,” Lance muttered, his voice raw. “I can’t—just not now.”
And then he was gone, leaving Keith alone in the shadows, his confession echoing in his chest, unanswered.
Night fell heavy over the compound. The torches along the fence burned low, their smoke curling into the dark sky. The generator hummed unevenly, its flickering lights casting long, restless shadows across the yard.
Keith sat on the watch platform, blade resting across his knees, eyes scanning the ruined streets beyond the fence. But his mind wasn’t on the shadows outside. It was on the words he couldn’t take back.
Because I care about you, Lance. More than I should.
He replayed the look on Lance’s face. Shock, confusion, anger, something softer buried beneath it all. And then the way he’d walked away, leaving Keith standing there with nothing but silence.
The gate creaked below. Keith’s grip tightened on his blade, but it wasn’t the infected. It was Lotor.
The white-haired stranger moved with the same calm grace as always, his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He looked up at Keith, his faint smile visible even in the torchlight.
“Restless nights,” Lotor said softly. “I imagine you know them well.”
Keith’s jaw tightened. “What do you want?”
“Only to talk.” Lotor’s voice was smooth, deliberate. “You’re wary of me. That’s wise. But I think you should know—I’m not your enemy.”
Keith’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve been watching us. Watching him.”
Lotor’s smile widened just slightly. “Lance is… interesting. He masks fear with humor, doubt with bravado. But underneath, he’s sharper than he lets on. People underestimate him. You don’t.”
Keith’s chest burned. “Stay away from him.”
Lotor tilted his head, unbothered. “You mistake me. I don’t covet him. I study him. And you. The way you circle each other, drawn and repelled at once. It’s… fascinating.”
Keith’s grip on his blade tightened until his knuckles ached. “You don’t know anything about us.”
“On the contrary,” Lotor said, his voice low. “I know more than you’d like. You’re fire and restraint, he’s light and shadow. Together, you’re stronger. Apart…” His eyes glinted. “You’ll tear each other apart before the infected ever breach your walls.”
Keith’s pulse hammered, but before he could answer, footsteps sounded on the platform.
He froze when he saw them. Keith tense, Lotor calm, the air between them sharp as glass.
“What’s going on?” Lance asked, his voice wary.
Keith stood quickly, his blade still in hand. “Nothing. He was just leaving.”
Lotor inclined his head, that faint smile never faltering. “Of course. Another time.” He slipped back into the shadows, leaving Keith and Lance alone in the torchlight.
The silence stretched. Lance shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really don’t trust him, huh?”
Keith’s voice was rough. “No. And you shouldn’t either.”
Lance sighed, leaning against the railing. “You don’t trust anyone.” He glanced at Keith, his eyes tired but sharp. “Not even me.”
Keith’s chest tightened. “That’s not true.”
“Isn’t it?” Lance asked softly. “You say you care, but all you do is push. Push me, push everyone. Like you’re daring us to walk away.”
Keith swallowed hard, his voice breaking. “Because if you walk away, at least it’s your choice. Not the world’s. Not the infected’s. Yours.”
Lance stared at him, stunned into silence.
The night pressed in, the hum of the generator filling the space between them. Neither spoke, but the tension was alive, raw, and unresolved. Like the fence itself, patched but straining, one bad hit away from breaking.
The torchlight flickered across Lance’s face, throwing his expression into sharp relief, jaw tight, eyes stormy, lips pressed thin. He leaned against the railing, arms crossed, but Keith could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers tapped restlessly against his sleeve.
Lance blinked, thrown off for a moment, but then his frustration surged back. “You twist everything, Keith. You make it sound like I’m the one running away when you’re the one who never lets anyone in.”
Keith’s voice cracked, raw. “I let you in.”
The words hung between them, jagged and heavy.
Lance’s breath caught, but he shook his head, looking away. “You don’t get it. I don’t even know what I feel right now. Half the time I can’t tell if I’m fighting beside you because I want to… or because I don’t have a choice.”
Keith flinched like he’d been struck. “You think I forced this? That I forced you?”
Lance’s eyes snapped back to his, blazing. “I think you don’t see how much power you have over me. And it scares the hell out of me, Keith.”
The silence that followed was suffocating. The hum of the generator filled the space, steady but fragile, like the fence itself.
Keith swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “I never wanted to scare you. I just… I don’t know how to do this any other way. I don’t know how to stop feeling like if I don’t hold on, I’ll lose everything.”
Lance’s expression softened for a heartbeat, but then he looked away, his voice rough. “I wish things were different. I wish we weren’t stuck in this nightmare, so maybe we could figure this out without all the blood and fear. Maybe then I’d know if this is real.”
Keith stepped closer, his voice low but fierce. “It’s real because it’s happening now. Because even in the middle of all this, I can’t stop thinking about you. That’s how I know.”
Lance’s jaw clenched, his eyes glinting in the torchlight. “And that’s what terrifies me.”
The words cut deeper than any blade. Keith’s chest ached, his throat tight, but he didn’t look away.
They stood there in the flickering light, the argument unresolved, the air between them charged and fragile.
“You terrify me, Keith,” Lance said suddenly, his voice low but fierce. “Not because of the infected, not because of the fence or the generator or any of that. You terrify me because you make me feel like none of that matters when you’re around. And that’s dangerous.”
Keith’s chest clenched. “Dangerous? To care about someone?”
“Yes!” Lance snapped, his voice cracking. “Because if I let myself feel that, if I let myself admit it, then what happens when you’re gone? When you don’t come back from a run, or when the fence finally breaks? What happens to me then?”
Keith stepped closer, his voice rough. “Then you’ll know it was real. That it mattered. Even if it doesn’t last.”
Lance shook his head, frustration etched across his face. “You make it sound so easy. Like I can just accept that and move on. But I can’t. I don’t want scraps of something real, Keith. I want all of it. And right now, all we have is fear and blood and broken fences.”
Keith’s voice cracked, raw. “And me. You have me.”
The words hung between them, jagged and heavy. Lance’s breath caught, his eyes wide, but then he looked away, shaking his head.
“You don’t get it,” he muttered. “I wish things were different. I wish we weren’t stuck in this nightmare. Maybe then I could figure out what I actually feel. Maybe then I could give you an answer.”
Keith’s throat tightened. “And what if we don’t get that chance? What if this is all we have?”
Lance’s jaw clenched, his voice rising again. “Then it’s not enough!”
The silence that followed was suffocating. Keith’s chest ached, his hands trembling at his sides. He wanted to shout, to shake Lance, to make him see that this, whatever it was between them, was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.
But Lance’s eyes were burning, his voice sharp. “You think you’re the only one scared of losing something? You think you’re the only one who lies awake wondering if tomorrow’s the day it all ends? You’re not. But you don’t get to dump this on me and expect me to just… fall in line.”
Keith swallowed hard, his voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t want you to fall in line. I just want you.”
Lance froze, his breath catching, his expression torn between anger and something softer he refused to let surface.
And then movement in the shadows below.
Keith’s eyes snapped down to the yard. Lotor stood at the edge of the torchlight, his pale hair gleaming faintly, his expression unreadable. He hadn’t moved closer, but he was watching. Always watching.
Lance followed Keith’s gaze, his face hardening. “Great. An audience.”
Keith’s grip tightened on the railing, fury sparking hot in his chest. “He’s not part of this.”
Lance’s voice was sharp. “No, Keith. He’s not. But maybe that’s the problem. Everyone else is fighting to keep us alive, and we’re up here tearing each other apart.”
Keith’s chest heaved, his pulse hammering. He wanted to argue, to push back, but the words caught in his throat.
And yet, even as the silence stretched, Keith couldn’t shake the truth burning in his chest: he’d rather fight with Lance than live without him.
The silence between them stretched, taut as a wire ready to snap. The torchlight flickered across Lance’s face. Anger, fear, something softer buried beneath it all, but no words came.
Keith’s chest ached. He wanted to reach out, to shake him, to force the truth out of him. Instead, he whispered, “Say something.”
Lance’s jaw tightened. His eyes darted away, toward the fence, toward the shadows where Lotor had been. Anywhere but Keith.
“I can’t,” Lance muttered, his voice rough. “Not now. Not like this.”
Keith’s pulse hammered. “Then when? When the fence finally breaks? When one of us doesn’t come back from a run? How long are you going to keep pretending you don’t know what this is?”
Lance flinched, his hands curling into fists. For a heartbeat, Keith thought he might finally say it, finally give him an answer. But instead, Lance shook his head, his voice breaking.
“I don’t know, okay? I don’t know what I feel. And I can’t figure it out with you pushing me like this.”
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Keith stepped back, his throat tight. “So you’re just going to walk away again?”
Lance’s eyes flicked to his, pained, conflicted. “Yeah. Because if I stay, I’ll say something I can’t take back.”
And then he turned, boots crunching against the gravel as he walked off into the shadows of the compound.
Keith stood frozen, his chest heaving, his hands trembling at his sides. The night pressed in, the hum of the generator filling the silence Lance left behind.
He wanted to chase after him. To demand answers. To make him stay. But his legs wouldn’t move.
Instead, Keith’s gaze drifted back to the fence line. Lotor was gone, but Keith could still feel the weight of his eyes, the echo of his faint, knowing smile.
Keith gritted his teeth, shoving the blade back into its sheath. He’d bared himself, laid everything out, and Lance had walked away. Again.
No answers. No resolution. Just the gnawing ache of something unfinished, something fragile, something that might never be whole.
And in the distance, beyond the fence, the city groaned with the sound of shifting metal and distant cries. The infected were still out there. Waiting. Changing.
Keith tightened his grip on the railing, his voice a whisper swallowed by the night.
