Inside the lounge—

The woman stumbled forward as the impact hit.

Her footing gave out beneath her, legs folding as she hit the polished floor hard, one arm bracing instinctively while the other kept the child tight against her chest.

The boy didn’t stir. His head lolled slightly with the motion, blood still seeping through the fabric pressed against him.

For a second—

She just stayed there.

Breathing.

Shaking.

Then she lifted her head.

And froze.

The contrast hit her all at once.

Outside had been ruin—fire, broken bodies, noise that never stopped.

Inside—

It was... untouched.

Almost.

The lounge stretched wide, open, built with the same wealth the rest of the tower carried. Clean lines, layered seating areas, low tables of dark glass, soft lighting set into the ceiling in rows. The floors reflected faint silhouettes where people moved, polished enough to mirror without glare.

There were marks.

Bullet damage traced along parts of the far wall, small clusters where rounds had made it through. A section of paneling near the entrance had cracked from the impact, fine fractures spreading outward like a web.

But it was still intact.

Still—

Normal.

Her grip tightened around her child.

A step approached from behind.

Boots against the floor—

"Excuse me, ma’am."

She turned her head.

A security officer stood just behind her, rifle held forward but angled slightly downward, not quite aimed—yet not lowered either. His stance was firm, eyes fixed on her without wavering.

"We’re going to need to screen you and that child."

Her brow tightened.

"...w-what?" Her voice cracked, disbelief slipping through. "We’re not infected—we... you saw! Those things were going to kill us—!"

The man didn’t react.

Didn’t soften.

He adjusted his grip on the rifle slightly, the motion small but enough.

"I have my orders," he said. "If you don’t comply, you will be escorted back outside."

That—

Landed.

Her lips pressed together.

Her shoulders shook once—

Then dropped.

"...ok... ok..." she muttered, voice barely holding. "But please... please treat my son first. I beg you."

The officer gave a short nod.

Another stepped in, already moving to guide her up.

"On your feet. Slowly."

—

Not far from the entrance—

Mr. Olynk stood near one of the lounge’s central seating sections, several security personnel gathered around him in a loose formation. Don and Charles stood just off to the side, both facing the projection hovering above Olynk’s wrist.

The display cast a faint glow across their faces.

A digital map of the tower.

Layered.

Detailed.

Interior sections marked in clean segments, exterior perimeter traced in a faint outline. Two red dots pulsed near the outer edge, moving steadily toward the structure.

"They’re almost here," Mr. Olynk said, voice tight but calm. His gaze shifted toward Charles. "Are you sure about this, sir?"

Charles didn’t hesitate.

"Yes."

His arms rested loosely at his sides, posture straight, expression set.

"I learned my lesson last time," he continued. "We’ll be at a disadvantage in confined spaces. Not everyone can face those things head-on."

Olynk’s jaw shifted slightly.

From what he had seen—

He couldn’t argue.

"...Then who takes point?" he asked. "With all due respect, sir... you lack the punching power."

Charles nodded once.

"That I do."

His gaze shifted.

Landed on Don.

"But he doesn’t."

Olynk followed the look.

His eyes settled on Don, lingering there for a second longer than necessary.

"...Are you sure?" he asked.

Don stretched his arms out slightly, rolling his shoulders back as the material of his suit adjusted along his frame. He exhaled once through his nose, gaze unfocused for a moment as if running through something only he could see.

"Honestly?" he said. "No."

His arms dropped back to his sides.

"But that’s never stopped me before."

Olynk stared at him—

Then let out a short breath.

A faint smile touched his face.

"...Alright."

He turned sharply, raising his voice.

"All personnel—get into your positions. Our orders are clear. We defend this place until external support arrives or the threat is eliminated. Understood?"

"Clear!" the group responded in unison.

No hesitation.

No delay.

They moved.

Fast.

Despite the tailored uniforms, the polished presentation—Don watched them break formation and disperse with practiced efficiency. Angles covered, routes taken without overlap, communication minimal but precise.

Ex-military.

Or close enough that it didn’t matter.

Charles turned slightly, ready to move toward his own position—

"Hey." Don muttered.

Charles paused.

Glanced back.

"Something wrong?"

Don shook his head once.

"No."

A small pause.

"Can you make my communicator free range?"

Mr. Olynk answered before Charles could.

"If you’re concerned about support," he said, stepping closer, "our operator is top class."

Charles added without missing a beat—

"And our channel runs through a private network via my family’s satellite. You’re covered."

Don nodded slightly.

"I know."

His gaze shifted toward the entrance.

"But your operator doesn’t know how I fight. Or how I’ve been training."

A brief pause.

"I’d rather use my own network."

Charles didn’t argue.

The first thought that crossed his mind—

Winter.

And he knew better than to question that.

He gave a short nod.

"Give him admin access."

Mr. Olynk frowned immediately.

"Sir, if he were to get infected—"

"They’re almost here!"

The shout cut through the room.

All heads turned.

Charles didn’t look away from Olynk.

"This isn’t up for debate," he said. "You have your order."

Olynk straightened.

"...Yes, sir."

His wrist came up immediately, projection shifting as he input commands at speed, fingers moving across the interface in quick, practiced motions. 𝗳𝚛𝗲𝕖𝚠𝚎𝚋𝗻𝗼𝕧𝗲𝐥.𝚌𝚘𝐦

A soft tone followed—

"Access granted," he said, lowering his hand. "You’re set. Good luck."

He turned without waiting for a reply, already moving toward his assigned position.

—

Don stayed where he was for a second longer.

Then he turned.

And walked.

The lounge shifted around him as personnel locked into place. Two men stood near the damaged entrance—both larger than him, broader through the shoulders, rifles held steady, posture built for impact.

Brute force.

He stepped in beside them.

Stopped.

Facing forward.

The blocked entrance loomed ahead—half-crushed frame, the lodged vehicle still embedded at an angle. Smoke drifted in faint trails from the wreckage, the scent of burning metal slipping through the open gaps.

In his vision—

A display flickered to life.

Subtle.

Layered over reality.

**Connection establishing...**

A brief delay.

Then—

**Connected.**

A voice followed.

Soft.

Familiar.

"Don... are you okay?" Elle asked smoothly.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t look away from the entrance.

"Just fine," he replied.

A small pause followed.

"But I’m going to need your help with this."

Elle didn’t hesitate.

"Anything you need."

Good.

His gaze narrowed slightly.

Then—

It came.

Outside—

Heavy footfalls.

THOOM—~

...THOOM—~

And beneath it—

That dragging sound.

SCRRRRT—~

Closer.

The men beside him tightened their grips.

One adjusted his stance slightly.

The other exhaled once, slow.

Don didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

He just watched the entrance.