Around them—

Not everyone was as lucky.

One officer tried to dive aside—

But he was too slow.

A strand punched through his shoulder, tearing straight through muscle and bone before driving him into the ground—

SKRRRCH—!

His body jerked violently, breath cut off as blood sprayed outward from the wound.

Another caught worse.

A thinner strand pierced through the side of his neck, entering just below the jaw and exiting through the back—

A wet, choking sound escaped him as he collapsed immediately, rifle slipping from his grip—

THUD—!

A third—

Didn’t die.

Not immediately.

A cluster of strands drove into his torso from multiple angles, pinning him upright against a piece of fallen equipment.

One pierced clean through his abdomen, another through his thigh, a third catching his side.

He screamed.

Raw and uncontrolled.

"AAGHH—! GET IT—OFF—!!"

His body convulsed, legs kicking uselessly as he struggled against the impalement, blood pouring down his front in thick streams.

Don didn’t look at him.

He couldn’t.

More strands slammed into his hold, pressure mounting as he forced them back, keeping that small space around them clear.

At that same instance, the helicopter—

Gave in.

The strands embedded into it began to spread.

Not retract.

Spread.

They branched outward inside the structure, forcing their way through internal components, tearing through metal from within as the frame warped, twisted—

Panels buckled outward—

Bolts snapped—

Fuel lines ruptured—

KRRRRR—!!

Then—

BOOOOM—!!!

An explosion tore through it in a violent burst, flames erupting outward as the chopper split apart, fragments blasting across the rooftop in burning arcs.

Heat slammed into Don’s face.

He threw an arm up instinctively, covering his eyes as debris flew past—

But his grip—

Didn’t break.

The strands in front of him remained suspended, locked in place by sheer force.

Behind his arm, his eyes narrowed.

Focused.

The moment passed.

He dropped his arm—

And moved.

He rose fast, pushing off the ground into motion without hesitation. His first step drove him forward hard, boots grinding against the rooftop as he burst toward the edge.

The strands he hadn’t caught—

Moved.

They snapped back.

Retracting violently from where they had embedded themselves, tearing free from metal, concrete, flesh—

RIP—!

They turned.

All of them.

Toward him.

Don didn’t slow.

A cluster of strands shot toward him from the side.

He twisted mid-stride, lifting his hand—

They stopped.

Held.

He used them.

His foot hit one, then another, using the suspended strands as stepping points, propelling himself forward with sharp bursts of movement.

His body angled low as he moved, rolling over one as another slammed into where his torso had been a fraction of a second before—

THRAKK—!

He came up from the roll already moving.

But another set dropped from above.

He jumped—

Straight into them.

His telekinesis locked them in place mid-descent, freezing them just long enough for his boots to land against them.

The strands bent slightly under his weight—

Then he pushed off.

Hard.

Using them to launch himself forward again, closing the distance rapidly as more snapped past him, missing by inches—

SKRRR—! THNK—!

Ahead of him—

The female infected reacted.

Her head snapped in his direction, body shifting slightly as more hair began to coil, gathering for another strike.

But—

CRACK—! CRACK—! CRACK—!

Gunfire tore through the air.

From behind Don.

The remaining officers had regrouped just enough to fire again, rounds slamming into the forming mass, disrupting it—

Not stopping it.

But delaying it.

One of them paid for it immediately.

A loose cluster of strands near him merged mid-air, forming a thicker spike that shot forward—

It pierced through his hand first, pinning his rifle in place—

Then drove straight through his throat—

SKRRCH—!

He dropped without a sound, body collapsing where he stood.

It didn’t matter.

The delay was enough.

Don was already there.

He didn’t aim for her.

He couldn’t.

Not with that much mass still around her.

So he shifted.

Veered.

Straight toward the edge of the roof beside her.

The remaining strands tried to form—

But they were too slow.

And it was too late.

He released everything behind him.

All telekinetic holds dropped at once.

His focus snapped forward entirely, energy pulling inward, compressing into a single point at his fists as he closed the final distance.

Then impact.

BOOOOM—!!!

His fists drove into the rooftop with devastating force, the release of energy blasting outward from the point of contact.

The surface shattered instantly, cracks racing across the structure as the edge of the roof gave way under the force—

Concrete and alloy exploded outward—

Chunks tearing free and launching into open air—

The shockwave ripped through the immediate area, slamming into the remaining strands.

WHUMPH—!

The structure beneath him groaned violently, part of the edge collapsing inward as debris rained down the side of the building.

And still—

Around him—

The remaining strands lashed wildly, striking at anything within reach, carving into the already damaged rooftop as the chaos refused to settle.

———

Far from the city—

Beneath layers of reinforced earth and buried structure—

The Citadel stood active.

Or at least—

It tried to.

Inside the main control room, order had long since slipped into something more... strained.

The central command seat lay overturned behind the main table, its base cracked where it had struck the floor earlier, one armrest bent inward at an angle that made it unusable. It hadn’t been put back.

No one had tried.

Above the oval table, multiple screens hovered in layered formation, each one projecting streams of data, system diagnostics, external feeds, and channels.

Their light flickered faintly across the room, reflecting off the metallic surfaces and casting shifting patterns across the walls—

bzzt—...bzzt—~

At the center—

Elle stood.

Still.

But not at ease.

Her hands pressed into the edge of the table, fingers sunk deep into the alloy as if it were soft matter instead of hardened composite.

The metal around her grip had deformed inward, thin fractures branching out from where her nails had dug in.

Her hair didn’t fall like it usually did.

It hovered slightly.

Strands lifting upward as if something unseen held them there.

Her eyes carried a faint amber glow, steady but unnatural, and her breathing—though controlled—had begun to pick up, each inhale just slightly deeper than the last.

"What’s happening with communications..."

Her voice came low.

But something sat under it.

"...why can’t we reach Don?"

The last word carried weight.

Not loud but heavier.

The room reacted.

Not physically.

But something shifted.

The air itself seemed to distort for a brief instant, the screens flickering out of sync as her voice finished—

bzzt—!

Behind her—

Gary stood calmly..