Dying Light: Volatile Virus

You continue running and jumping from roof to roof, each leap feeling stronger as your body subtly absorbs the sunlight, fueling your growing power. The city below is alive with chaos—infected roaming aimlessly, and the occasional gunfire echoing through the streets. 

As you leap to the next rooftop, your eyes catch a large, distinct building in the distance. It stands out against the ruins of Old Town, its architecture imposing yet relatively intact. The structure is fortified, with makeshift barriers and faint markings of what seem to be survivor defenses.

Curiosity takes over, and you pause at the edge of the roof. You focus your sight on the building, and as your view shifts, the world changes. The usual blue and cyan trails of the infected fade into the background as the building begins to glow with an overwhelming cluster of red trails. The sheer number of them emanating from inside intrigues you.

You crouch low, tilting your head as if trying to understand. The red trails aren't chaotic or scattered like infected—they're controlled, concentrated. Survivors. Many of them. 

Driven by curiosity and a faint desire for answers, you leap to the next rooftop, then the next, closing the gap between you and the fortified building. You can see the UV lights mounted at its entrances, currently inactive under the daylight. It's clear this place is heavily defended when night falls. 

When you reach the building, you jump down onto the cobblestone street, landing with a force that sends a small echo through the air. A few Biters nearby lift their heads, but they quickly turn away, uninterested in you.

You approach the main entrance, a set of reinforced metal doors. You pause for a moment, unsure if you should simply enter or call for attention. You lift your hand, pressing it against the door as if feeling its weight.

Then, you decide to knock—three sharp bangs with your fist echo through the quiet air. You wait, listening carefully for movement inside. For a moment, there's nothing but silence.

Footsteps. The faint sound of someone approaching from the other side of the door. 

But will they check who's outside first... or will they open it without thinking?

The footsteps grow louder, deliberate but hesitant. From the other side of the door, you hear muffled voices. It seems like there's more than one person inside, possibly discussing what to do.

Voice 1 (muffled): "Someone's out there. They knocked. Could be another runner."

Voice 2 (muffled): "Or it could be one of Rais' guys. We can't just open the door."

Voice 3 (muffled, sharper): "What if it's someone infected? Did anyone check the cameras?"

The hesitation drags on, and you grow impatient. You knock again, harder this time, the sound reverberating through the door. 

-"I'm not infected!" you yell, your voice deeper and sharper than you remember, carrying an unnatural growl at the edge. The words echo back at you, but you can't tell if they've been convinced or unsettled.

There's a pause, then hurried whispers.

Voice 2 (muffled): "What was that growl? Did you hear it?"

Voice 1 (muffled, concerned): "Yeah, but... they're speaking. Maybe they're telling the truth?"

You hear the click of a latch, then another. The metal door groans slightly as it opens just a crack, revealing a man holding a crowbar defensively. His eyes widen as he sees you, first scanning your sharp claws and strange posture, then looking directly into your glowing, red-tinged eyes.

Man: "Who... what are you?" His voice shakes, but he doesn't back away.

You remain calm, keeping your hands low and open to show you're not a threat—though your appearance says otherwise. 

-"I'm Marco," you respond, your voice even, though the growl slips through again. "I need shelter for now. No trouble, just... answers."

The man narrows his eyes, hesitating. Behind him, you catch sight of more survivors, some armed, others peeking nervously from the shadows.

Man: "You don't look... normal. What's wrong with your hands?" He glances down at your clawed fingers.

You raise them slowly, showing the strange fusion of flesh and your vest, the blackened tone of your skin glowing faintly in the daylight. 

-"Long story," you say, lowering them again. "Do you let me in... or do I find out how strong this door really is?"

The man stiffens, unsure whether you're serious. More voices from inside speak up, urging him to close the door.

Voice 3: "Don't trust him! Look at him—he's not one of us!"

Voice 1: "Wait! If he wanted to break in, wouldn't he have already done it?"

The man at the door hesitates one last time before looking back at you. 

Man: "...Fine. But one wrong move, and you're out—or worse."

He opens the door just wide enough for you to step inside. You crouch slightly to fit through, your presence immediately dominating the small entryway. Everyone inside is staring at you—some with fear, others with curiosity. 

Once inside, the door slams shut, and the UV lights above the entry flicker on as a precaution. The sharp glow irritates your skin, making you flinch slightly. You shake it off and step further inside, scanning the space. 

The safe zone is well-organized—barricaded windows, makeshift sleeping areas, and a large map of Old Town pinned to a wall. Armed guards stand at various points, and a few survivors murmur to one another while keeping their distance from you.

The man who let you in stays close, his crowbar still raised. 

Man: "Alright. You're in. Now talk. What are you doing here?"

-"I'm a Nightrunner from the Tower in the Slums. I came here after capturing Rais, but ended having to kill him. And now I need help in finding something very important he has hidden, that could risk everyone's lives, if reaches out to be known by everyone."

The man lowers his crowbar slightly, still cautious. 

Man: "Rais? You killed him?" 

A woman steps forward, her arms crossed. 

Woman: "What did he have that's so dangerous?" 

Everyone in the room watches you intently, waiting for your response.

You look around, hesitating, but then you take a deep breath.

-"... Information of a mutation of the virus. If this files reaches digitally out, everyone will know how is constructed biologically, and who knows if in any laboratory of any place will be took this information, and scientists will try or not in trying to obtain such for benefit."

The group exchanges uneasy glances, their expressions a mix of disbelief and concern. 

Man: "And you're saying Rais had this? Like, in his possession?" 

Woman: "That kind of info in the wrong hands… it'd be catastrophic." 

A younger survivor steps forward nervously. 

Young survivor: "So, what do you need from us? You're not… bringing that here, are you?" 

The room grows tense again, waiting for your explanation.

-"I just need to know where he had saved it. In his base in the Slums, I interrogated him, but only told me about being saved in a safe in the Old Town. A building near the bazaar, marked with a red flag. The drive is hidden in a safe behind a false wall. I don't know this place, and need help finding such location."

The man furrows his brow, thinking for a moment before nodding slightly. 

Man: "A building near the bazaar with a red flag... I think I know the one. It's been abandoned for a while, but people avoid it—too many infected in the area." 

The woman crosses her arms, studying you skeptically. 

Woman: "And you're expecting to just waltz in there, grab this drive, and leave? You've seen what Old Town's like. That place is crawling with Virals, and if Rais stashed it, he probably booby-trapped the damn place too." 

Young survivor: "It's suicide going alone... but if this is as big as you're saying..." He hesitates, glancing at the others. 

Man: "We'll mark the location for you on the map. But the rest is on you, Nightrunner. We're barely surviving here as it is."

-"That would be enough for me. I can go alone by myself and do it, I just need the location. Also, GRE doesn't send supplies or something in Old Town? I just arrive, so I don't know, but they do in the Slums."

The man nods slightly, grabbing a map from a nearby table and marking the building's location near the bazaar. 

Man: "Here's the spot. It's not far, but like I said, it's a death trap. As for GRE... no, we don't get anything from them here. Whatever deal the Slums have with their supply drops, it doesn't extend to Old Town. We're on our own out here." 

The woman scoffs, her arms still crossed. 

Woman: "Figures. They leave us to rot while tossing scraps to the Slums. Typical GRE behavior." 

Young survivor: "You're really going alone? You must have a death wish or... something keeping you alive that shouldn't be." 

The group exchanges uneasy glances, but they don't press further. 

-"... Well, let me try something..."

You say, and directly search something in your vest, finding the radio you was searching in it's pocket in your vest. You set it up and then, for a moment it goes static, so you wait, as you continue setting it up.

The radio crackles briefly before stabilizing. A faint, familiar voice comes through, distorted but recognizable—it's a GRE operator.

GRE Operator: "This is GRE. Status report, agent."

The survivors in the room exchange nervous glances as they overhear the transmission.

-"This is Marco Sanchez, reporting alive status. Surprised to hear me alive after taking me for dead after me and Crane were sent to Harran?"

The radio falls silent for a moment before the GRE operator responds, their tone steady but cautious:

GRE Operator: "Agent Sanchez, your survival is... unexpected. Provide a full status report. Have you secured the target or completed the mission?"

The survivors in the room watch you closely, their unease growing as they pick up bits of the conversation.

-"Target neutralized. And possibly located the information. But I contacted you for a proposal. As you sent us to die in this death mission, and ended in severe consequences because of such, I want to know why in a part of Harran, supplies aren't being given in airdrops, as in other part does happen."

The GRE operator hesitates for a moment before responding, their tone firm yet evasive:

GRE Operator: "Agent Sanchez, supply drops were strategically prioritized based on population density and accessibility. Certain zones, such as Old Town, were deemed lower priority due to heightened risk factors and diminished strategic value. Resources are limited, and decisions were made to ensure maximum survival elsewhere."

The survivors exchange uneasy glances, clearly unsettled by the implications of the GRE's cold calculations.

-"Sure, sure... You trained me intensely, focused on what GRE was supposed to be, prioritizing civilians in need before any current mission, or myself, until such need status was dealt with. You sent more than enough to show how much you have, and you are telling me such excuse? Let's get this in short, as I have other mission to focus on, and other things requiring me. There is much more information than the virus itself, and that 'cure' Rais had. I can't confirm anything right now, but... It's something I carry with me and I'm delving into it. Share supplies, and I'll share what I obtain with you, after all, is what you want, no? Information about something more, as for you, information is merely what is the completely base of power."

The GRE operator pauses for a long moment, the static from the radio filling the silence. Then, their voice returns, colder and more measured than before.

GRE Operator: "Agent Sanchez, your initiative is noted, but your deviation from the mission protocol is concerning. Information is indeed valuable—however, trust is earned. If what you claim to carry is as significant as you suggest, we require proof before taking further steps. Fulfill your mission objectives, secure the data, and we will reassess resource allocations for Old Town based on your findings. Until then, your request is... under consideration."

The transmission cuts briefly, then resumes.

GRE Operator: "We will be monitoring. Proceed with caution, Agent Sanchez."

-"NO! YOU HEAR ME RIGHT NOW!"

Your yell is more heard as a deep demanding growl, mixed with words.

-"I'm the one who has the frying pan here, and the chef cooking this meal. Because my training, doesn't mean I won't act against you! My priorities are set, if you want that information, and more as what I'm carrying, you better start making sure such priority you settled up remains with the importance you always gave in the trainings. Understood?"

The radio goes silent for a moment, as if the operator on the other end is taken aback by your outburst. When the voice returns, it is sharp, yet carries a hint of unease.

GRE Operator: "Agent Sanchez... you are treading dangerous ground. Your tone and actions suggest you have strayed far from your directives. However..." the voice falters slightly, then regains its composure, "...your results cannot be ignored. If you claim to hold leverage, prove it. Show us your worth."

Another pause.

GRE Operator: "Resources will be deployed to Old Town as a test of your commitment. But remember this—your leash is only as long as your utility. Fulfill your role, or face the consequences."

The transmission cuts abruptly, leaving only static.

You turn off the radio, unsettling it, and then save the radio back on it's pockets on your vest, while you caress your eyes with your left hand.

-"I swear... Literally making others respect something themselves don't do... I'm gonna kill them..."

One of the survivors near the door, who has been silently watching your exchange with the radio, shifts uncomfortably but tries to maintain a neutral tone.

Survivor: "You, uh... alright there? Sounds like you're carrying a lot of weight."

You glance at them briefly, lowering your hand from your face.

-"...I'll manage. I always do."

Without another word, you step back toward the door, your claws lightly tapping against the vest as you adjust it.

-"So, about that building near the bazaar..." you say, your voice steady but sharper than before.

-"Where exactly am I heading?"

The survivor, still cautious but sensing your determination, nods and gives a clearer answer.

Survivor: "Alright. The building you're looking for is a couple of blocks southeast of the bazaar. It's one of the older ones with wooden balconies and red-painted walls. You'll know it by the red flag hanging from the top floor. It's hard to miss."

They glance at your claws briefly before continuing.

Survivor: "The bazaar itself is crawling with infected, especially at night. And if Rais hid something there, his people might still be lingering around. Watch your back."

You nod, stepping toward the door without hesitation.

-"Thanks for the warning. I've dealt with worse."

As you open the door, sunlight spills across the ground outside, but you barely flinch. Your body absorbs the light, the faint golden glow in your veins briefly intensifying. The survivor behind you mutters something under their breath, but you're already moving—leaping effortlessly from the steps onto the nearest roof, heading southeast.

You pause for a moment on the roof, surveying the area. The red trails from infected and survivors are faint, but the location the survivor mentioned is clear in your mind. Without wasting another second, you launch yourself toward the bazaar.