Survival in infinity

Chapter 3: Tactical Retreat

The group huddled together in a dimly lit storage room, their ragged breathing echoing off the cold metal walls. The acrid smell of ozone from the laser corridor still clung to their clothes, a harsh reminder of their narrow escape. Jack leaned against the wall, wincing as a dull ache throbbed across his back where the laser had grazed him. He glanced at his watch: 10 hours and 23 minutes left. The weight of time pressed down on him like a physical force.

A mercenary with a rugged face and blood stained bandages moved among the survivors, inspecting their wounds. When he reached Jack, his eyes narrowed at the laser burn. "That was a close call," he muttered, applying a cooling gel to the wound. Jack hissed through his teeth at the contact but felt instant relief.

Another mercenary approached, his hand heavily bandaged after losing two fingers in the laser trap. He gave Jack a tired smile. "Looks like you saved me back there," he said, referring to how Jack's quick movements had helped him avoid a worse fate. "Name's Cooper. Thanks, kid."

Jack nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His mind raced with the knowledge of what was to come. He wanted to warn them, to change the course of events, but the consequences of altering the story weighed heavily on him. What if making a change only made things worse?

Zheng sidled up to Jack, his face pale but determined. "You seemed to know what you were doing in there," he said quietly. "Have you... been through something like this before?"

Before Jack could answer, the mercenary leader's voice cut through the tension. "Everyone, collect weapons from the fallen. We can't afford to be under armed now."

They scavenged what they could, each loading up on guns, knives, and ammunition. Jack felt the weight of a revolver in his hand—it wasn't much, but it was something. He tried to steady his breathing, knowing things were about to get worse.

Just as they were about to head to the Red Queen's control room, a gunshot rang out, echoing down the dark corridor. The sound reverberated through the metal halls, followed by an eerie silence that made Jack's skin crawl.

"What was that?" Lan whispered, her voice trembling. Her glasses reflected the dim emergency lights, hiding her eyes but not the fear on her face.

The group quickly moved toward the source of the sound—Dining Hall B. The air grew thick with a coppery scent that made Jack's stomach churn. When they arrived, they found Ryan, one of the mercenaries, standing over a body, his gun still smoking. Blood pooled on the floor, spreading in a dark stain that seemed to absorb what little light there was.

"I was checking the room, making sure it was clear," Ryan explained, his voice tight. He held up his hand, where angry red bite marks were clearly visible. "I found a survivor, but something was off. He wasn't acting right... I shot him in the leg to stop him, but then he bit me. So I shot him again."

The mercenary leader's eyes narrowed as he scanned the room. "Where's the body?"

Ryan's face paled. He pointed to where the survivor had fallen, but the body was gone—only a trail of blood remained, leading into the shadows. Blood clots stained the floor, but the corpse had vanished.

A chill ran down Jack's spine. He knew what this meant, but saying it out loud would raise questions he couldn't answer. Instead, he found himself moving closer to Zheng and Lan, as if proximity to the story's protagonists might offer some protection.

The leader cursed under his breath. "This changes everything. We can't complete the mission like this. We're pulling out. Everyone, prepare to retreat."

Before anyone could respond, the sound of heavy, shuffling footsteps echoed from beyond the room. It started as a whisper, a scrape of flesh on metal, but grew louder with each passing second. Jack's heart pounded in his chest. He looked around, and his eyes fell on a glass container in the corner of the dining hall. The light inside had turned red.

No. Jack recognized it immediately—the Hunter capsules. The creatures were waking up. "We need to leave. Now!" Jack said, his voice urgent. He caught Zheng's eye, seeing the question there, and gave a slight nod. Trust me, he tried to convey silently.

But before they could retreat, one of the mercenaries opened a side door to check their path—only to find it swarming with zombies. They stumbled into the room, arms outstretched, eyes vacant but filled with hunger. The stench of decay hit them like a wave, and Jack fought the urge to gag.

"Zombies!" someone shouted, and chaos erupted.

The mercenary leader wasted no time. He tossed a revolver to Zheng, barking an order. "You, cover us!" Then Cooper, the injured mercenary, handed his gun to Jack. "Here, you'll need this."

Jack felt the cold metal of the revolver in his grip. His hands trembled, but he forced himself to steady them. He fired once—chest shot. The zombie barely flinched, continuing its relentless advance. He took a deep breath, remembering countless hours of playing Resident Evil games. Aim carefully, and... He fired again—this time hitting the zombie square in the forehead. It dropped immediately, a puppet with cut strings.

"Headshots!" Jack called out, his voice cracking. "That's the only way to stop them!"

Zheng and Jie followed suit, their headshots precise, taking out several more zombies. The mercenaries quickly adapted, focusing their fire on the zombies' heads. Within moments, the room was clear, though the echo of gunfire still rang in Jack's ears.

As they retreated towards the Red Queen's control room, Jack's mind raced. He had just killed his first zombie—a creature that, minutes ago, had been a living, breathing person. The weight of it hit him, and he stumbled, nearly falling.

Lan caught his arm, steadying him. "You okay?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jack nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He glanced at Zheng, saw the same mix of horror and determination on his face. They were in this together now, whether they liked it or not.

Jack thought about the notification that notified that he got 1 point because he killed 10 zombies. He thought all of this for one point

Once inside the control room, the group took stock of the situation. Lan, her voice shaky but curious, turned to Jie. "How do we get back to God's room? Can we escape this nightmare?"

Jie leaned against a console, his face a mask of indifference. But Jack noticed the slight tremor in his hands as he lit a cigarette. "When the time comes, we'll be pulled back. Don't worry about it. Focus on surviving until then."

The players exchanged uneasy glances. They were trapped in a horror movie, unsure of how or when they'd be pulled out. Lan hesitated for a moment, then offered a suggestion. "What if we stayed here? The Red Queen's control room has the best defences. If we can hold out, maybe the rest of the movie will play out without us."

Jack's mind raced. He knew staying put wasn't an option—the story had to progress. But how could he guide them without revealing too much? "I don't think that's a good idea," he said slowly. "We don't know how long we'll be here, and supplies are limited. Plus, who knows what other security measures might activate if we overstay our welcome?"

Before the group could debate further, the mercenaries returned from scouting ahead. "Everything's clear for now," the team leader said. "But we'll need a plan to retreat to the surface. We're running low on ammunition, and the situation is getting worse by the minute."

At that moment, Alice, the movie's heroine, returned to the group. She looked grim, her face smeared with dirt and what might have been blood. "The whole facility is crawling with the undead. We can't stay here much longer."

Jie stepped forward, his eyes calculating. "Most of us aren't soldiers. We're just playing a part in this twisted game. You should go to the surface and get help. We'll stay here, in the control room, and hold out."

Jack nodded, seeing an opportunity to stick closer to the original plot. "We're injured, and we don't have enough bullets. We won't make it out there. But if you can send help..."

The mercenary leader considered the plan, his eyes scanning the injured players and the state of his team. After a tense moment, he gave a reluctant nod. "Fine. We'll go to the surface and send help. But stay here, and don't open the doors unless it's us. And if we're not back in three hours..." He let the implication hang in the air.

With that, the mercenaries made their preparations. They activated the Red Queen's defense systems to their maximum capacity, locking down the room to keep the players safe. Jack watched as the mercenary team disappeared down the corridor, hoping that they'd make it to the surface—and that help would arrive before it was too late.

As the sound of their footsteps faded, an oppressive silence fell over the control room. Jack looked around at the scared faces of his fellow players, then at the bank of monitors showing various parts of the Hive. On one screen, he saw a group of zombies shambling down a corridor. On another, a flash of movement—something bigger, faster. A Licker, he realized with a chill.

Zheng approached him, his voice low. "You seem to know more than you're letting on," he said. It wasn't a question.

Jack met his gaze, weighing his words carefully. "Let's just say I've got a bad feeling about what's coming next. We should prepare ourselves, any way we can."

As if in response to his words, a distant roar echoed through the facility, causing everyone to jump. Jack's blood ran cold. He knew that sound. The Hunters were loose.

"What was that?" Lan asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Jack gripped his gun tighter, his palms sweaty. "Something worse than zombies," he said grimly. "Much worse."

The group huddled closer together, eyes darting between the monitors and the sealed doors. They had survived the first wave, but Jack knew the real horror was just beginning. As he checked his ammunition and tried to recall every detail he could about the Hive's layout, one thought kept running through his mind: How much can I change before it all falls apart?

The watch on his wrist beeped softly, marking another hour passed. Nine hours left until extraction. Nine hours to survive the nightmare. Jack took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. Whatever happened, he wa

s determined to make it out alive—and maybe, just maybe, save a few others along the way.