To Kill The Dead

Rain drizzled from the gray sky as the group crouched behind the rusting frame of an overturned delivery truck. Just beyond the cracked highway, the silhouette of Shinjuku Base loomed like a fortress — massive steel walls, perimeter lights, clean barricades manned by soldiers in dark uniforms.

"It looks too..." Kanami whispered, breath clouding. "Clean."

Kanata lowered his binoculars, sweat clinging to his fevered skin. His fingers trembled slightly from the low-grade infection he'd been ignoring for days. "Yeah," he muttered. "Something's off."

Godou-sensei knelt beside him, brow furrowed. Her expression hardened as she looked at the Black Flag Unit's insignia stitched onto the soldier's shoulders. "Those aren't JSDF. That's the Black Flag Unit. Private military. Rogue faction."

Takiya's jaw clenched. "So Yuka was right."

The group remained silent as two armored transport trucks rolled through the outer gates. Inside were people — children, mostly. Huddled. Afraid. Each wore a barcode bracelet.

Serizawa's hand shot to her mouth. "Oh my god..."

One soldier banged on the metal grate. "Move it! Specimens don't get breaks!"

Kanata's vision swam — not just from fever, but rage.

Later, in a half-destroyed pharmacy basement, the group set up camp. The flickering light of a half-functioning lantern revealed the tired, pale flush on Kanata's face. He leaned against a medical rack, eyes half-lidded.

"You're burning up," Kanami said, kneeling beside him with a bottle of water and a clean towel.