Chapter 8: First Encounter

Two squads were selected this morning.

At first, I assumed both squads would be sent on the same mission. It would have made sense. More people meant more rifles, more eyes, and a better chance of surviving if something went wrong. But I was wrong.

Captain Marcus Sullivan stood before us near the bunker’s exit, a folded map tucked under his arm. Behind him, two separate groups had already formed. Team A stood on one side, while Team B waited a few meters away, their expressions just as tense as ours.

“Listen carefully,” Captain Sullivan said. 

“Team A will escort the water tanker to the southern riverbank. Your job is simple: protect the vehicle, fill the tank, and return before nightfall. The tanker is slow, loud, and difficult to defend. If it gets damaged, the mission fails. If the driver dies, the mission fails. If you panic and scatter, everyone dies.”

Alexander stood beside me, his expression serious. 

Captain Sullivan continued.

“Team A will consist of Aaron Smith, Alexander Schmidt, Ivan Petrovich, Harper Robinson, and Hannah Lewis. You will remain under my command for the duration of the mission.”

I adjusted my grip on my rifle. So this was our first field mission.  Captain Sullivan then turned toward the second squad.

“Team B will be assigned a separate task. Your mission is to enter the old eastern residential district and retrieve medical supplies from an abandoned clinic.”

The members of Team B straightened. There were five of them, the same as us.

“Team B consists of Rina Kobayashi, Lucas Meyer, Victoria Schmidt, Elena Voss, and Samuel Reed. Your commanding officer will be Lieutenant Maren.”

A woman standing beside Captain Sullivan stepped forward. She was lean, sharp-eyed, and carried herself with an aura of competence.

Captain Sullivan pointed to the map.

“The clinic was used as an emergency treatment center before the district fell. We believe there are still sealed medical kits inside: bandages, antibiotics, painkillers, disinfectants, and surgical tools. Medical tools are always on demand.”

Rina raised her hand slightly.

“Sir, if the district fell, why has no one collected them before?”

“Because the area is unstable,” Sullivan answered. “Collapsed buildings, blocked roads, and possible Ossarian movement. Our intel marked it as safe with less movement from the enemy side in that area, thus the mission is an F rank.”

F rank missions are missions without any ossiarian presence, so the danger is minimal and optimal for beginner cadets.

Alexander glanced toward Team B, his eyes lingering on their faces.

“They look nervous,” he said quietly.

“They should be,” I replied.

He looked at me, concern clear in his expression. “Still, I hope they make it back.”

Aaron, on the other hand, crossed his arms.

“They’ll be fine if they don’t freeze.”

“That’s easy to say before anything happens.” Harper said. 

Aaron gave her a confident look. “Freezing is what gets people killed.”

I kept my eyes on the map.

He was not entirely wrong, but the way he said it made me want to disagree anyway.

Captain Sullivan clapped his hands once, pulling our attention back.

“Mission plan is as follows. Team A leaves first with the tanker. We take the southern service road, avoid the collapsed market zone, reach the riverbank, fill the tank, and return by the same route if it remains clear.”

He pointed to another section of the map.

“Team B leaves ten minutes after us. They will move east through the maintenance tunnels, exit near the residential district, retrieve the supplies, and return through the same tunnel entrance.”

Lieutenant Maren added, “If you see Ossarians, you avoid them unless engagement is unavoidable. Your goal is supplies, not kills.”

Captain Sullivan nodded.

“Both teams will keep radio contact at scheduled intervals. If one team goes silent, the other does not abandon its mission unless ordered. We cannot afford emotional decisions in the field.”

Alexander’s jaw tightened at that.

I understood why.

It sounded cold. Maybe even cruel.

But it made sense.

Out there, compassion could become a trap. One squad rushing to save another could turn one disaster into two.

Captain Sullivan looked over us one final time.

The bunker gate began to open behind him, metal grinding against metal as daylight spilled into the tunnel.

My stomach tightened.

Outside was the ruined world.

Inside was safety, or at least the closest thing to it.

Captain Sullivan raised his hand.

“Team A, let’s move.”

The first 2 hours outside were quieter than I expected.

The tanker moved slowly along the service road. The sound was not loud, but in a ruined city where silence ruled everything, it felt like we were dragging a bell behind us. Still, the mood was not terrible.

Aaron walked near the front with his rifle resting against his shoulder, trying to look more relaxed than he actually was. Alexander kept beside him, focused but calm, his eyes scanning the road ahead. Hannah and Harper are on the left and right sides, both nervous, but doing their best to follow formation. As for me, I stayed quiet.

Then Captain Sullivan suddenly raised his fist. Everyone stopped. The relaxed mood died instantly. He crouched slightly and narrowed his eyes toward the road ahead.

“Contact,” he said in a low voice.

My grip tightened around my rifle. Two male Ossarians were moving in our direction.

They came from between the ruins, tall and gray, their bone-like protrusions rising from their backs and shoulders. They had not fully activated their Radiance yet, but even their normal movements looked too fast and too smooth to belong to anything human.

Captain Sullivan did not waste a second.

“Aaron, Alexander, front,” he ordered. “Ivan, rear. Protect our back. Hannah, left side. Harper, right. I’ll stay in the middle and support wherever needed.”

We moved into position immediately. The tanker sat behind us like a helpless animal, large, slow, and impossible to hide. If the Ossarians reached it, the mission was over. If they reached us, we might be over.

Captain Sullivan’s voice cut through the tension.

“Stay on guard. Do not lose focus. Do not fire unless you have a clean shot.”

Aaron lifted his rifle first.

For someone who always carried himself like the strongest man in the room, his hands were not as steady as they should have been. The male Ossarian in front of him moved quickly, shifting from side to side as it advanced through the broken road.

Aaron followed it with his sights. One second passed. Then another.

“Shoot,” Alexander said sharply.

Aaron clenched his jaw, still trying to line up the perfect shot. But the target was too fast. By the time he finally pulled the trigger, the Ossarian had already shifted away. The shot missed.

“Damn it,” Aaron muttered, panic flashing across his face for the first time. At the same moment, Alexander fired. 

His shot struck the second male Ossarian cleanly in the upper body. The impact tore into it and forced the creature to stumble back, gravely injured but not dead. Even wounded, it remained standing, its body twitching as Radiance began to gather faintly along its bones.

Captain Sullivan’s voice hardened “Reload. Stay focused. They’re not finished yet.”

Hannah reacted before anyone ordered her to. Her eyes flickered between Aaron and the male Ossarian still rushing toward him, and fear tightened across her face. It was clear she knew this was not part of Captain Sullivan’s plan. Aaron was supposed to handle his target, Alexander had his own, and the rest of us were meant to hold our positions.

But something felt wrong to her. Maybe it was Aaron’s hesitation. Maybe it was the way the Ossarian kept advancing despite the missed shot. Either way, Hannah made a decision on her own. She shifted her rifle toward Aaron’s target, forced her trembling hands to steady, and aimed.

Then she fired.

The shot struck the male Ossarian in the side, forcing it to stagger. It was not a clean kill, but it was a hit. Her first hit. For a brief moment, relief flashed across her face.

Then I heard movement behind us. My blood turned cold. I turned my head just enough to see them. Four female Ossarians. Two came from the rear, while the other two emerged from the left and right, cutting off our sides like predators closing a trap. Their wing-like bones glowed with a pale blue light, and their bodies were already leaning forward, ready to launch.

This was not random. It was coordinated. A planned ambush.

“AMBUSH!” I shouted.

My voice tore through the battlefield, startling everyone around me, but I did not wait to see their reactions. One of the females at the rear shot forward, her speed almost impossible to follow. I raised my rifle, aimed for her head, and fired.

The shot missed its mark. Instead of her skull, it struck her leg.

The impact shattered her momentum and sent her crashing into the ground, her body skidding violently across the broken road. It immobilized her, at least for the moment, but I felt no pride in it.

That was supposed to be a headshot. The fact that I had hit her leg told me everything I needed to know. I was not good under this kind of pressure. And now my chamber was empty. So was Hannah’s.

Aaron and Alexander had fired as well, leaving them in the same situation. All of us needed to reload, but there was no room to breathe. Alexander and Aaron clearly wanted to turn back and help, but they could not. The two male Ossarians in front of them were wounded, not dead. If they ignored them now, those things would reach them before they could finish reloading or repositioning, and by then it would already be too late.

I looked toward the remaining female Ossarian charging from the rear. She was fast. Too fast.

From the way she moved, she had to be closing in at nearly 90 km/h . Her wing-like bones burned brighter with every step, the blue light crawling across them like fire.

Great.

Just great.

I had, at most, five seconds to decide what to do next. 

I made a gamble and ran toward Hannah’s side.

Not because I thought I could save her. I was out of capsules too, and in a worse position than she was. But Hannah was panicking. Her hands shook as she tried to reload, fumbling the capsule again and again without getting it into place. She was closer to the charging female Ossarian, defenseless, and clearly the easier target.

If that thing followed instinct, it would go for her first, thus I could ignore the female Ossarian coming from the left.

As for the other female still charging from the rear, I gambled that she would go for Captain Sullivan. His back was turned to her, since captain Sullivan had not yet reacted to those changes ,and she was already moving in a straight line toward him. From what Captain Ramirez had taught us, female Ossarians were terrifyingly fast when boosted by Radiance, but they can only charge at one direction , also changing direction at that speed was difficult.

And my gamble paid off. The female Ossarian at the rear locked onto Captain Sullivan. But the captain did not hesitate. In less than a second, he dropped to the ground, twisted his body toward the incoming threat, and raised his rifle. His face showed no panic, only focus. Then he fired.

The shot struck the female Ossarian directly in the head.

He did not even wait to confirm the kill. The moment he pulled the trigger, he rolled away across the ground, putting distance between himself and the center of the battlefield. Being in the middle meant danger could come from any direction, and he knew better than anyone that staying still was the fastest way to die.

On Harper’s side, things were not any better. She looked terrified, but unlike the rest of us, her weapon was still loaded. That gave her one chance. She raised her rifle toward the female Ossarian coming from the right, her hands shaking so badly that the barrel wavered in the air.

Then she fired. The shot missed completely, striking the hill behind the creature instead. Panic took over. 

Harper threw herself to the side, but her movement was slow and clumsy. The female Ossarian missed her first charge and shot past her toward the center, but Harper landed badly. Her rifle slipped from her hands and skidded across the ground, stopping about 3 meters away.

In any normal situation, three meters would have meant nothing. Here, it was a death sentence.

The female Ossarian turned back toward Harper, but this time, her wing-like bones were not glowing. Harper did not notice. She kept rolling across the ground toward her rifle, desperate to reach it before the next charge came. In her mind, she was doing the right thing. A fully charged female Ossarian could only rush in a straight line, so as long as Harper kept moving sideways, she believed she could avoid the attack long enough to grab her weapon.

But that was the trap.

The Ossarian was not fully charged. Without Radiance forcing her into a straight-line burst, she could move freely. If Harper had looked up, if she had paid attention to the enemy instead of the rifle, she would have realized the danger. There was no blue glow. No buildup. No locked direction.

The creature simply ran toward her.

Not with impossible speed, but with enough control and force to close the short distance. Harper was still reaching for her rifle when the Ossarian reached her.

In less than three seconds, it was on top of her.

From my side, things were far worse.

The female Ossarian struck Hannah like a vehicle tearing through flesh.

One moment, she was alive, trembling as she tried to reload. The next, her body caved beneath the impact with a wet, sickening crack. Her ribs folded inward, blood bursting from her mouth before spraying across the dirt. The force lifted her off the ground, twisting her body in the air as if her bones had turned to cloth.

She hit the ground several meters away.

Not as a person. 

Her shoulder struck first, twisting at an angle no human limb should ever make. One arm folded beneath her, the bone jutting against the skin until the fabric of her sleeve darkened with blood. Her ribs had caved in so badly that her uniform no longer sat flat against her body; it sagged around the ruined shape of her chest.

Her eyes remained open, staring at nothing. The worst part was her face. It still carried the last trace of panic, frozen there, as if she was still trying to understand how everything had gone wrong so quickly.

The Ossarian stood above the carnage, its gray skin painted red. Pieces of torn fabric and flesh clung to its body, and Hannah’s blood dripped from its limbs in slow, heavy drops.

For a moment, I could not move. I could not even think of her as Hannah. My mind refused to connect the girl who had been standing beside us seconds ago with the broken thing lying on the ground now.

Then the Ossarian turned toward me.

That was when instinct took over.

I buried everything. The horror. The nausea and the burning lump in my throat that threatened to break into a cry.

My body moved before my mind could catch up. I pulled the bolt back, ejected the spent capsule, grabbed a fresh one, forced it into the chamber, and locked the weapon forward. 

This process took about 5 seconds

On a battlefield, that was too long. By the time I finished reloading, the distance between us had already become dangerously short. She was close enough that one wrong breath, one delayed shot, or one moment of hesitation would end everything.

The creature in front of me barely looked gray anymore. Hannah’s blood covered her from head to chest. The sight alone almost broke my focus, but I forced my rifle up. My stance was far from perfect, but it was enough. I aimed at the center of her body and pulled the trigger. 

The shot struck her chest.

The Ossarian froze, as if something inside her had been ripped loose. Then she dropped to one knee, staring down at the ground in stunned confusion. I did not waste the chance.

I pulled the bolt back, ejected the spent capsule, loaded another one with trembling hands, and aimed again. This reload took longer,six seconds, maybe more, but this time she was not moving.

I placed the sight over her head. 

And fired.

The capsule tore through her skull with a wet crack, snapping her head backward as part of it burst open. Dark fluid and fragments of bone sprayed behind her, scattering across the dirt. For a moment, her body remained kneeling, twitching as if it had not yet realized it was dead.

Then she collapsed backward.

When her head struck the ground, what remained of her head broke further against the stone, leaving a dark smear beneath her. One side of her skull was simply gone, exposing torn flesh, shattered bone, and something pale beneath it that I refused to look at for more than a second.

I lowered the rifle, but my hands refused to stop shaking.

The battlefield had not gone silent. But as I stared at the body in front of me, I realized something.

All I felt was the weight of the rifle in my hands, the blood on the ground, and the horrifying truth that I barely survived my first encounter with an enemy.