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The thing was a raw nerve of muscle and bone.
Noah's gaze was locked onto the mass of twisted meat clinging to the ceiling. It was flayed—sickly, damp red flesh exposed as if it had been peeled. Knotted fibers coiled and pulsed under the surface like a nest of disturbed earthworms.
But the head was the stuff of fever dreams. The upper half of the skull was gone, replaced by an overgrown, exposed brain covered in grey folds. It had no eyes. Below that bulbous mass, a lipless mouth revealed rows of jagged teeth, and a tongue—crimson, dripping with viscous saliva, and several feet long—flicked rhythmically in the air.
Plip.
Another drop of blood fell from its forked tip.
The second Noah processed the creature, he clamped a hand onto Claire's shoulder. His movements were silent, his eyes screaming a warning. He pressed his index finger to his lips.
Claire's pupils shrank. She looked up, and for a second, the air left her lungs. Her hand flew toward her mouth to stifle a scream, her body trembling with the instinctive urge to bolt. Noah's gaze didn't waver; he mouthed three words: "Don't. Make. Sound."
He pointed toward the heavy door of the Operations Briefing Room ten meters ahead.
They began to move. Every step was a gamble. Noah felt the thumping of his heart against his ribs—thump, thump, thump—each beat sounding like a hammer on an anvil in the oppressive silence. The air smelled of something metallic and alkaline, a sharp, predatory musk that cut through the rot.
The monster didn't move. Its tongue flicked, tasting the air for the vibration of a heartbeat.
Step. Pause. Step.
The ten-meter corridor felt like a mile of thin ice. From outside the boarded-up windows, the scratching of zombies provided a low, scraping white noise.
They were five feet from the door when the world broke.
CRACK.
A rotting arm punched through a gap in the window boards right next to them. The force rattled the frame, and a jagged shard of glass that had been clinging to the edge finally gave way. It fell, tumbling through the air like a guillotine blade.
SHATTER.
The sound was a thunderclap.
Noah's jaw tightened. Claire went ghost-white.
HISS—!
A screech like tearing metal erupted from the ceiling. The creature's head snapped toward them, its massive tongue lashing the air in a frenzy. Before they could even raise their weapons, it released its hold.
It didn't just fall; it launched.
It was a blur of red muscle—faster than anything human, a biological projectile aimed directly at Claire.
Claire's combat instincts kicked in, but she was too slow. She started to raise her Samurai Edge, but the foul, hot wind of the creature's leap was already in her face.
Then Noah moved.
He didn't retreat. He stepped into the impact zone.
His center of gravity sank, his boots grinding into the marble. He gripped the rebar with both hands, his knuckles white. He channeled every ounce of the Xingyi Quan he'd mastered in a past life—twisting his waist, anchoring his weight, and exploding forward in a single, brutal thrust.
PUCHI!
The rough steel bar caught the Licker mid-air, sinking deep into its exposed chest. The impact was massive, the creature's forward momentum nearly taking Noah off his feet, but he didn't try to stop it.
He used the momentum.
With a roar of effort, Noah twisted his wrists and heaved his arms upward, using the rebar as a lever. He redirected the monster's force, tossing its heavy, thrashing body over his shoulder like a bale of hay.
CRASH.
The Licker slammed into the opposite wall, the brickwork spiderwebbing under the force. It slumped to the floor, limbs twitching, letting out a dazed, wet whimper.
Claire didn't waste the opening.
The fear was gone, replaced by a cold, white-hot rage. She didn't go for the pistol. She tore the GM-79 from her back, snapped the breach, and slid a 40mm grenade home with a mechanical click.
She leveled the launcher, her eyes locked onto the exposed brain of the creature.
"Go to hell," she hissed.
BOOM—!
The explosion turned the narrow corridor into a furnace. A blinding flash of incandescent fire swallowed the Licker. When the smoke cleared, the wall was a scorched crater splattered with grey matter and dark, steaming blood. The "Licker" was nothing more than a headless ruin.
They ducked into the Operations Room, shutting the door behind them. Claire leaned against the wood, her chest heaving as she stared at the grenade launcher in her hands.
"What... what the hell was that, Noah?"
Noah was already sweeping the room, rebar held ready. "Not a zombie," he said grimly. "That was something grown in a lab."
Claire began rummaging through a pile of blood-soaked reports on a central table. She pulled a charred document from the mess, reading it by the beam of her flashlight.
"Subject L-01," she read aloud. "Agile... eyeless... hearing-based hunting patterns. Target's tongue has a range and power exceeding previous evaluations." She looked at the bottom where a word was scrawled in red ink. "They call it a 'Licker'."
"A fitting name," Noah muttered, glancing at the door. "If there's one, there are more. And if Leon's 'metal box' contains something even worse, we need to pick up the pace."
They pushed through to the back of the briefing room, finding themselves in the hallway outside the Records Room. The heavy iron door was bolted shut. Claire groaned, looking at the lock. "Don't tell me we have to go find a 'Heart Key' or something equally stupid."
Noah didn't answer. He stepped up to the door, raised his rebar, and brought it down like a sledgehammer.
CLANG. CLANG. CRACK.
The lock cylinder sheared off and hit the floor. Noah kicked the door open with a casual shrug.
Claire stared at the broken lock, then at the rebar, and finally at her boyfriend. "You know... I'm starting to think you aren't just an international student from the Medical Department."
Noah leaned the rebar against his shoulder, offering a small, innocent smile. "You never asked, Claire."
"I'm asking now," she said, her eyes narrowing with curiosity as they stepped into the room. "Where did you learn to move like that? That wasn't 'self-defense class' stuff."
Noah scratched the back of his neck. "Back home... my family is big on Ancient Martial Arts. Internal styles. We use it for health, mostly. Building the 'Qi' and all that."
Claire arched an eyebrow, clearly not buying the "mostly for health" part after seeing him harpoon a mutant with a piece of scrap metal. "Uh-huh. 'Health.' Well, remind me to thank your gym teacher if we ever get out of this."
Noah's smile turned a bit more serious. "Let's find the next medallion, Claire. We're running out of time."
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