The cold steel of the muzzle pressed hard against Billy Coen's forehead.
At this point, Billy stopped struggling. He was pinned face-down by Havel, his arms wrenched behind his back. He gritted his teeth and allowed Havel to slap the handcuffs back onto his wrists.
Click.
With the threat neutralized, Havel finally let out a breath. He stood up, wiping sweat from his brow.
The ex-Marine was strong. Ridiculously strong. Even with Havel's enhanced physique and combat training, he had barely managed to hold him down. If it had been a straight fight without the element of surprise, Havel might have been the one eating floor tiles.
"Not bad..."
Billy spat a glob of bloody saliva onto the carpet. He rolled over and awkwardly pushed himself up to his knees, looking at the duo with a mix of annoyance and grudging respect.
"Your acting is top-tier. You two foxes got me good."
He had been careless. He knew zombies were a threat, and their performance had been so convincing that instinct took over. He hated admitting he'd been played, but a loss was a loss.
However, the game wasn't over.
Rebecca sat down on a nearby seat, keeping the gun trained on him. She looked at the convict with a steely gaze.
"Talk."
"Why did you massacre 23 innocent civilians? Was it for fun? Some sick twist in your head? You said you wanted to explain. Here's your chance."
Her voice was cold. "But be warned. If I think you're just a psychopath getting off on killing, I have the authority to carry out your execution right here and now."
This wasn't just blind mercy. Rebecca had noticed something crucial during the scuffle.
When Havel kicked the gun out of Billy's hand, the slide had racked back slightly. There was no round in the chamber. The magazine was empty.
He was bluffing, Rebecca realized. From the start, he never intended to shoot us. He just wanted us to back off.
Coupled with his earlier comment—"I don't want to explain myself. You wouldn't believe me anyway"—Rebecca's instincts told her there was more to this story. Havel, knowing the canon truth, stayed silent and let her handle it.
Billy blinked. He hadn't expected them to actually listen.
For months, everyone—his superiors, the court-martial judges, even his friends—had called him a liar. They called him a butcher. He had resigned himself to dying with that stain on his name. That was why he ran; if he was going to die, he would die free, not as a scapegoat.
"You really want to know?"
Billy looked at Rebecca. Her eyes were hard, but they weren't dismissive. She was waiting.
He let out a long sigh, his shoulders slumping.
"I was a Second Lieutenant in the Marine Corps. A few months ago, my unit was deployed to Africa. We were sent deep into the jungle to intervene in a civil war. Our mission was to locate a guerrilla hideout."
His eyes clouded over with the memory of the heat, the bugs, and the rot.
"The intel was bad. We marched through hell. Lost half the squad to heatstroke and booby traps. By the time we reached the coordinates... there were no guerrillas. Just a village."
"Just civilians. Women. Children."
Billy's voice grew tighter.
"My commanding officer... he snapped. He couldn't handle the failure. He ordered us to open fire. To kill them all and claim they were insurgents so we could complete the mission and go home."
"I refused. I told him soldiers protect the innocent, we don't slaughter them. I tried to stop it."
"So he pistol-whipped me. Knocked me out. When I woke up... the village was gone. 23 bodies. And the report said I did it. They pinned the whole thing on the 'rogue officer' to cover their own asses."
"The court-martial was a joke. I had no proof. Swift sentence: Death."
He looked up at them, his expression weary.
"Those MPs by the jeep? The monsters killed them. I haven't hurt a soul. That's the truth. Believe it or not."
Silence filled the car.
Havel and Rebecca exchanged a look.
For Rebecca, it was a shock. But it was plausible. She knew how corrupt the system could be. And looking at the man in front of her—a man who held an empty gun on them just to keep them away—she believed him.
"Alright."
Rebecca stood up. She walked over to him.
"I believe... half of it. The other half remains to be seen."
She reached into her pocket and pulled out the key to the handcuffs.
Click.
The cuffs fell away.
"But I'm keeping the gun," she added quickly, tucking his pistol into her belt. "Just in case you decide to get violent."
"We're not letting you go. Not yet. If what you say is true, help us survive this mission. Help us figure out what's happening on this train. If we make it out... Havel and I will decide what to do with your 'fugitive status.'"
She lifted her chin, trying to look authoritative despite her petite stature.
Billy rubbed his sore wrists. A faint smile touched his lips. It was the first time in months someone had treated him like a human being, not a rabid dog.
"..."
"Thanks for the trust," Billy said, extending a hand. "Billy Coen. Ex-Marine. I can shoot, I can fight, and I can drive just about anything with an engine."
Havel stepped forward and shook it firmly.
"Havel Lee. S.T.A.R.S. Bravo Team. I'm a mixed-race genius. Or just 'Genius' if you prefer."
Billy raised an eyebrow at the masked man. "Genius? Modest guy."
"He's shameless," Rebecca interjected, rolling her eyes. "Ignore the mask; he thinks he's Darth Vader. I'm Rebecca Chambers. Medic. If you get hurt, I can fix you up. Just don't expect a miracle."
She glared at Havel, daring him to make a joke about her "healing capacity."
The tension in the air evaporated. They were an odd trio—a convict, a rookie, and a masked weirdo—but they were a team.
However...
WHIRRRRR...
CLUNK—CLUNK—CLUNK...
The floor beneath them shuddered.
A loud mechanical groan echoed through the train. The wheels screeched against the rusted rails, sparks flying.
Slowly, then picking up speed, the Ecliptic Express began to move.
"What the—?!"
Havel grabbed a handrail to steady himself. "The train! It's moving!"
"Who's driving it?" Rebecca shouted. "Everyone is dead!"
Billy looked around for a weapon. Seeing nothing, he bent down and picked up a heavy metal cane dropped by one of the deceased passengers. It wasn't a gun, but it was a solid iron bar.
"Someone started the engine," Billy growled. "Or... something."
The train accelerated, plunging deeper into the darkness of the Arklay Mountains.