Duke watched in horror as a massive mutated rat gnawed on a steel pipe from a street sign, its gaze fixed menacingly on him and his team.
Mucus-like saliva dripped from the corners of its mouth, pooling on the ground below as it savored its makeshift meal.
Duke inhaled sharply as he surveyed the precarious situation, acutely aware that neither his team nor the mutated rats had made any sudden moves.
They were locked in a tense standoff; the rats seemed to sense Duke's formidable aura, holding back their eagerness to attack, their eyes gleaming with a mix of hunger and caution.
As Duke continued to analyze the scene, a chilling realization struck him.
The earlier ease of their journey through the southern part of the city hadn't been due to luck or flawless reconnaissance. He had sensed something was off—a disquieting stillness that felt unnatural.
