Miles had just awoken from his afternoon nap when the commotion outside caught his attention.
"What's going on out there?" he asked, frowning as he glanced toward the window.
Lisa approached with a cheerful smile. "Ryan and the others are organizing the Security Force Command. They're giving a speech to the recruits."
"What kind of nonsense is this?" Miles scoffed, biting into an apple. "With so few people, they're already calling it a command center. What's next? If these recruits rebel tomorrow, that command center will turn into a bullseye."
Lisa chuckled. "Unlikely. Those people just got a beating and some benefits. Without absolute certainty, they wouldn't dare turn against you."
"So you're saying I could go out there for a stroll, and they wouldn't lay a finger on me?"
Lisa nodded. "In theory, yes. Right now, they'd rather you lived as long as possible. After all, as long as you're alive, they get fed. If you were gone, who knows how much food they'd grab in the chaos? Even if they managed to take some, it wouldn't last forever."
"What about your research on the zombie cells?" Miles reclined lazily on the sofa, asking offhandedly. "Didn't you say those things could be transplanted into human bodies?"
"In theory, yes." Lisa's demeanor turned serious as the topic shifted to her expertise. "But I tried transplanting some cells into live chickens and ducks. These animals aren't humans—they lack the genetic resilience to replicate the cells properly. Within a few days, they all died."
"So, the idea of creating artificial ability users is a bust?"
Lisa shook her head with resignation. "Not with our current technology. However, with the resources and knowledge of a proper research institution, it might be possible. But that's only speculation."
Miles shrugged, unimpressed. "I figured as much. If just anyone could gain abilities, this world would've gone completely mad."
Before their conversation could continue, Miles's walkie-talkie crackled to life.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
Ryan's voice came through, tense and urgent. "Miles, bad news—Isaac's in trouble!"
"Someone causing trouble already?"
Since forming the Security Force, Ryan, Isaac, Nathan, and Thomas had each been given command of over a hundred people. Their units consisted of former residents, factory workers, and military school students—a chaotic mix prone to conflict. Miles's first thought was rebellion.
Ryan quickly clarified. "No, it's not that. Isaac's team ran into a group of super-zombies. It was going fine at first, but most of his people are older and not very capable fighters. Isaac was holding the line alone, but… he got bitten."
"Bitten?" Miles's expression darkened. "Evacuate everyone nearby immediately. If Isaac turns, he'll be a nightmare to handle."
Isaac wasn't just a decent fighter—he'd been a master of martial arts. If someone with his skills became a zombie, subduing him would be a monumental task.
There was a pause before Ryan spoke again, his voice heavy. "It's worse than that. Isaac's… barely alive. He was swarmed by four or five zombies, and no one dared to help. He's been torn apart, and there's no sign of mutation. I don't think he's going to make it."
From the walkie-talkie came a burst of anguished cries. "Isaac! Isaac, can you hear me?!"
"Lena? What are you doing here?" Ryan's voice was startled, followed by the sound of the walkie being snatched away.
Lena's sobbing voice came through, pleading, "Miles, for the sake of everything Isaac has done for you, please save him!"
"I…" Miles hesitated. It wasn't that he didn't want to save Isaac; it was the unknown risk of him mutating during treatment.
Lena's voice cracked with desperation. "Isaac is a good man. Since this disaster began, he's saved so many lives, helped so many people. Now, he's the one who needs saving. Are we just going to let him die?"
She continued, her words choked with tears. "If Isaac dies, I won't live either. My child and I owe him our lives. If you won't help, at least ensure my child is cared for."
A commotion followed, Lena's cries mixing with shouts. "Lena, put down the knife!"
Though he wasn't there, Miles could picture the chaotic scene unfolding.
Ryan's voice returned, more subdued. "Miles… Isaac's a good man. Maybe we should try to save him."
Miles exhaled deeply, his resolve hardening. "Bring him to the villa. Now."
Within minutes, Ryan and a crowd arrived at the villa's gates. Ryan raised his rifle, forcing the onlookers to retreat before speaking into his walkie. "Miles, he's outside. You can take him in."
The gates opened, drawing the attention of everyone present. Eyes widened at the sight of the villa's interior—luxurious and untouched by the apocalypse. Yet, Ryan's cold, watchful demeanor and his rifle kept them at bay.
Inside, Miles and Lisa worked quickly to move Isaac onto a mobile stretcher, taking him to the underground medical room. After examining Isaac's wounds, Lisa's expression grew grave.
"His carotid artery has been torn, and he's lost too much blood. Even if he doesn't mutate, the chances of survival are slim."
Miles didn't need a medical degree to understand the gravity of the situation. He sighed heavily. "Isaac might've been a naïve good guy, but his character was solid. Do everything you can—I don't want the others losing faith."
With more people under his command, Miles knew appearances mattered. Even if he didn't care for the opinions of outsiders, he couldn't afford to alienate loyalists like Ryan and Nathan.
Lisa nodded and began the procedure. Miles, for lack of better options, acted as her assistant.
"Forceps!" Lisa's tone was sharp and focused as she extended her hand.
"Uh, right—here!" Miles scrambled to find the tool, fumbling through the tray before handing it over.
"Scissors!"
"Got it."
"His heart rate's dropping! Prepare the defibrillator and get the backup blood bags ready!"
Fortunately, Miles had raided a hospital early on, stocking up on critical supplies like blood plasma. He sifted through his inventory, desperately searching for the right blood type.
"Hurry! Do you want him to die?" Lisa snapped.
"I'm on it!" Miles stammered, moving faster.
Standing at the operating table, Lisa transformed. Dressed in a white coat, her hair tucked under a surgical cap, she radiated an almost angelic authority. For this moment, there was no master or servant dynamic—just a skilled doctor commanding the room.
Miles, usually the one in control, found himself taking orders without question. Lisa, focused entirely on saving Isaac, barely glanced at him as she continued issuing commands.