His train of thought was interrupted by a low growl in the distance. Harley's head snapped toward the sound. From the shadows, three figures emerged. Zombies, their movements jerky and unnatural, their empty eyes locked onto him. Their guttural moans grew louder as they picked up speed, lurching toward him with hungry intent.
Instinct kicked in. Harley braced himself, unsure of what he was capable of but unwilling to go down without a fight. As the first zombie lunged, Harley's arm shot out on pure reflex. His hand closed around the creature's neck, and with a sharp twist, the sickening crack of bone echoed through the street. The zombie went limp in his grasp, and he tossed it aside as easily as if it were a rag doll.
Two more came at him, but Harley's newfound strength was undeniable. His movements felt effortless, fluid, almost animalistic. The second zombie's arm snapped in his grip as he flung it against a nearby wall, its body crumpling on impact. The last one managed to grab hold of his shoulder, its decayed fingers digging into his flesh. Harley's other hand found its way to the zombie's head. With a surge of force he hadn't realized he possessed, he crushed its skull in his grip, the body dropping lifelessly at his feet.
He stood there for a moment, panting, his crimson eyes darting around for more threats. The realization of what he'd just done struck him like a lightning bolt. He stared at his hands again, blood and viscera dripping from his fingers.
"This isn't possible…" he whispered. His voice trembled, but deep down, a part of him felt exhilarated, even alive. The virus hadn't just changed him; it had enhanced him. He was something else now, something stronger. But what? And at what cost?
Harley shook off the thought and surveyed his surroundings. The city was eerily quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of earlier. Fires burned in the distance, their smoke curling into the sky. He began walking, his footsteps echoing against the empty streets.
As he wandered, Harley's eyes caught sight of one of the crashed planes from earlier. The massive wreckage lay sprawled across an intersection, its torn fuselage spilling debris onto the street. Flames still licked at the metal frame, the acrid smell of burning fuel filling the air. He approached cautiously, the scene a grim reminder of how this nightmare had begun. Bodies were scattered around the wreckage, some mangled beyond recognition. The sight made his stomach churn, a flicker of his humanity pushing through the changes.
He stopped in front of the wreckage, his mind replaying the events that had led him here. Just hours ago, he had been in his office, living an ordinary life. Now, he was standing in the aftermath of what felt like the apocalypse, his very existence altered beyond recognition. The weight of it all pressed down on him, but he refused to crumble. He couldn't.
As he stood there, lost in thought, a faint sound reached his ears. A shuffling, distant but growing closer. More zombies. Harley turned toward the noise, his crimson eyes narrowing. He clenched his fists, the memory of his earlier fight fresh in his mind.
"Bring it on," he muttered, his voice low and steady. This time, he wouldn't run. This time, he would face the darkness head-on.