"What happened to you?" the soldier demanded, his tone a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Harley hesitated, unsure how much to reveal.
"It's a long story," he said finally. "I'm just trying to survive, same as everyone else."
The soldier's gaze lingered on the bullet hole in Harley's suit, the tear revealing unblemished, pale skin underneath. Then his eyes moved to Harley's crimson irises, which seemed to flicker with an unnatural intensity. He took a step back, motioning for his comrades to tighten their formation.
"You don't look like everyone else," another soldier muttered, his voice laced with unease.
"He's… infected," someone whispered from the group of survivors. The word sent a ripple of panic through the crowd. Harley's heart sank. He'd anticipated this reaction but still felt the sting of being viewed as a monster.
"Look, I don't know what's happening to me," Harley began, his tone earnest. "But I'm not like them." He gestured toward the distant streets where zombies still roamed, their guttural moans faint but ever-present. "I'm still me. I—"
Before he could finish, one of the soldiers raised his weapon higher, finger hovering dangerously close to the trigger. "Stay back," the soldier ordered. "I'm not taking any chances."
Harley froze. He wanted to plead his case further, but his instincts screamed at him to stay calm. Any sudden movement could set them off.
"You saw what he did to those zombies," another soldier hissed, his voice barely audible but dripping with fear. "No human can do that."
"And those eyes…" the first soldier muttered, shaking his head. "He's not normal."
The murmurs grew louder. Harley clenched his fists, frustration bubbling beneath the surface. He had fought to maintain his humanity, to control whatever this virus had done to him, and now he was being treated like an enemy. But he couldn't blame them. If he were in their position, he might feel the same.
A figure pushed through the cluster of soldiers and survivors. She was a woman in her early thirties, her expression stern but not unkind. Her military uniform bore the insignia of a lieutenant. She held up a hand, signaling the soldiers to lower their weapons, though they hesitated before complying.
"What's your name?" she asked, her voice steady but probing.
"Harley," he replied, meeting her gaze.
"Harley, you say you're not like them. Prove it." Her tone was challenging, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in her eyes.
Harley hesitated, then took a deep breath. Slowly, he knelt on the ground, raising his hands higher. "If I were like them, I wouldn't be talking to you right now. I wouldn't care about proving anything. And I definitely wouldn't stop myself from attacking," he said. His voice was calm, measured, despite the tension crackling in the air.
The lieutenant studied him for a long moment. Then she turned to the soldiers. "We're not executing someone who's talking sense," she said firmly. "Keep your weapons up, but let's not do anything rash."
The soldiers exchanged uneasy glances but ultimately obeyed. The lieutenant stepped closer to Harley, still keeping a safe distance.
"If you're telling the truth," she said, "then maybe you can help us."
"Help you?" Harley repeated, rising slowly to his feet.
"These streets are crawling with infected," she explained. "We're escorting these people to a safer zone, but we're outnumbered and running low on ammunition. If you really are… different, then maybe you're our best shot at getting out of here alive."
Harley glanced at the survivors. Their faces were a mix of hope and fear, their trust hanging by a thread. He looked back at the lieutenant and gave a small nod.
"I'll help," he said, his voice firm. "But we're going to need a plan."
The lieutenant's lips quirked into a faint smile, though her eyes remained wary. "Then let's figure one out. And Harley?"
"Yeah?"
"Don't give me a reason to regret this."
Harley nodded, the weight of her words sinking in. Whatever he had become, whatever powers he now possessed, he would use them to protect these people. It was the least he could do to prove to himself—and to them—that he was still human at heart.