The silence of the city pressed down on Dinl as he made his way through the crumbling remains of Toronto. The distant groans of the undead were a constant reminder of the dangers lurking beyond every corner. Each step was deliberate, his knife gripped firmly in his hand as his eyes scanned the ruins for threats.
His thoughts circled back to Cerberus fight, the Impossible Achievement still fresh in his mind. He had faced challenges like this before in his past life, but something about this run felt different. The Tower wasn't just testing him anymore—it was watching him.
'One mistake is all it takes,' Dinl thought grimly, adjusting the strap of his bag as he passed a burned-out car.
The deeper he ventured into the city, the more traces of recent activity he found. Bullet casings littered the cracked asphalt, and the faint smell of gunpowder lingered in the air. Near a collapsed bus stop, he found a patch of disturbed dirt, as though someone had dug there recently.
Dinl crouched to inspect the area, his knife at the ready. A discarded energy bar wrapper caught his eye, the packaging barely weathered.
'This wasn't here long,' he thought, his gaze flicking toward the empty buildings around him.
The city wasn't as empty as it seemed.
Further down the street, Dinl's sharp eyes caught sight of a spray-painted message on a wall. The red letters were crude but legible, standing out starkly against the gray concrete.
"SAFE HAVEN - 2 KM SOUTH."
Dinl frowned. Messages like this could be a trap—bait to lure survivors into ambushes. But the signs of activity he'd seen suggested otherwise. The faint hope of supplies or allies was enough to push him forward.
'If it's a trap, I'll handle it,' he thought, his grip tightening on the handle of his knife.
As Dinl rounded a corner, a faint sound reached his ears. The scraping of claws against concrete sent a chill down his spine. He stopped, pressing himself against the shadowed side of a building, his breathing controlled and quiet.
The groans grew louder. Slowly, Dinl leaned forward to peek around the corner. A group of zombies shuffled through the street, their movements slow but deliberate.
Something was wrong. These weren't the aimless wanderers he'd seen before. Their movements were synchronized, almost coordinated, as though driven by a singular purpose.
Dinl's brow furrowed. 'The Tower's evolving them… great.'
He waited until the group moved on before slipping back into the open.
The first thing Dinl saw was a glint of light reflecting off metal. He slowed his pace, his knife at the ready, as the outlines of sandbag barricades and barbed wire came into view. A fortified shelter loomed ahead, built around the remnants of an old convention center.
Soldiers patrolled the perimeter, their rifles glinting in the light. Watchtowers overlooked the streets, their occupants scanning the area with practiced vigilance.
'A military outpost?' Dinl thought, his eyes narrowing. Organized groups like this were rare, especially in the early stages of the Tower's challenges. He hesitated, debating whether to approach or turn back.
His decision was made for him when a sharp voice cut through the air.
"Stop where you are!"
Dinl froze, his knife in plain view but lowered. A soldier in the nearest watchtower aimed a rifle at him, the barrel steady and unyielding.
"I'm just passing through," Dinl called out, his voice calm. "Not looking for trouble."
The soldier didn't lower his weapon. "Drop the knife. Hands where I can see them."
Dinl hesitated, his gaze flicking toward the barricades. Behind the soldiers, he spotted civilians—tired faces peeking out from behind makeshift shelters. Hope flickered faintly in their eyes, mixed with fear.
Slowly, Dinl dropped the knife. "Fine. Just don't waste my time."
Two soldiers approached cautiously, their weapons raised. One carried a small scanner, which he waved over Dinl's body. The device beeped faintly, and the soldier nodded to his companion.
"He's clear," the man said.
The second soldier gestured for Dinl to follow. "Try anything, and you're out. Got it?"
Dinl's expression remained neutral as he picked up his knife and walked through the barricades. Inside, the shelter was bustling with activity. Soldiers barked orders, civilians huddled in small groups, and the hum of a generator filled the air.
'This place is barely holding together,' Dinl thought, his gaze sweeping across the compound.
A man in a faded military uniform approached, his steps confident but weary. His face was lined with exhaustion, but his eyes were sharp and calculating.
"You don't look like the others," the man said, his tone carrying an edge of suspicion. "What's your name?"
Dinl met his gaze evenly. "Dinl."
The man studied him for a moment longer before nodding. "We'll see if you're worth the risk."
Dinl's lips twitched in a faint smirk. "That goes both ways."
As Dinl was led further into the shelter, his eyes caught the subtle tension in the air—half-glances between civilians and soldiers, the tight grip on weapons, the whispered arguments.
'This place isn't safe… not from the zombies or itself,' he thought, adjusting the strap of his bag.
He would rest here for now, but one thing was certain: the challenges outside the shelter weren't the only threats he'd face.