The Gathering Storm

It was a pale gold dawn which diffused feeble rays over the waste that lay there all desolate and scarce reachable to heavy clouds of dust floating suspended in the air. Shen Mu stood upon the highest watchtower of the fortress his gaze reaching into that devastate stretch out beyond steel walls.

This world outside was a grave, the ground barren, concrete cracked and broken and twisted like scraps of metal across its length. Many things lay silently here where once the old world has been broken and forgotten, like nature's reclaiming what man had wrongly taken.

Something had changed.

What once had been a hollow, dead fortress was now a hive of activity and life. The compound is filled with people-survivors. Once this lone bastion of resistance against chaos, the fortress now houses ever-increasing numbers of desperate people who have no place else to go.

Shen Mu has taken them in.

They weren't refugees, though but rather fighters, scavengers, and survivors who had been hardened by the apocalypse. Some used to be members of failed resistance groups, others luckier than that, having escaped the horrors outside. They came carrying their skills, their weapons, and-most importantly-information.

And exactly what he needed right now.

Shen Mu turned from the watchtower and ran down, thudding boots against the rungs of the metal ladder. He took off in a sprint as soon as he touched the ground, racing toward the command room where Luo Qi and Zhao Ling waited with several newcomers.

A large, torn map of the city lay spread over the metal table, straining from the mass of hastily etched markings. Every street, every alleyway, every possible enemy outpost had been hatched out in rough lines.

Zhuo Ming, a wiry ex-soldier they'd found during recruitment, leaned forward, tracing a route with his finger.

"The Crimson Fangs aren't just some scattered gang," he said grimly. "They've got military-grade weapons, vehicles, and organized patrols. I've seen them execute survivors just to send a message. They don't take prisoners."

Shen Mu's eyes darkened. "And yet they haven't taken the entire city."

"They're at war," Zhuo Ming said. "Another faction. We don't know who they are, but they've kept the Fangs busy. If they weren't, this place would have been overrun already."

Luo Qi put his arms across his chest. "That means they have supply routes. Someone's backing them."

Shen Mu nodded. "So we have to find out where their supplies come from, how many men they have, and what weak point they have."

Zhao Ling took a deep breath and looked at the map. "That means scouting their territory. And that means risk."

Shen Mu ground his jaw tight into a hard ball. Impossible it would be. He was sure of it. However, information is power, and currently they needed a decent amount of it.

"We leave at dawn," he declared. "Small crew. In and out. Only intelligence. No unnecessary risks."

No one argued.

The Journey Begins

The following morning Shen Mu, Luo Qi, Zhao Ling, and Zhuo Ming vanished among the steel gates of the fortress and into the ruins of the city.

The streets were almost impossibly silent. The sort of silence that made Shen Mu's neck stand on end, not the stillness of an abandoned place. That was the quiet of something lurking and waiting.

They moved noiseless up through walls and clear open roads, steering clear of their appearance. Ruins towered all around, forgotten giants, skeletons of earth and skies, under the crunch of Time's rubble. Heavy air of rotting odor. All gush of winds brought in with it its own version of distant beasts' howls.

Passages of time; through narrow alleys; avoid noise that reaches them covering inside crumpled buildings should the distant rumbling of a mighty engine strike on their ears.

And then they saw it.

An abandoned train station on the outskirts of the city.

Zhuo Ming had marked it as a known Crimson Fang outpost—a checkpoint for their supply routes.

The structure was half-collapsed, with rusted train cars lying in twisted wreckage. Thick tire tracks in the dirt told them someone had been here recently.

Shen Mu motioned to the group to stop.

Luo Qi stooped beside him, his eyes sweeping across the wreckage. "No indication of occupation, but that doesn't mean they're not in there."

Zhao Ling shifted her binoculars up and her lips firmed. "Tracks lead inside. If they're here, we'll have to be cautious."

Shen Mu gripped his weapon tighter. "Then go. Quietly."

The Watchmen's Warning

The team crept stealthily, slipping into the shadows of the wreckage. The air inside the station was stale, heavy with dust and old blood.

Then a voice came out of the darkness.

"You shouldn't be here."

Shen Mu snapped his weapon up, his eyes narrowing.

A figure stepped forward. A man, dressed in scavenged armor, his rifle held low but ready. Behind him, several others emerged, their faces hardened by war.

Zhuo Ming's face set. "They're not Crimson Fangs."

The leader, an older man with a jagged scar across his face, looked them up and down. "You're from the fortress?"

Shen Mu did not lower his gun. "Who's asking?"

The man smirked. "Someone who doesn't want to see another massacre. The Fangs will be here soon. You need to leave."

Shen Mu stared at his team, and then he met their glances. "And you? Who are you?"

He let his smirk drop. "The ones who are fighting back."

They all clicked their attention on that at the same time.

The other faction.

Shen Mu relaxed his aim a little. "Then maybe we can help each other."

He looked at him for what felt like a long time. Then nodded.

"Come with me."

Shen Mu lingered behind, knowing that whatever happened next would change everything forever.

The storm was coming. And soon, blood would be spilled.