Staring at him.

---

"You're losing control again."

Killian's left lieutenant, Nate, spoke as soon as the screens went dark.

"What?" Killian asked, irritation barely concealed in his tone.

"Your eyes are turning that shade of blue. What triggered it? You're not fighting any zombies," Nate said, his implication unmistakable. That other side of Killian only surfaced in battle—outside of that, it rarely showed itself.

Killian turned in his chair, giving Nate a full view of his slouched yet undeniably commanding posture, one leg crossed over the other.

"Are they blue?"

"Yeah, they are."

Killian nodded, glancing down at his hands. "I don't know. Maybe it's the effects from the battle earlier."

"But that battle was hours ago. You don't usually stay in this form unnecessarily," Nate pointed out.

It was a statement, not a question, which only irked Killian further.

Did Nate really want to know why he was already irritated before he spoke to those damn graduates? It was because that damn institution had dared to use unauthorized footage from a zombie-infiltrated area as a teaching tool for their preppy students. And when it backfired, they had the audacity to call them and tell them to go rescue the people stuck there.

More like ordering them to clean up their mess.

God, he hated organized institutions like St. Francis. He hated their arrogance, their incompetence, their entitlement. But as much as he wanted to wipe them off the face of the earth, he knew he had no way of getting rid of them. Not yet.

At least for now, he could breathe without them breathing down his neck about this and that.

Then, suddenly, he stood and walked past his lieutenant, who turned to follow him.

"What? Why are you following me?" Killian asked, already annoyed.

"I'm making sure you don't run away from your military duties, obviously," Nate said dismissively, as if he wasn't talking to his commander but to an old friend.

Killian shot him a glare, but before he could say anything, Nate continued, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "At least let me brief you on the agenda before you get whiny, Commander."

The two of them walked down the corridor of a crumbling house. The white walls were stained with blood, brown grime, and mold creeping into the cracks at the edges. Pieces of the structure were missing, revealing the high, arched roof above. The place was falling apart, much like everything else in this godforsaken world.

Soldiers passed by, their movements sharp and disciplined.

"Commander! Lieutenant!"

The soldiers barked out their salutes, standing at attention as Killian and Nate strode past. The two men simply nodded in acknowledgment, continuing through the ruined hall. They turned a corner, entering another section of the building that was slightly cleaner but still marred by missing bricks and deep cracks along the walls.

"Then tell me. What is it?" Killian demanded, impatience bleeding into his voice.

This meeting had already derailed his plans.

"Well, you need to provide military vehicles for the students at St. Francis," Nate said.

The moment the words left his mouth, he immediately took five steps back.

Killian slowed his steps. "What?"

He didn't turn his entire body—just his head—just enough for his icy gaze to land on Nate.

Nate exhaled. His commander's eyes were still clear. 'Phew. Better break the rest of the news quickly and then find cover.'

"Ahem, that's not all," Nate cleared his throat. "We're also mandated to provide support."

Killian turned fully now, facing him head-on.

"Stop dancing around it and tell me exactly what that old bastard's words were."

Nate hesitated, then sighed. "He said we should send some of the troops to fetch the doctors."

His voice dipped near the end, mumbling the last part.

Then—

BAM.

The sound of a fist slamming into the wall echoed down the hall.

Soldiers flinched, startled. Some turned in alarm, others instinctively tightened their grips on their weapons. But Nate didn't even blink.

'Phew. Today is my lucky day, ' he thought, trying to keep his heartbeat steady. 'He only used his fists? Even after his other side showed?'

He had been dreading this moment since he heard the order. Because, of all things, there were two types of people Killian loathed the most.

Cocky doctors.

And bratty, entitled ones.

And now, he had to tell Killian that he was expected to personally send his men to escort those very people into the Zombie Outbreak zones?

He was screwed.

But orders were orders.

"Nate," Killian said, his voice dangerously quiet. "What the fuck did you just say?"

"W-what?"

"What did that nutjob say?"

His tone was a promise of violence, his irritation escalating into something darker.

"He said that—"

"No."

Nate blinked. "P-pardon?"

"I heard you the first time," Killian said, his voice flat. "I'm not doing that. Those stuck-up brats can walk into the zones for all I care. I'm not organizing anything."

He turned sharply and strode toward a nearby room.

"But—Killian—Commander—"

Nate barely got the words out before the air changed.

Something shifted.

The glow in Killian's eyes deepened, that eerie blue flickering like a warning.

And then—

"I said no. Now get out. I wanna take a piss."

Blunt. Unrefined. The words carried an unfamiliar sharpness, as if spoken by someone else entirely.

Nate stilled, every instinct screaming at him.

He knew better than to push now.

Slowly, he raised his hands in surrender and took a step back. Then another.

He'd thought luck was on his side. Thought he'd gotten off easy.

But just like that—

That thing was staring back at him.

And Nate knew when to retreat.

So, without another word, he quietly left the room.

---