What i took an Oath for

"Well… not quite." Dr. Bailey muttered, his sharp gaze fixed on the unfolding scene below.

"What?" Dr. Zane asked, following his line of sight.

"Your statement. Not all of them are idiots. That student…" He trailed off, his thoughts aligning into certainty. "I feel like she's the exception."

Dr. Zane scoffed. "Because she's smart?"

Dr. Bailey shook his head. "No. Not because of that." Intelligence was a factor, of course, but what set this girl apart wasn't just intellect—it was something else.

"Her eyes are sharp. And she's quick to react." He said, watching Ella through the window, the weight of unspoken thoughts pressing against his chest.

Dr. Zane took a slow sip of her long-forgotten tea, her lips curling in amusement. "Well, if she is, let's see how she gets herself out of this predicament. Smart or not, only a fool would get involved in something like that. Now she has to answer to the soldiers."

As if on cue, a booming voice echoed across the frozen field.

"Who dares defy a military order?"

The soldier's voice carried with such force that it seemed to shake the air itself. The students, already paralyzed by the earlier events, flinched further, their hushed whimpers cutting off like a severed pulse. Silence descended.

Then, the distinct sound of a gun cocking cracked through the stillness.

A wave of panic rippled through the crowd as heavy military boots thundered against the ground, their rhythmic march an impending omen. The students scattered to the sides in fear, instinctively making way as the soldiers in black and green camouflage advanced.

Ella stiffened for only a fraction of a second before dropping to her knees beside the injured girl.

There was no time.

She reached for Wendy's trembling hand, her own fingers steady despite the storm building inside her. "Can I administer first aid?" she asked, her voice calm, controlled.

The girl barely registered her words, her pain-wracked mind struggling to focus. The world around her blurred at the edges, darkness threatening to pull her under. But as her gaze locked onto Ella's—firm, unwavering, filled with determination—she gave a faint nod.

Ella immediately got to work, her mind sifting through medical protocols like clockwork. She yanked open the small emergency kit they had been provided. Her eyes darted over the supplies—basic antiseptic, gauze, some painkillers… then her fingers found what she needed.

Forceps.

The cold metal instrument, barely more than glorified tweezers, would have to do. Gritting her teeth, she pressed down against Wendy's wound, steadying her trembling arm as she searched for the bullet.

It was wedged between bone and tissue, and extracting it without proper anesthesia was cruel—but there was no other choice. With a firm grip, she secured the bullet and pulled.

Wendy screamed.

Ella didn't flinch.

She worked quickly, wrapping bandages around the wound, pressing down to stop the bleeding. Her mind was in full motion—analyzing, calculating, blocking out everything else.

Then, the smell hit her.

Rot. Blood. Death.

It clung to the soldiers before they even stepped into view. A stench so thick it suffocated the air, made the very ground beneath them seem tainted. It wasn't the lingering scent of the battlefield. No. This was something worse—something that had seeped into their very skin.

The hair on Ella's arms stood on end.

And then—

Cold metal pressed against her skull.

The hard barrel of a gun.

She froze. Breath caught in her throat. Every muscle in her body screamed at her to react, to run, to fight—but she didn't.

She forced herself to inhale, slow and steady. Count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Her fingers twitched against the bloodied bandages.

"You. What are you doing?" The soldier's voice slithered into her ears, laced with contempt and authority. "I asked a question, and you dared to ignore me?"

Ella swallowed. The air around her thickened, pressing in like a vice. She was terrified, but she wouldn't show it.

Slowly, with measured control, she lifted her gaze.

"No, sir." Her voice was steady.

The soldier narrowed his eyes. "Then what are you doing? Who told you to help her?"

He was baffled.

Most people would be trembling, crying, begging for their lives. Yet this girl—this insignificant student—was speaking to him as if she wasn't staring death in the face.

Ella shifted her weight, keeping herself upright despite the trembling in her legs. It's just a piece of metal. She repeated the thought in her mind, trying to ground herself. It's nothing but a tool.

Finally, she spoke.

"I'm only doing what I took an oath for, sir," she said. "Besides, do you not have eyes? This student was bullied by another. How could I sit back and watch her be thrown to her death… sir?"

The soldier's face darkened.

The weight of her words—raw, unfiltered—settled heavily in the air. The other students, wide-eyed and breathless, clung to every syllable.

Ella had connected the dots.

The line.

The professor.

The soldiers.

It was all calculated.

The invisible boundary had been more than just a restriction—it had been a sentence.

Crossing that line meant death. Just like the ZOs—the zones overrun by the infected, where stepping too far meant you'd never return. Except this wasn't about zombies. This was about control.

The soldier's expression twisted into something unreadable. Then, he growled.

More guns cocked in the distance.

Ella's heart pounded.

I said what I said, sir.

She forced herself to remain still, to meet his gaze without flinching. "You brought us here as medical practitioners. That means I have the right to use my clinical judgment. It's the only thing that stands between life and death."

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then—

Laughter.

Not from the soldier in front of her, but from another standing behind him. Low and amused.

"Spoken like a true doctor," someone murmured.

But the soldier pressing the gun against her skull was far from entertained. His smirk stretched, cruel and promising. "Alright then, you can talk big, huh?"

He leaned in slightly, voice dropping. "Let's see how that mouth of yours holds up when I send you to AZA19."

Ella froze.

A flicker of something dark passed through her eyes, but she didn't waver.

The soldier smirked.

He expected fear. He wanted her to break.

But instead—

Ella straightened her back.

"AZA19?" she repeated, then, without hesitation, lifted her hand and gave a crisp salute.

"I accept."

The air stilled.