You would be the reason

"This one, male, has a scratch on the forehead."

"This one too. He's male."

"W-wait, what's going on?"

"Here's another—female, has a stretch on her elbow."

"Hey, don't touch me!"

"Can someone explain what's going on?"

The field was in chaos. Soldiers were inspecting students while the students scurried away, their confusion evident. They didn't know what was happening, but the grave expressions on the soldiers' faces made it clear—it was bad news.

Ella, who had been standing close to Lieutenant Nate when he gave the order, understood the situation—at least partially.

She remembered the cold look he gave her when reporting her status.

"Female. She's uninjured," he stated into his walkie-talkie.

She had been the first to be reported, but she couldn't shake off the drastic shift in his demeanor. A moment ago, he had been unserious—almost indifferent. Now, he was cold, calculating. He reminded her of someone. That commander.

Her gaze drifted to him. There he stood, in the middle of dead bodies, looking over them like a god of war. There was something monstrous about his presence, something inhuman, as if, given the choice, he would leave nothing but corpses in his wake. And when Ella thought about it—really thought about it—she doubted she or the other students would have been exceptions.

A surge of panic hit her.

The little boy.

Infected or not—whatever that even meant—he was still her patient. That was all that mattered. She looked around, scanning frantically. Dead bodies sprawled across the field. The other survivors—most trembling from fear more than the harsh wind that had picked up—some on their knees as if begging for their lives, others passed out from fatigue or the excruciating hunger they had endured.

Ella's eyes swept across the sea of faces, desperate to find that small, fragile body. He wouldn't survive unless she did something. But then, they had told her he wasn't even human.

So… what was she supposed to do now?

It was too much. Too fast.

Everything that had happened in less than a day felt like an indigestible meal—too much to process, too much to handle. But she had no choice. Breaking down wasn't an option. So she kept looking.

And then—

She saw him.

And he was awake.

How?

That defied everything she had been taught in med school.

*Huh? Something about his posture… it's not right.*

Before she could examine him further, she sensed movement to her right.

It happened in a flash.

Commander Killian was suddenly beside her.

She barely had time to register his presence—let alone comprehend how he had covered that distance so fast, like he had *teleported*—when the gunshots rang out.

The first shot.

Ella flinched. The students around her startled, the commotion briefly dying down—only for panic to take hold again moments later.

The second shot.

The third.

Then another.

And another.

Each time, Ella's body trembled.

Then—silence.

The chaos had ceased entirely.

Lieutenant Nate seized the moment.

"Everyone who has been in contact with the survivors here has a 99% chance of becoming an infectee like them."

The students froze.

"What's an infected?" someone asked, though deep down, they already knew. Some even trembled involuntarily, dread creeping up their spines.

"An infectee," Nate corrected, "is a person living in between—stuck between being a zombie and a human. But we can't call them ZHHs because they don't have enhanced DNA. Instead, they simply haven't shown symptoms yet. It's like being stuck in the middle of nowhere."

"What's a ZHH?" another asked.

"That should've been addressed by your professors at the institute," Nate replied flatly. "I won't be explaining that."

Silence.

He didn't care.

Nate felt his hair stand on end—his boss had already switched. He needed to get him out of there.

"Anyway," Nate continued, "if you have any injuries, come forward now so we can save time and avoid trouble."

Then, a bold voice cut through the tense air.

"If these people are infected or whatever," a student demanded, "then why the hell did you bring us here? Why did you make us get out of the cars?"

A chorus of agreement followed. Murmurs turned into shouts.

Then—

*BAM!*

A gunshot.

The students froze.

"So annoying," Killian muttered, his eyes darkening into an even deeper shade of blue, smoke still trailing from his gun.

From behind the students, a single infectee had tried his luck.

Ella turned just in time to see him—his bulging eyes, his arms raised like claws, his stooped posture, mid-lunge—

And the fresh, bleeding hole in his forehead.

He collapsed.

Ella bit her lip. Her hands trembled. She clenched them into fists, but nothing could steady the storm raging inside her.

She was standing beside a man who was *very* dangerous.

"You're all medical professionals," Killian said coolly. "Your first duty in the field is to think critically and assess the situation. If you all jump at every survivor you see, doesn't that mean this entire mission will fail? How do you plan to find a cure then?"

Silence.

His gaze swept over them before settling—razor-sharp—on Ella.

"If you're going to waste my time and that of my troops, then get lost," he said, his eyes returning to their usual shade of black. "Especially you—the one who kept running to that child like an idiot."

Ella stiffened.

"You, out of everyone here, would be the reason a team dies in the field."

---