Stage 3 Stampede!?

The Brute's skull caved under my gauntlet. I felt the crunch in my forearm, wet and brutal, like pounding a watermelon wrapped in rotted leather.

Blood sprayed up my arm, half-congealed and thick with black veins. The body crumpled, convulsed, and then stilled, its head twisted at the wrong angle.

"Two down," I muttered, scanning the yard. "How many more?"

The train depot was a goddamn maze. Cracked tracks, rusted rails, overturned cargo cars. Some containers still had old shipping logos barely visible under scorch marks and splattered gore. And deeper in the yard… I saw movement.

Too many. Too fast.

They weren't the slow, twitching kind. But the sprinting and violent kind, like starving wolves.