Chapter Text
The lighter clicked. Again. Again. Flame caught, and he drew in a sharp breath, inhaling the smoke and letting the nicotine settle his shot nerves. Although his shoulders went lax, his foot still shook as his patience wavered.
They should’ve called by now.
It was past midnight, nearing 1:00 am. The Officer had yet to hear from any of his accomplices. Surely they had at least one zombie to harvest from, even if they could only save the eyes.
Nothing. Complete radio silence.
However, as the clock hands shifted to the new hour, the door to his office finally opened. In came a soldier, his posture lame and his head low.
“Finally, someone shows up…”
The Officer muttered irritably.
“Sir…”
The guard began, his tone distant and dejected.
“We can’t do this anymore.”
The Officer tilted his head.
“What do you mean?”
He asked, grinding his cigarette to death in the ashtray.
“It’s too dangerous.”
The Officer scoffed.
“Too dangerous? We’ve been doing this for years, and now you’re–”
“Soldiers 17 and 23 were caught today.”
The guard admitted dryly.
“Caught? You mean the Captain found out?”
The Officer asked anxiously. The guard shook his head.
“No. The Commander.”
The Officer gritted his teeth at the mere mention of the man who came out of nowhere and robbed him of his rank as second-in-command. However, he managed to retain his calm demeanor.
“Were they executed?”
The guard sighed.
“They were mutilated.”
The Officer paused, his eyes not even blinking.
Mutilated?
He had never heard of such a punishment on the island. He only ever heard of disobedient workers being shot in the head, their misery over before they could even comprehend it.
“What?”
“It’s…It's all just rumors right now, but they’re saying they each had a hand amputated.”
The Officer took a deep breath, his mind reeling.
“Where are they now?”
He asked, almost afraid to know the answer.
“They were stripped of their ranks—demoted to circles. They’re at the bottom of the island now, on permanent incinerator duty.”
The Officer’s nails dug into the arms of his leather chair.
“The new Commander…He has no mercy. This operation can’t go on. It only ends with us being butchered.”
The guard conceded, bowing his head.
“I’m sorry, sir…”
The Officer didn’t respond, his back teeth grinding together.
“I have to go now. I can’t be away from my dorm for too long. It’s not worth drawing any suspicion.”
The Officer exhaled harshly through his nose.
“Go.”
He grumbled. The guard didn’t hesitate, quickly exiting the dim room and slamming the door behind him.
The Officer stood up from his seat, stomping to the liquor cabinet, his fists clenched.
He shut it down. The operation was over. His operation. Years of quiet perfection were dismantled by his new, haughty superior in a single night.
He clenched his jaw so hard it ached.
How dare he?
That bastard. That arrogant son of bitch. Who did he think he was?
He felt it rising in his gut–hot, black, blinding rage. Not the kind that boils over and shows itself immediately. The kind that simmers. Waits. Plans.