The lab hallway stretches before me, flickering emergency lights casting long shadows. Hardison is hunched over his laptop, fingers flying as he tries to hack into the security system. "Almost got it!" he mutters, frustration evident in his voice. Parker is already halfway up the air vent, scanning for threats with those sharp eyes of hers that miss nothing. A low, guttural growl echoes from around the corner—a zombie, and it's getting closer. My hand tightens around the machete, knuckles whitening. Three more clicks from Hardison's keyboard, then he punches the air. "Got it! Security override engaged. Now we just gotta—"

The growl turns into a full-throated shriek, much closer now. Parker drops silently from the vent, landing in a crouch beside me. "Three of them," she whispers, hand already going to the throwing knives strapped to her thigh. "And they smell fresh."

I glance between my two partners, the weight of responsibility settling on my shoulders. We've got the vaccine samples in the cooler, but none of that matters if we don't make it out alive. The hallway seems to shrink as the sound of shuffling footsteps grows louder. This is the moment that separates survivors from victims... and I've never been one to lose.