The world moves too fast. Faster than we can comprehend. That's why Chapter 1 seemed like a blur, a chaotic rush of events—because it was. Because that's how the world works. A catastrophe doesn't pause for its audience; it doesn't slow down for us to process. It unfolds in real time, like a live broadcast cutting through the monotony of existence. But someone on that same unfortunate morning was having a perfect day. Let's introduce you all to Asher Collins.
On that same morning,
The wind flowed gently through the open windows of Collins' apartment as he prepared himself a strong cup of coffee, hoping to energize his mind despite the exhaustion from the previous night's work.
Collins was a 33-year-old researcher, currently working on developing radiation-resistant materials—something he believed could revolutionize the world.
Apparently, his wife didn't share the same enthusiasm. She had divorced him four months ago and taken custody of their 3-year-old daughter, Lila.
Sad, right? You could say he was an unlucky one.
But at least he got to see Lila every Tuesday, so he managed.
As Collins took a sip of his coffee, he let himself enjoy the gentle breeze coming through the window, attempting to relax his mind for the day. He settled onto the couch in a comfortable position, reaching for the remote to turn on the TV.
Just as he picked it up, his phone rang.
"A call this early in the morning? Damn," Collins muttered in frustration.
He switched on the TV, where the news was playing, and walked toward the bedroom to pick up the call.
On the other end was Meesha, his research partner.
As Collins answered, he said, "What's going on, Meesha? You're not exactly a morning person."
Meesha's voice came through, tense and hurried.
"Collins."
"What's up?" he asked, noting the serious tone in her voice.
"Look at the news."
Collins frowned. He turned his attention back to the TV just as he caught the anchor speaking in the background:
"We are still gathering details, but initial reports confirm a catastrophic nuclear event in the Eastern City Shuttle District. Authorities have declared a state of emergency, and rescue teams—"
Collins rushed toward the TV, increasing the volume to hear more clearly. As he grasped the gravity of the situation, he turned back to the call.
"What?! What the hell is this?! How?! Just... how does something like this happen all of a sudden?!"
His mind raced. "This has to be some kind of joke. A prank. A really big prank... right? Or... or—"
Meesha cut him off, her voice firm.
"Collins, we've been called in by the director. Get to the office, ASAP."
Collins hurried toward the office, his forehead slick with sweat, his mind drowning in overanalysis and fear. The city around him was gripped by the same unease—faces pale, eyes darting, hushed conversations laced with panic. Traffic was heavier than usual, the streets a blend of confusion and desperation.
Somehow, he made it to the facility.
Inside, the tension was suffocating. Director Harris, a sharp-dressed man in his late fifties with graying temples, stood at the center of the room, speaking in hushed tones to a tall, imposing figure in military fatigues.
Collins had never met him before, but the insignia on his chest said it all. General Martin S. Rim—head of crisis operations.
"Dr. Collins, good to see you," the director said as Collins entered. "This is General Rim."
The General turned, his sharp blue eyes assessing Collins. "Doctor, we need you and Dr. Meesha Patel on our research team. Your experience with radiation-resistant materials is invaluable."
Collins hesitated. "General, I'm a researcher. I develop solutions in a lab—I don't conduct field operations in nuclear disaster zones."
"You're also one of the only people who understands how radiation interacts with materials at a molecular level," Rim countered.
"We need you out there."
Collins clenched his jaw. "I—"
Meesha placed a hand on his arm. "Collins, this is bigger than us. If our knowledge can help, we can't just walk away."
Collins exhaled heavily. "Meesha, do you realize what they're asking? This isn't just an academic exercise. We're talking about ground zero of a nuclear disaster. The risks—"
"I know the risks," Meesha interjected. "But if we don't step in, who will? This is exactly why we got into this field. We have the expertise to make a difference."
Collins ran a hand through his hair. "You think we'll actually make a difference? Or are we just walking into a death zone with no real plan?"
Meesha met his gaze, unwavering. "If we don't go, we'll regret it. We'll sit in this lab watching others struggle and wonder if we could have helped. I don't want to live with that."
Collins looked at the General, then at Director Harris, then back at Meesha. He hated it, but she was right.
"Fine," he muttered. "I'm in."
A short while later, they were introduced to the team.
Ten elite soldiers, led by Captain Elliot Creed—a hardened man with a disciplined demeanor and a quiet intensity.
Eight researchers, including Collins and Meesha, as well as:
Dr. Alan Graves, a physicist specializing in radiation decay.
Dr. Hannah Lenz, a biologist focused on radiation poisoning effects.
Dr. Victor Steele, an expert in nuclear energy.
Dr. Rebecca Huang, an environmental scientist.
Dr. Imani Carter, a chemist researching decontamination solutions.
Dr. Louis Mercier, a medical physicist studying radiation exposure.
Eight engineers:
Ethan Park, structural engineer.Jonas
Fischer, robotics specialist.
Maria Delgado, nuclear engineer.
Samir Rao, radiation shielding expert.
Tom Weller, drone operator.
Olivia Banks, AI systems specialist.
Zane Mitchell, communications engineer.
Leo Hoshino, logistics and deployment.
Four medical professionals:
Dr. Sofia Ramirez, trauma surgeon.
Dr. Ben Howell, field medic.
Dr. Irene Novak, toxicologist.
Dr. Noah Patel, virologist.
The mission briefing began. A large digital map displayed the Eastern City Shuttle District, divided into three zones:
Search Zone – A chaotic wasteland of collapsed infrastructure and scattered debris, this zone still holds the highest chance of survivor recovery. Radiation levels are dangerously high but can be managed with high-tech radiation suits—though only for limited periods before cellular damage sets in.
Radiation Poisoning Zone – The air here is thick with deadly particles, the buildings blackened by radiation burns. The newest suits won't last long here before the hazardous isotopes start breaking through, seeping into the fabric and contaminating the wearer. Even brief exposure guarantees severe radiation sickness within hours.
Sudden Death Zone – A place where the very environment is an executioner. The radiation here is so intense that human tissue breaks down almost instantly. Entering means certain death. The zone is marked as a no-recovery area—even bodies left behind are too dangerous to retrieve.
"Each of you has a role," General Rim stated. "This isn't just a rescue mission—it's a retrieval. We need information on what caused this. We need answers."
The room was silent. Collins looked around. These people were the best at what they did.
And yet, he couldn't shake the feeling that none of them were truly ready for what lay ahead.
All thirty-one personnel were deployed to the field in three military-grade carrier helicopters. The hum of rotor blades echoed like a death march as they flew over the charred remains of the once-bustling Eastern City Shuttle District. Even from above, the destruction was overwhelming—buildings reduced to twisted skeletons, roads split open like scars on the earth, and the haunting absence of movement.
No survivors. No sounds. Just devastation.
As the helicopters touched down near the designated base camp on the outer edge of the Search Zone, silence replaced adrenaline. No one spoke. No one needed to. The reality spoke louder than any words.
The team wasted no time. Five teams were formed—each comprising six individuals from a mix of fields: science, engineering, medicine, and military. Meesha and Collins were placed in the same unit, Team Delta.
After receiving their assignments, each team was fitted with state-of-the-art radiation suits—heavy, claustrophobic, and barely comforting. The helmets sealed with a click that made each person feel distinctly alone.
Team Delta was tasked with sweeping the western sector of the Search Zone. Their mission: recover data, log anomalies, and locate any sign of potential survivors—though no one had any hope left for that.
The team began combing through the remnants of suburban blocks. Each house they entered was a time capsule of tragedy—frozen moments of interrupted lives. Family photos still hung on blackened walls, dining tables were half-set, children's toys lay untouched. But what broke everyone was the presence of remains—entire families huddled together in final moments, now little more than scorched bones and ash.
Meesha knelt beside a crib, her gloved hand trembling. "They didn't even have a chance," she whispered, voice heavy in Collins' earpiece.
Collins didn't respond right away. He was scanning radiation levels near a shattered kitchen. His scanner buzzed steadily, but nothing out of range for their suits.
"This is... pointless," Collins finally said, turning to her. "You tell me—what's even the point of scouring a zone with manageable radiation? Obviously, the source of the catastrophe isn't here. It has to be deeper—where the radiation is lethal."
Meesha stood up and sighed, her voice resigned. "You're right. But you know what it means to go into those zones. It's suicide. Even with the best suits, we wouldn't last ten minutes."
Collins' expression darkened behind the visor. "So, what are we really doing here? Walking in circles while pretending we're making progress?"
He turned away, but as he did, something clicked in his mind—a sudden realization. He opened his mouth to speak.
Then static crackled through the team's walkie-talkies.
"This is Captain Elliot. Emergency. All teams report to the East Sector immediately."
The urgency in his voice left no room for delay. Team Delta rushed to the location.
When they arrived, the scene was tense. Elliot was speaking with urgency into a secured line. Two stretchers were being prepped for emergency return to base.
Collins and Meesha rushed over. "What happened?"
Captain Elliot turned, his expression grim. "Dr. Rebecca Huang and Dr. Noah Patel have been exposed to high doses of radiation. Their suits were compromised."
Collins' eyes widened. "This fast?"
He stepped closer to inspect the suits. The fabric was clearly torn along the lower limbs—ripped in a jagged, almost unnatural pattern. Meesha leaned in beside him.
"Could've been a sharp object during the search," she offered quietly.
Collins frowned. "Or something else."
She looked at him. "What do you mean?"
Collins didn't answer right away. He replayed the scanner readings in his mind, his earlier doubts circling back. Something wasn't adding up. He didn't say it aloud, but deep down, a suspicion was growing.
Something—or someone—wasn't playing by the known rules of science.
And he was determined to find out why.
One week into the mission, with the West, East, and North sectors of the Search Zone thoroughly explored, the findings were grim—nearly nothing of use, only corpses and echoing silence. Worse still, three more team members had been diagnosed with acute radiation poisoning, and their suits showed signs of failure far earlier than expected.
That night, under the faint hum of portable power units and with the sky veiled in a blanket of chemical haze, Collins broke his silence.
"Meesha," he said, catching her just outside the camp's perimeter tents. "Walk with me."
She followed him away from the dim lights of the base, out to a quiet corner where only the wind whispered.
"You know this is all bullshit, right?" Collins said suddenly, stopping near a collapsed guard tower.
"What?" Meesha turned, confused.
"This entire mission—the search, the suit failures, everything."
She narrowed her eyes. "Are you seriously saying this whole operation is just... pretend?"
Collins nodded slowly. "Think about it. We've found nothing. Not one clue. Yet people are getting sick, and suits—top-of-the-line military prototypes—are failing way too fast. It's staged. It has to be."
Meesha blinked, stunned. "You really believe they'd launch an operation of this scale just for show?"
She froze mid-sentence.
Collins nodded again. "Exactly. This whole search is just a performance. A facade to keep the public calm, to make them believe the government is doing something. I'd bet my life on the report already written, sitting on some hard drive, waiting to be published the moment we return. Or… if we return."
Meesha's tone turned ice cold. "What do you mean 'if we return'?"
Collins lowered his voice. "The suit failures? Too consistent. Too precise. Someone is sabotaging us. Feeding the narrative that the zone is untouchable, that no one should ever return. They want this city erased. Forever."
Meesha shook her head, trying to push back the thought. "That's insane. You think someone on the inside is... trying to make us fail?"
"I don't think so. I'm starting to know."
A heavy silence followed.
"And I'm not here to pretend pats on the back," Collins said finally. "I want answers. Real ones."
Meesha exhaled sharply. "So what's your plan?"
"We finished version five of the suit," Collins said, voice firm.
Meesha raised an eyebrow. "And then what? You'll test it yourself?"
Collins didn't respond.
"Oh my god," Meesha said, stepping back. "That is your plan. You absolute psychopath. You bloody dumb fuck—"
She cut herself off, the weight of his determination crashing over her.
Five Days Later
The makeshift lab was quiet, save for the low hum of battery-powered workstations and the soft clicks of tools. The lights flickered occasionally—the power supply was patchy this deep into the zone. But none of that mattered to Collins.
He stood over the metallic framework of what would become the Version 5 suit, its carbon-titanium weave gleaming faintly under the dim illumination. Meesha, tired and frustrated, sat at the end of the table, a diagnostics tablet in hand.
They hadn't slept more than three hours at a time over the past five days. Time bled into itself, marked only by the rhythm of feverish construction and quiet arguments.
The rest of the crew assumed they were working on data analysis. Even Captain Elliot, the operational lead, hadn't been fully briefed. Collins kept the details vague—intentionally. Trust was in short supply.
"Power core readings?" Collins asked without looking up.
Meesha responded mechanically, "Holding steady. Output is slightly under spec, but within tolerance."
He nodded and carefully adjusted the internal regulator. "We'll need to double the coolant filtration. It's going to run hotter in Zone 2."
"You're still planning to go into the Radiation Poisoning Zone with this?" Meesha asked, breaking the silence.
Collins glanced at her. "Yeah."
"Even after three suit failures and five poisoned researchers?"
He paused. "Especially after that."
Meesha stood, placing the tablet down with more force than necessary. "You don't even have a proper test run. You don't know how the material will react under prolonged exposure. And most of all—you're not expendable."
Collins looked her dead in the eyes. "I'm not doing this because I'm expendable. I'm doing this because no one else can."
Her voice trembled. "You really think whatever's in that zone is worth dying for?"
"No," he said. "I think it's worth living for. Understanding for. If someone out there is trying to bury the truth, I'm not going to let them."
Meesha turned away, biting back the surge of emotion. "Then I'm going with you."
"You can't."
"I'm not letting you walk into death alone."
Collins gave a small, sad smile. "That's exactly why you can't come."
She didn't respond.
Silence again.
Then Collins said quietly, "The suit will be ready by tonight. We deploy at midnight."
As the camp powered down for the night, most personnel retreated into their sleeping quarters. A few guards lingered near the perimeter, unaware of what was about to unfold.
Collins, fully suited in the prototype Version 5, emerged from the lab tent like a ghost. The new material shimmered under the moonlight, reinforced and sealed tighter than anything currently in use.
Meesha walked beside him, carrying a secondary pack filled with monitoring tools and emergency supplies. Her hands trembled, but her steps were steady.
"Everything's calibrated," she whispered. "Telemetry is linked directly to my station. I'll be monitoring your vitals in real time. You need to respond every ten minutes—no excuses."
Collins nodded. "Got it."
"Are you sure about this?" she asked one last time.
He paused at the edge of the temporary gate, staring out into the darkness beyond.
"No," he said. "But I'm going anyway."
Without another word, he stepped out of the camp and into the Radiation Poisoning Zone.
Each footstep felt heavier, each breath a reminder of the weight of his decision. The environment around him changed—darker, stiller, more wrong than anything he'd felt before. His HUD blinked warnings constantly, but the suit held firm.
Behind him, Meesha watched the blip on her screen move deeper into the zone, her heart pounding with every step he took.
And finally the actual search begins.