023. Guilt

The night sky erupted with the thunderous crack of gunfire, each shot slicing through the tension like a blade. The eight grotesque beings froze in their tracks, their headless, red-glowing eyes swiveling toward the new threat. Andrei seized the opportunity, springing backward with an agility born of desperation, widening the gap between himself and the encroaching horrors.
Reinforcements had arrived at the exact moment of need. Fourteen seasoned OCK operatives stormed into the fray, their presence a force of raw power. Some wielded machetes, their blades catching the flickering lights and glinting ominously. Others brandished short axes, the razor-sharp edges gleaming with lethal intent as they charged forward, ready to confront the remaining abominations head-on.
The creatures, previously silent and eerie, now revealed their true voices. They emitted a grotesque war cry—a discordant blend of maniacal shrieks and the grating squeal of rusty hinges scraping against hollow metal. The sound reverberated through the night, a chilling, visceral reminder of their malevolence.
It became painfully clear that the beings had been merely toying with Andrei, their true ferocity held in check as they faced a more formidable force. As the OCK operatives closed in, the eight beings surged forward with blinding speed, their movements a deadly blur of metallic sinew and grotesque, artificial flesh. Their attacks were sudden and ferocious, each strike a ruthless display of their power.
The scene was a maelstrom of motion and noise, the battlefield a chaotic dance of steel and flesh. The air crackled with the sounds of combat, the operatives’ disciplined strikes clashing against the creatures’ relentless assault. Andrei, watching from the periphery, felt the weight of the fight shift. Despite the reinforcements’ arrival and the initial surge of hope, the eight abominations, though outnumbered, began to assert their dominance.
Their necks were their only weakness, and they guarded it fiercely. The humans, on the other hand, were riddled with vulnerabilities. As the OCK members fought furiously, aiming to decapitate their foes, the abominations countered with cold efficiency. They needed no precision—only a single slash or stab to incapacitate.
For the abominations, victory was almost effortless. The moment human blood touched even the tip of their metal fingers, a lethal, poisonous radiation began to spread. The toxin moved swiftly, a dark corruption that coursed through veins, robbing the operatives of their strength. The abominations were relentless, exploiting every weakness with terrifying shrewdness.
More than six OCK members lay sprawled on the ground, their bodies twisted in unnatural positions, blood seeping into the earth as the poisonous radiation slowly claimed them. Andrei, driven by a mix of desperation and fury, managed to decapitate another of the abominations.. Nearby, another OCK member fought with equal ferocity, swinging his machete in a desperate arc. The blade found its mark, severing the neck of a second abomination. The creature’s head rolled away, its glowing red eyes dimming to black as its form collapsed.
The roar of a motorcycle pierced through the chaos as Anna arrived with Dmitry, both plunging straight into the fray. Despite still being a rookie, Dmitry fought with savage determination, each strike driven by raw adrenaline. But to Anna, his efforts were far from enough—his inexperience glaring amid the battle’s brutality.
"Aim for their neck, shithead!" she shouted over the din of battle. "And put some muscle into it!"
Dmitry, eager to prove himself, redirected his focus to the abominations’ weakest point. He pushed himself beyond his limits, each swing of his weapon heavier than the last. Sweat poured down his face, but he didn’t relent. Finally, with a surge of strength, he managed to decapitate one of the grotesque beings.
But the victory came at a cost. Exhausted, Dmitry dropped to one knee, gasping for breath. His vision blurred with fatigue, leaving him unaware of the danger looming behind him. One of the abominations, with its black metal frame glinting menacingly, leaped at him, a sword poised for a killing strike.
"Stupid!" Anna snarled, delivering a powerful kick to Dmitry’s shoulder. He was sent sprawling, narrowly escaping the sword that struck the ground where he had been moments before.
Anna moved with swift precision, her athletic form a blur as she built momentum. Her machete gleamed under the moonlight, its edge flashing with deadly intent. With a fluid, practiced swing, she severed the abomination’s head from its body. The head flew through the air, landing with a dull thud, while Anna’s gaze snapped back to Dmitry.
But her face, once fierce, contorted with a sudden, intense pain. The anger in her eyes was replaced by a look of sheer agony. Her skin turned ashen, the color draining from her face in a matter of seconds. Her body trembled violently, and her legs buckled beneath her.
Dmitry, reacting with instinctive urgency, rushed to her side. His timing was impeccable. As Anna’s strength failed her, she collapsed into his arms instead of falling to the ground. He steadied her with a look of deep concern, his own exhaustion momentarily forgotten in the face of her distress.
As Dmitry cradled Anna’s body, he felt something warm and slick beneath his fingers. Panic surged through him as he gently laid her on the ground, realizing that his right hand was wet with blood—Anna’s blood. The creature had struck her after all, its claw-like metal fingers finding flesh just below her armpit. Though the wound wasn’t deep, knowing the effect of the creature's touch, the sight of it sent a wave of dread through him.
His eyes darted around frantically, searching for help. It was then that he noticed the eerie stillness around them. The fight had ended. Nine headless abominations lay scattered across the battlefield, their twisted forms frozen in death. The remaining seven members of the OCK moved among the fallen, checking the conditions of their unconscious comrades.
But Dmitry’s focus remained solely on Anna. His heart pounded as he pressed his hand against her wound, desperate to staunch the bleeding. The grim silence left him alone with the weight of his guilt. All he could think about was keeping her alive. After all, it was his mistake that had left her vulnerable to the attack. The blood on his hands was a bitter reminder—he had no one to blame but himself.