Untouched by the Outbreak

Inside the last government stronghold, the air was thick with tension. Outside, the harsh winter raged on, making any sort of farming impossible. The food stockpiles were abundant, but strict rationing was in place for the survivors, causing unrest among the people.

In the heart of the facility, the prime minister and top government officials gathered in the conference room. The prime minister, visibly enraged, paced back and forth as his voice echoed off the walls. Despite the recent success of retrieving oil trucks to keep the facility running, his frustration was palpable. It wasn't enough.

"We have oil, but what good is it if we can't secure the country?" he spat, slamming his fist on the table. "Status report on the military bases!"

The room fell silent as the general stood, clearing his throat. "Sir, the situation at the bases remains unchanged. We are still unable to reclaim any of them."

The prime minister's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Why not? We have the most advanced weapons, the best-trained soldiers! Why are we still losing ground?"

The general's face tightened with the weight of the truth he was about to share. "It's the zombies, sir. The new mutants—Striders, Brutes, and others—they've overrun the entire country. There is not a single place that is clear of them. Every city, every town, every base... is full of them."

The prime minister's fists clenched as he listened, fury boiling beneath the surface.

"Our soldiers, even the best-trained squads, are struggling to hold the line. These zombies—they're not the slow, shambling ones we've faced before. They're faster. And they're getting faster every day," the general continued, his voice heavy. "Even with air support—helicopters and limited armored personnel vehicles equipped with heavy guns—it's not enough to eliminate them."

The general paused, as if hesitant to continue, but the prime minister's glare urged him on.

"The Brutes, sir," the general said quietly, "they're the worst. They're stronger than anything we've encountered before. They can lift cars, even throw them at our armored vehicles. Our soldiers… they can't hold them off. And as for Striders—they're too fast. They outmaneuver even our best marksmen."

The room fell into a stunned silence as the weight of the situation sunk in. The prime minister, his face a mask of cold fury, slowly sat down, his fingers drumming angrily on the table.

"So what you're telling me, General," he said, his voice dangerously calm, "is that we have no control. We have oil, we have supplies, and we're still losing."

The general stiffened. "Yes, sir."

The prime minister's jaw tightened. "Then we are not just losing control of the country. We are losing control of everything."

The realization hung heavy in the room, the weight of it crushing. The government's stronghold was holding—for now. But outside its walls, the world was falling apart. And even with the best technology, the best soldiers, and all the resources they could muster, it was clear that humanity was no longer in control.

The undead, the mutants—they had claimed the country. And soon, if something didn't change, they would claim it all.

The general continued, his expression grim. "Our personnel have managed to hold this stronghold by securing the immediate area around the base. We've been able to kill the zombies nearby, but it's taking a significant toll on our resources. We've burned through an immense amount of ammunition, and every battle requires controlled bursts of firepower.

Precision is key, but that's all we have—precision and limited munitions."

He took a breath, as if weighing his next words. "We've established a small farming operation inside and just outside the perimeter. However, we can't expand it further. The heavy fences we've set up around the base and the outdoor farms are the only thing keeping the zombies at bay for now, but we're barely holding on.

We've also completed the solar power installations to supplement our energy needs, so power isn't an immediate issue."

The prime minister's eyes narrowed. "And missions outside the base?"

The general sighed, shaking his head. "We occasionally send out teams to scavenge for supplies, ammunition, and whatever else we need. But every mission is a gamble. The risk is enormous. The zombies are everywhere, and the further we go, the greater the danger. We can't afford to lose any more personnel, sir.

Every soldier we send on these missions is another body we can't afford to spare for defending the base itself."

He straightened his posture, as if bracing himself for the prime minister's response. "If we commit more soldiers to fight and secure additional ground, we won't have enough to protect the stronghold. The balance is delicate, sir. We're surviving, but just barely. One wrong move, and we could lose it all."

The prime minister stared at the general, his face a mask of frustration. "So, you're telling me we're stuck in this place, barely surviving? We can't even secure more land, more resources?"

The general nodded solemnly. "Yes, sir. That's exactly what I'm saying. Any attempt to expand or launch a large-scale operation would leave us vulnerable. And in this world, vulnerability means death."

A tense silence filled the room. The weight of their situation was heavy, and the reality was stark—survival was their only option, and even that was hanging by a thread.

The head researcher took a slow sip of his coffee, setting the cup down with a deliberate motion. He glanced at the prime minister before speaking, his voice calm but weary. "Yes, we do have some updates, Prime Minister," he began, clearing his throat. "Our team has made progress on reinforcing the vaccine we developed to enhance the immune system.

This vaccine is meant to bolster human immunity against the airborne strain of the virus—essentially, to avoid infection from the initial exposure."

He leaned forward slightly, placing his hands on the table. "However, the vaccine can only do so much. It's a preventive measure, not a cure. It's designed to protect those who haven't been infected yet. Once someone is exposed to the virus, especially through a bite or direct contact with infected blood, it's too late. The transformation into a zombie is inevitable."

The prime minister's face darkened as the head researcher continued, "This vaccine only prevents the airborne variant of the virus from affecting new survivors. It's essentially a safeguard for those who might still be out there, untouched by the more aggressive forms of transmission. But for those already infected, or those who come into direct contact with infected tissue—it's useless."

The prime minister's eyes narrowed. "So, you're saying it doesn't stop the infection once it's spread through a bite or other means? This is just a band-aid for those who haven't been exposed yet."

The head researcher nodded, his expression serious. "Exactly. The vaccine won't reverse the infection. Once the virus is in the bloodstream, it's only a matter of time. We've managed to protect those inside the stronghold, but this doesn't solve the larger issue. The real problem lies in the fact that the virus has already consumed the world outside these walls.

We're still far from finding a way to stop the infection at its source."

The room fell into a tense silence, the weight of the reality sinking in. The prime minister rubbed his temples, frustration etched on his face. "So we're no closer to a cure, then. No closer to stopping this nightmare."

The head researcher sighed. "Not yet, sir. But we're still working. We have a few other experiments in progress, but... finding a true solution will take time, resources, and... something more.

Something we don't yet have."

The prime minister clenched his jaw, clearly unsatisfied but knowing they had little choice but to continue down this uncertain path. "Keep working. Whatever it takes. We need a solution—before it's too late."

The prime minister, still frustrated with the head researcher's report, turned his gaze toward another man seated at the far end of the table. This man, dressed in dark, formal attire, exuded a quiet authority, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room shifted as the prime minister addressed him.

"And what about your progress?" the prime minister asked, his tone sharp but curious. "Have you made any breakthroughs?"

The man, who had been sitting silently throughout the meeting, straightened slightly and folded his hands on the table before speaking. His voice was low but steady, carrying a weight of confidence. "Yes, Prime Minister. I have completed the final stage of modifying the specimens. We now have thirteen modified zombies that are fully under control, ready to be deployed."

A murmur rippled through the room as the man continued, his calm demeanor betraying the magnitude of his statement. "These modified specimens can be used to guard the perimeter of the base, reinforcing our defenses. They respond to direct commands and will attack any hostile threats that approach. Their loyalty is absolute."

The prime minister raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Thirteen specimens... And you're saying they can be used to protect the base?"

The man nodded. "Correct. They are stronger, faster, and more durable than ordinary zombies. They've been enhanced through a series of modifications to their neural pathways, allowing us to control their behavior. Not only can they guard the barriers, but they could also potentially be used offensively—to drive away the zombies in areas we wish to reclaim."

The general, sitting beside the prime minister, leaned forward with skepticism. "Drive the zombies away? Are you suggesting we use these modified specimens as a kind of... zombie army?"

The mysterious man's gaze shifted to the general. "Precisely. They can act as a deterrent or a weapon. The other zombies will react instinctively to their presence, either avoiding them or attacking, depending on how we command them. If deployed strategically, these specimens could help us clear out areas we need to secure."

The prime minister's expression softened, a glint of interest now flickering in his eyes. "Thirteen... It's not much, but it's a start. You believe this will give us an edge?"

The man nodded. "It will, Prime Minister. These modified specimens are our best chance at creating a controlled force that can act where human soldiers struggle. The zombies respond more predictably to their own kind than they do to us. If we continue refining this process, we can produce more specimens in the future, potentially enough to control larger regions."

Silence filled the room as the prime minister pondered the proposal. He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his earlier frustration now replaced by cautious optimism. "Thirteen controlled zombies... deployed at the perimeter..." He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling for a moment before looking back at the mysterious man. "This could work."

The general, still skeptical but intrigued, added, "What about their stability? Can they be trusted? Will they turn on us?"

The man shook his head confidently. "No. Their neural pathways have been rewired to ensure loyalty. They cannot act independently. They follow our commands, and only our commands. There is no risk of them turning against us."

The prime minister nodded slowly, his mind already spinning with possibilities. "Alright. Prepare them for deployment around the perimeter. We'll see how effective they are in defending the base. If this works, we'll move forward with your plan to reclaim more land."

The mysterious man simply inclined his head. "Understood, Prime Minister. I will have them ready within the week."

As the meeting continued, the atmosphere in the room shifted from grim to cautiously hopeful. The prime minister now had something new to consider—an unorthodox solution that might just tip the scales in their favor, even in the face of overwhelming odds.