Untouched by the Outbreak

Today, the government executed a high-stakes plan: deploying the mysterious man's genetically modified zombies. Thirteen of the enhanced creatures, now referred to as Specimen, were set to lead a mission into an area teeming with undead.

Alongside them was an elite special forces squad, heavily armed and supported by a single armored personnel vehicle (APV), while a helicopter hovered above, prepared to provide aerial backup.

The soldiers sat inside the APV, silent and tense, their faces betraying the uncertainty of the mission ahead. They knew the dangers, yet were forced to trust the modified Specimen, creations that were stronger, faster, and far more resilient than ordinary zombies.

The mission was clear: secure the land that had been claimed just beyond the government stronghold, a strategic point that needed to be fortified. Alongside them, civilian workers were forced to participate in the operation, held hostage by the government's insistence on swift reconstruction, regardless of the risks.

As the convoy advanced, the Specimen marched in formation at the front, their muscular forms moving with an eerie grace. Their skin was a light brown, and their size, slightly taller than normal zombies, made them an intimidating sight. With each step, the surrounding regular zombies scattered, none daring to challenge the genetically enhanced beings.

The soldiers could hear cheers of relief from the workers trailing behind them, grateful to see the undead fleeing at the mere presence of the Specimen.

In the sky above, four soldiers sat on edge inside the helicopter, weapons ready. They scanned the horizon through their scopes, alert for any sign of danger beyond the usual zombie threats. The Specimen may have been reliable against regular zombies, but the Striders and Creepers were a different story. Everyone knew the real test was yet to come.

The convoy continued its march toward the contested land. A tense silence hung in the air, with only the sounds of helicopter blades chopping through the wind and the steady hum of the APV's engine breaking the quiet.

The land the government sought to claim was a rare find in the post-apocalyptic wasteland—a fertile area near a river, perfect for farming and, if successful, even breeding animals for food. It was one of the last untouched areas that hadn't been overrun by zombies or destroyed by the chaos that followed the outbreak.

Securing this land meant survival, not just for a handful of survivors, but for the government's entire stronghold. With dwindling food supplies and barely enough water, this land was essential for their future.

Once the convoy reached its destination, the APV halted, and the Specimen, the genetically enhanced zombies, were deployed. They quickly fanned out, forming a formidable perimeter around the area. Their imposing presence deterred any stray zombies from wandering too close.

Their bodies, taller and more muscular than the ordinary infected, moved with a purpose—swift and intimidating, ensuring the workers could perform their tasks without threat.

The workers, a mix of engineers, laborers, and farmers who had been forcibly conscripted by the government, got to work immediately. Their first task: dig a waterway from the river to the government stronghold. This water supply would be the lifeline for the farming operations they hoped to establish.

If they succeeded, crops could be planted, and livestock could be bred, providing food for the survivors.

Shovels hit the dirt, and the digging began. The workers labored under the watchful eye of both the soldiers and the Specimen. Every now and then, one would glance nervously at the riverbank, half-expecting a horde of zombies to come charging at them. But none dared approach, repelled by the presence of the Specimen, who stood like silent sentinels, guarding the perimeter with cold efficiency.

Overhead, the helicopter continued its surveillance, keeping a keen eye on the surrounding area, while the soldiers inside the APV kept their fingers on the triggers of their weapons, ready to react to any threats that might emerge.

The land itself held promise. It was lush compared to the barren, zombie-infested wastelands that had overtaken most of the world. If the government could hold it and get the water flowing to the stronghold, it could become the heart of a new beginning—a place to grow crops, raise livestock, and begin the long process of rebuilding. But everyone knew this was only the first step.

The real challenge was surviving long enough to see that future come to life.

The squad leader, finally feeling a sense of ease after the tense journey, climbed down from the APV. He stretched his arms, grabbed a cigarette from his vest pocket, and lit it with a flick of his lighter. Taking a deep drag, he exhaled with satisfaction, the smoke curling up into the cold winter air. Around him, the other soldiers began to relax too, stepping out from the armored vehicle.

The mood lightened as they realized no zombies dared come close, not with the Specimen out front acting as an impenetrable shield.

A few soldiers let out victorious shouts, celebrating the calm. One of them, grinning widely, took off his helmet and waved to the helicopter above as if to signal their newfound sense of security. The helicopter crew, keeping their steady patrol overhead, confirmed the area was clear—no mutants, no Striders, no Creepers in sight.

Just the usual slow, grey-skinned zombies wandering far off at a safe distance, kept at bay by the genetically altered Specimen.

Two of the soldiers had taken positions in a nearby slightly elevated building, their rifles ready to provide cover and surveillance. From their vantage point, they had a perfect view of the surrounding terrain and any threats that might emerge, though none seemed likely. With no immediate danger in sight, the squad allowed themselves to loosen up.

One soldier, cocky and brimming with arrogance, spotted a lone regular zombie limping at the edge of the field. With a smirk, he raised his semi-auto rifle and, without hesitation, fired a shot. The bullet ripped through the zombie's head, dropping it instantly.

"Got one!" he yelled proudly, his voice echoing across the empty landscape.

The other soldiers laughed, and soon a few more joined in, firing at the harmless zombies wandering at a distance, turning it into a game. Every time a shot landed, the soldiers cheered and jeered, competing to see who could get the cleanest kill.

Their squad leader, watching from his position by the APV, merely smirked, cigarette between his lips. He didn't intervene, not minding the display. After all, they hadn't seen action for a while, and after months of dealing with fearsome mutants and deadly creepers, shooting at slow, defenseless zombies felt like a much-needed break.

As long as the Specimen were there, nothing would dare come close. Or so they thought.

The squad leader took a final drag of his cigarette before tossing it to the ground, grinding it out with his boot. He reached for the radio strapped to his vest, the static crackling as he pressed the button.

"With these Specimen, we've got nothing to worry about," he said with a smug tone. "We could take our time scavenging for food, fuel, and whatever else we need. Hell, even the biggest zombie hordes wouldn't dare come close with these things around."

His voice was filled with arrogance, his confidence bolstered by the presence of the genetically altered zombies under his command. The soldiers around him laughed, nodding in agreement, some even making plans out loud about raiding nearby towns once their work was done here.

"We're untouchable," the leader added, grinning as he stared out over the empty landscape. "This whole place is ours for the taking."

He let go of the radio, feeling invincible with the Specimen on their side, believing they had finally gained the upper hand in the zombie-ridden world.

The squad leader turned his attention to the workers, who were hunched over their tools, digging tirelessly to create the waterway. They moved with a sense of urgency, but to the leader, it wasn't fast enough. His frustration mounted as he watched them.

"Hey! Move it! We don't have all day!" he shouted, his voice booming across the open field. "Work faster! We're not here to stand around babysitting you!"

The workers flinched but didn't respond, knowing they had no choice but to obey. They continued digging, their bodies aching from the cold and the heavy labor, but fear of the soldiers—and the potential consequences of slacking off—kept them moving.

The leader smirked, watching them scramble to pick up the pace. He felt a sense of power over them, knowing that the government held their fates in its hands.

"Faster, damn it!" he barked again. "We need that water before nightfall. The more you delay, the longer we're stuck here!"

The squad leader, feeling overconfident and smug, lazily lifted the radio to his mouth as the static crackled. A voice from the base came through, asking for a status update.

"Squad Leader, what's the situation out there? Over."

The leader took a long drag from his cigarette, blowing out a cloud of smoke before answering in an arrogant tone.

"Everything's peachy, base," he replied with a chuckle. "We've got the area secured. No sign of any mutants, and the regular zombies? They won't even get close. They're scared of the specimens. Hell, we're practically untouchable out here."

He laughed, a deep, mocking sound, as if the entire operation was a joke to him. The other soldiers around him joined in, sharing his overconfidence, their rifles hanging loosely by their sides.

"Tell HQ they can rest easy. We're gonna finish this job and be back in time for dinner. No threats here, just a bunch of dead walkers too afraid to come near. Over."

He released the button on the radio and turned to his men, grinning widely.

"See? Easy job. Nothing's gonna touch us." He flicked the cigarette butt to the ground, stepping on it as he glanced at the workers, still toiling away.

They all laughed again, basking in their false sense of invincibility.