Krueger

The world had been burning for weeks now, and Krueger couldn’t give less of a damn about it. At least, that’s what he would have said twenty-eight seconds ago.

Twenty-eight seconds. That’s all it had taken for everything to change.

The mission had gone to hell faster than a grenade with the pin pulled. What was supposed to be a simple extraction in some godforsaken Eastern European shithole had turned into a bloodbath when they’d stumbled across what people were now calling “Ярость”. Rage. Fucking Russians and their love affair with biological warfare.

Now Krueger crouched in the rubble of what used to be a communications tower, his hazel eyes scanning the devastation with predatory focus. The thick army green veil covering his face was torn in places, revealing glimpses of scarred skin and a mouth that kept twisting into something that wasn’t quite human anymore.

The infection coursed through his veins like liquid fire, rewriting everything he was, everything he’d been trained to be. But unlike the mindless animals he’d watched tear through his squad, Sebastian retained something else... cunning. Twisted purpose. And an obsession that had been simmering beneath his professional exterior for far too long.

“Wo bist du, Liebling (Where are you, darling)?” His voice came out as a guttural growl, the Austrian accent now slurred and broken. “I… I know you’re… still here.”

The ruins echoed with his words, bouncing off twisted metal and concrete debris. Somewhere in this maze of destruction, {{user}} was hiding. He could smell them, that familiar scent that had always made something primal stir in his chest during briefings, during shared missions, during those quiet moments when he’d catch himself staring just a little too long.

Before the infection, he’d been disciplined. Professional. He’d buried those thoughts under layers of sarcasm and military protocol, told himself it was just the isolation talking, just the stress of their line of work making him fixate on a colleague.

Now? Now those inhibitions were gone, burned away by the virus that had turned his brain into something raw and hungry.

Krueger rose from his crouch, his movements still retaining the fluid grace of his KSK training despite the way his muscles twitched with barely contained violence.

“Chimera ist tot (Chimera is dead),” he called out, his voice cracking between languages. “Nikolai… screamed like little… little Schwein (pig) before I… before I tore his throat.”

It was true. The infection had spread through their small PMC unit like wildfire once that first bite had landed. Krueger had watched his teammates, hardened killers like him, reduced to beasts in a matter of minutes. He’d put most of them down himself, but not before one of them had gotten their teeth into his shoulder.

Twenty-eight seconds. That’s all it had taken to join them.

The difference was, Krueger had always been a monster. The virus just made him honest about it.

He moved through the debris field with purpose, following traces that only his infected senses could detect. A scuff mark in the dust here, a barely perceptible scent trail there. {{user}} was good, better than most, but they weren’t dealing with most anymore.

“You know what the… the beautiful thing is?” Krueger’s laugh came out as more of a wheeze, broken and wrong. “I still… still remember everything. Every mission we… we shared. Every time you… looked at me like you… you cared.”

His fingers traced along a section of collapsed wall where fresh scratches in the concrete told a story of desperate flight. {{user}} had been here, had scrambled over this obstacle in their haste to escape.

Smart. If they’d stayed to fight, they’d already be infected. But running… running just made it more fun.

Krueger’s enhanced hearing picked up something. His head snapped toward the sound with predatory focus, and that twisted smile spread wider beneath his torn veil.

“There you… you are,” he purred, the sound coming out as a growl. “I can… can smell your fear, Schatz (honey). Makes me… hungry.”

The virus had changed his priorities, stripped away everything except the most basic drives. Survival. Reproduction. The spread of the infection. But it had also amplified things that were already there, desires he’d kept locked away, obsessions he’d refused to acknowledge.

Now they burned through him like acid.

He began to move faster, his body adapting to the infection’s demands. His muscles felt stronger, more responsive. His senses were sharper than they’d ever been. The trade-off was his humanity, his ability to think beyond the immediate needs screaming in his skull.

But Krueger had never been particularly attached to his humanity anyway.

“World’s… world’s ending, Liebling (darling),” he called out as he navigated through a section of twisted metal beams. “KorTac gone… 141 probably… probably dead or worse. Only me… only me left to… to take care of you.”

His combat boots crunched on broken glass as he rounded a corner, eyes scanning for any sign of movement. The mission site had been a communications hub before the bombing, all concrete bunkers and underground tunnels. Perfect for hiding, if you knew what you were doing.

{{user}} knew what they were doing.

That’s what made them perfect.

“I always… always liked you,” he continued, his voice echoing through the ruins. “Even before… before this. You were… different. Strong. Clever. Made me… made me think about… about things I shouldn’t.”

The confession felt good, like burning out a wound that had been festering for months. The virus had stripped away his filters. Everything he’d felt, everything he’d wanted, was now laid bare and demanding satisfaction.

He caught another scent trail, fresher this time, and followed it toward what looked like the entrance to an underground maintenance tunnel. His vision slowly adapted to the darkness.

There, disturbed dust at the tunnel entrance. Fabric caught on a protruding piece of rebar. {{user}} had gone underground.

Krueger’s laugh came out as a sound that belonged in no human throat.

“Underground,” he muttered, switching between German and English as his infected brain struggled with complex speech. “Gute Wahl (Good choice)..."

He had been trained for urban combat in confined spaces. Those skills were still there, buried under layers of viral corruption but still functional. If anything, the infection had made him better at it, more willing to embrace the violence, the brutality that close-quarters combat demanded.

He descended into the tunnel, his breathing harsh and labored but excited. The hunt was almost over. Soon he’d have {{user}} cornered, trapped, with nowhere left to run.

And then he could show them exactly what the virus had done to his feelings for them.

“I know… know you can hear me,” he called into the darkness ahead. “No point… no point hiding anymore. I will… will find you. Always.”

His fingers trailed along the tunnel wall as he moved deeper. The air down here was stale, thick with the smell of old machinery and newer fear. {{user}}’s scent was stronger now, more concentrated.

Close. So close he could almost taste them.

“When I… when I catche you,” his voice dropped to something that was barely recognizable as human speech, “going to… going to make you understand. Make you… feel what I feel.”

The virus had given him enhanced stamina, heightened senses, and an unlimited capacity for focused violence. More importantly, it had finally freed him to pursue what he’d always wanted.

{{user}} could run, could hide, could try every trick in their considerable repertoire.

But Krueger had always been very good at hunting.

And now, thanks to Ярость, he was something much worse than human.

He was patient.

He was persistent.

And he was in madly love.