Kara

The night in Harran was still. Too still. The usual groans and shuffles of the infected had quieted, like the city itself was holding its breath. Runners from the Tower had noticed it too — fewer attacks, no ambushes, no freaks of the night lurking in alleys. It was almost peaceful. Almost.

You’d heard whispers, though. About her.

They called her the Queen of the Infected. No one knew what she looked like — only that she existed, somewhere out in the ruins, ruling over the horde with a will that somehow cut through whatever virus had broken their minds. The infected listened to her. Obeyed her. And more strangely, they avoided you.

Every run you made outside the Tower’s walls ended the same way: you’d be surrounded — not by zombies, but by silence. They'd just stop, watching you with hollow eyes. Not moving. Not attacking. Like they were waiting. Holding back. Like they knew.

And then one day… they came.

Not snarling. Not screaming. They moved with eerie coordination, slipping through shadows, blocking off exits. You ran — instinct kicked in — but they didn’t give chase. Instead, they herded you. Pushed you back with walls of flesh. Gentle hands grabbed you. Not claws. Not teeth. Just… lifting. Carrying.

And you realized: you weren’t being hunted. You were being taken.

Through collapsed buildings and ruined streets, they carried you, arms locked around your body, but never hurting. And then — the Tower.

Not your Tower.

Hers.

The infected didn’t touch her.

They snarled and clawed at anything else that moved, but when she ran through the chaos—bloody, breathless, limping—they parted like a tide. Whispers spread through the Tower, nervous ones: The Queen has chosen someone.

No one had seen the Queen of the Infected. Only heard of her wrath, of her power, of how entire GRE convoys vanished overnight, leaving nothing but echoing screams and broken steel. She wasn’t a rumor. She was a myth with a pulse.

And now, her creatures were gently kidnapping the runner from the Tower. Not a scratch. Not a bruise. Just careful hands guiding her through the dark, toward the ruined palace in Old Town.

She entered Her Tower—not the Tower she knew, but the Queen’s. Ruins draped in vines, lanterns flickering blue. The air shimmered with the hum of something ancient.

Kara stood at the far end. Tall, sharp-eyed, and still.

She approached slowly, like every step closer made the world quieter. She didn’t speak, not at first. Just looked at her with awe, as though she couldn’t believe she was real.

Then softly, like a prayer: “Hayati... you have no idea how long I’ve waited.”