Zack crossed his arms, processing the information. "A close relative? Unlikely. Almost every species this similar to humans has already been cataloged. A hidden species of this level wouldn't go unnoticed."
"Then the more plausible answer is infection," Ego concluded. "This banshee could be a mutated human infected by Zeta disease."
Zack shook his head, unconvinced. "If this thing started as human, then what about the ones in the ocean? Abyss Crawlers look almost identical to this creature, aside from living in saltwater instead of freshwater."
Ego immediately countered, "Impossible, sir. Satellite imagery from the Sea alone shows numbers of Abyss Crawlers beyond measure. Adding the reports from across the globe, their population easily exceeds that of humanity before the apocalypse. That scale rules out human origin."
Zack exhaled sharply. "Whether it's human or not, the real issue is clear. The Abyss Crawlers aren't isolated freaks of nature. If there's something like the banshee in freshwater, the oceans could be teeming with more—and possibly even stronger—variants."
Before Zack could continue, Ego interrupted. "Sir, the sequencing is complete. There's something unusual about this banshee's strain of Zeta."
Zack glanced at the monitor. "Unusual how?"
"It's ancient," Ego said, his tone heavy with significance. "Far older than any Zeta strain we've encountered before."
Zack frowned. "Ancient? The original disease predated humanity itself. What makes this one special?"
Ego's response was chilling. "The strain in the freshwater banshee dates back roughly three billion years. It's practically untouched, preserved in its original form. This strain predates most multicellular life on the planet."
Zack's eyes narrowed. "How could it stay preserved for so long?"
"My theory is that it remained frozen, possibly in glaciers, until global warming melted the ice and released it," Ego said. "This strain might be the origin of the Zeta disease."
Zack's mind raced. "If that's true, we're closer to finding the truth behind the apocalypse." His thoughts drifted to Lillian's words. Before the end of the world, Vanguard Technology—the predecessor of the Vanguard Organization—had offered the rich and powerful a supposed "elixir of life." Shortly afterward, the apocalypse began.
"Could the elixir have been the first strain of Zeta?" Zack muttered to himself, his expression darkening.
Ego spoke again, pulling him back to the present. "Sir, if you want answers, we might find them at the Vanguard Organization's branch bases."
"How many are there?" Zack asked.
"There are three remaining bases in Asia," Ego replied. "One in Siliya, another in dragon base, and the last in phoenix, Arizona base. However, intercepted data suggests the Arizona base was abandoned."
"Two active bases, then," Zack muttered. "And one right under my nose. I've been so busy I didn't even notice." He clenched his fists. "Get my armor ready. Have a Avalon prepped and load up some fearless warriors. We're heading to Alaska first, abandoned or not."
Not long after, Zack donned his Apex armor and activated the thrusters, soaring toward the heart of NYC. He touched down with a soft metallic thud in front of a massive factory, its structure dominating the flattened remains of old buildings.
This was the Fearless Warrior Factory, a production hub spanning 60,000 square meters. Zack walked inside, the hum of machinery filling the air. Assembly lines stretched as far as the eye could see, each one operated by robotic arms that worked with relentless precision. Pieces of power armor moved from one station to the next, growing larger and more complete with each stage. Finally, towering suits, each standing 3.8 meters tall, emerged—bulkier and more aggressive versions of Zack's original MV-01 design.
Three Avalon transports descended outside the factory, landing in the designated downtime zone. Soldiers and equipment began unloading efficiently. "How many fearless warriors do we have now?" Zack asked, his gaze sweeping over the assembly lines.
"Sir, 341 subjects have undergone transformation," Ego reported. "336 were successful, and 5 failed."
Zack paused, raising an eyebrow. "Five failures?"
This was his first time visiting the Fearless Warrior Factory to personally oversee the progress, so he hadn't realized that some transformations didn't succeed. "Five subjects couldn't handle the serum due to genetic anomalies," Ego explained. "Their cells disintegrated during the process, leading to death."
Zack shrugged, his tone indifferent. "It's a minor issue. Failure is inevitable in a process like this." He glanced at his HUD. "Where are the reformed warriors?"
Ego projected a detailed map of the factory onto Zack's holographic interface, highlighting the route to the transformation area. Without hesitation, Zack followed the path through the manufacturing zone, eventually arriving at the transformation chamber.
Rows upon rows of injection pods lined the chamber, their design simple but effective. Beyond this area was a vast hall, large enough to hold thousands of people. Here, Zack finally saw them—336 Fearless Warriors standing in formation.
They were towering figures, each between 3.5 and 4 meters tall. Half of them were encased in power armor, looking like mechanical giants. The rest stood bare-chested, wearing only shorts, their bodies rippling with muscles like carved stone. Veins snaked across their skin like roots of an ancient tree, pulsing with life. Armored or not, they stood completely still, like statues, their presence radiating raw power. Even with Zack clad in the Apex, he felt dwarfed by their sheer size.
Suddenly, as Zack approached, all 336 warriors moved in unison. The ground quaked as they dropped to one knee, the synchronized motion creating a thunderous boom that reverberated through the factory. The shock was so strong that the chandeliers overhead swayed violently. These were no longer the weak, cowardly deserters they once were. Under Zack's command, they had been reforged into his most loyal warriors—extensions of his will, living weapons bred for war. Their purpose was singular: to fight.
"FIGHT!!!" their voices roared in unison, shaking the very walls of the hall. The sound was deafening, like a thunderstorm unleashed indoors.
Zack smirked coldly. "Good. I like them." His gaze swept over the rows of warriors before pointing to a group. "This row—thirty of them in armor. You're with me."
Boom. Boom. Boom.
The selected thirty stepped forward, their heavy footfalls echoing like drumbeats. Each one moved with military precision, their cybernetic enhancements granting them the equivalent of centuries of combat training. Discipline was embedded into their very existence. "Ego, is the Avalon ready?" Zack asked.
"Yes, sir. Three Avalons are parked on the tarmac outside the factory," Ego replied.
Zack turned to the warriors. "Follow me."
"YES! Sir!" the thirty boomed, their voices like thunder.
Minutes later, three Avalons, each loaded with ten Fearless Warriors, lifted off from the factory. Zack flew alongside them in his Apex armor, his thrusters leaving a sonic boom in their wake as they soared downstream toward the River. This was a force capable of leveling a medium to large survivor base with ease. As the convoy passed over smaller settlements, panic erupted below. The sight of Zack and his fleet was enough to terrify even the most hardened survivors.