4 Days Later

Four days had passed since the confrontation that nearly cost Elliot his life. FEDRA forces, now on high alert, patrolled beyond the usual areas, seeking to prevent ambushes like the one they had suffered. The streets of the quarantine zone were more heavily guarded than ever, the controls stricter, and the constant patrols reminded everyone that danger was always lurking.

For Elliot, the situation had brought an unexpected consequence: he had become something of a hero among the ranks of FEDRA. Stories of how he had protected Lawrence, faced several attackers, and survived his wounds circulated like wildfire in the barracks. Some saw him as a role model, the perfect example of what a soldier should be. Others simply envied him in silence.

With recognition came small privileges. Elliot received extra rations, a little more free time, and even access to areas reserved for higher-ranking personnel. It wasn't much, but in a world where every resource counted, it was a luxury that didn't go unnoticed.

Still bandaged and with lingering pains in his shoulder and side, Elliot refused to stay in his bunk any longer. He walked around the base in his uniform, boots clicking on the concrete floor as his thoughts kept him busy. Resting had never been his strong suit, and though his body kept clamoring, he couldn't stay still.

As he wandered aimlessly through the halls, Elliot suddenly stopped. In front of him, walking in the opposite direction, was Lieutenant Stroud.

"Torres," the lieutenant said, her tone dry but with a hint of surprise. Elliot reacted immediately, standing firm as a spring.

"Lieutenant," he replied in a clear voice, though the tension in his posture was evident.

Stroud stopped in front of him, crossing her arms as she inspected him with a critical gaze. "What are you doing here? You shouldn't be resting."

Elliot swallowed, feeling the weight of her gaze. "I can't, Lieutenant. I've had enough rest."

Stroud raised an eyebrow, his eyes heavy with doubt. "Are you sure?"

Elliot nodded quickly. "Yes, ma'am."

As she watched him, Elliot noticed something that took him by surprise. Stroud wasn't wearing her usual FEDRA uniform. Instead, she was dressed in civilian clothes: tight jeans and a worn leather jacket, with a black T-shirt underneath. It was a completely different image than the ruthless leader he was used to.

The change threw him off for a moment. Stroud seemed more relaxed, though her presence was still imposing. There was something in her gaze, though, something different.

"It's funny," Stroud said, breaking the silence as she tilted her head slightly. "I thought someone who was on the brink of death just four days ago would appreciate recovery time a little more."

"It's not that, ma'am," Elliot replied, straightening up even more. "I just... don't know what to do with myself if I'm not moving."

Stroud gave a short laugh, dry but not entirely devoid of humor. "A soldier who doesn't know how to rest. What a novelty."

Elliot stood firm, though the comment made him somewhat uncomfortable.

Stroud watched him for a moment longer, his gaze steady and penetrating. Finally, he dropped his arms, adopting a more relaxed stance.

"What's wrong with you, Torres?" he asked, his tone dry but curious. "Why can't you just follow orders like the rest? Rest, recuperate, let others carry the load for a while."

Elliot gulped, feeling each word puncture his apparent resolve. "I don't know, ma'am," he replied after a moment's hesitation. "I guess I just don't know what to do if I'm not busy."

Stroud gave a short laugh, more of a snort than a true display of humor. "Of course not."

Elliot looked up, and this time, curiosity won out over caution. "With all due respect, ma'am… what are you doing out of uniform?"

Stroud raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the question, but he wasn't bothered by it. Instead of answering directly, he cocked his head slightly and looked at him with something that seemed like a mix of exasperation and amusement.

"That, Torres, is none of your business," he said, though his tone lacked the usual harshness. "But if you're so interested, you'll have the opportunity to find out."

Elliot looked at her, bewildered, as Stroud took a step closer.

"Change into civilian clothes," he ordered, his voice once again taking on the weight of authority that characterized it. "No uniform, no visible weapons. You have fifteen minutes. I'll wait outside."

Elliot blinked, unsure how to react. "Outside, ma'am?" he asked, confusion evident on his face.

"Didn't you hear me, Torres?" Stroud replied with a half-smile that barely made it through. "Get out. Fifteen minutes. Don't make me repeat myself."

Before he could respond, Stroud had already turned on his heel, walking with the same confidence as always down the hallway. Elliot stood there for a moment, trying to process what had just happened, before hurrying off to his barracks.

"I don't know what I'm getting myself into," he muttered to himself as he began searching for something to wear. "But I guess I don't have a choice."

Elliot changed into civilian clothes quickly, adjusting worn jeans and a gray T-shirt that barely fit him. He threw his jacket over to cover the bandages he still wore and hurried out of the barracks. When he reached the base's exterior, he found Lieutenant Stroud leaning nonchalantly against a Humvee.

"About time," Stroud said, her eyes darting over him, as if assessing his effort.

"Sorry, Lieutenant," Elliot replied, straightening up automatically as a reflex.

"Never mind," she replied with a wave of her hand, climbing into the driver's seat with a fluidity that showed experience. "Get in."

Elliot complied without question, closing the door behind him and buckling himself into place.

"Where are we going, Lieutenant?" Elliot asked as Stroud started the engine.

"To the quarantine zone," she replied, her tone neutral but laden with mystery. "We're going… for a drive."

Elliot arched an eyebrow, intrigued, but said nothing more.

With a quick turn of the wheel and the roar of the engine, the Humvee accelerated. The wheels kicked up dust and gravel as they left the base behind. Elliot held onto the seatbelt, feeling the force of the vehicle pushing him back into the seat.

He glanced sideways at Lieutenant Stroud, who kept both hands firmly on the wheel, her gaze fixed on the road ahead.

After a few minutes of silence, Elliot decided to speak, his voice breaking through the constant hum of the engine.

"Lieutenant," she began cautiously, "have you ever wondered if all this is worth it? FEDRA, the patrols, keeping a place like this..."

Stroud didn't answer right away. Her gaze remained fixed on the road, but there was a slight tension in the line of her jaw, as if she were carefully considering his words before answering.

"What do you really want to ask, Torres?" she said finally, her tone neutral but laced with curiosity.

Elliot took a deep breath. "Are you satisfied with this? With being part of FEDRA, with what we do? You could go somewhere else, start over away from this chaos."

Stroud's dry laugh echoed through the cabin, more of a harsh exhale than a true laugh. "Go? Where, exactly? To the magical 'other place' where everything is better?"

"I don't know," Elliot admitted, looking down at his hands. "But there are times when I wonder if this whole thing isn't just as rotten as the world we're trying to control."

Stroud turned her head slightly toward him, but kept her eyes trained on the road. "Rotten?" she repeated, as if testing the word in her mouth. "Of course it is. FEDRA isn't perfect, Torres. We're not heroes. Nor do we try to be."

Elliot looked up at her, surprised by her honesty. "So why stay? Why keep fighting for something you know isn't quite working?"

Stroud was silent for a moment, her hands slightly adjusting their grip on the steering wheel. Finally, she sighed. "Because, Torres, what we do is necessary. It's dirty, it's ugly, and yes, sometimes it's fucking unfair. But if FEDRA disappeared tomorrow, this place wouldn't survive a week. People need structure, they need order, even if they hate to admit it."

Elliot frowned, mulling over her words. "And what about those outside that structure? Those who suffer under our 'order.'"

Stroud turned the wheel sharply, turning into an alley that led to the checkpoint. "Those are sacrifices made for the greater good," he said, his tone hardening. "Don't get me wrong, Torres. I'm not justifying every single thing we do. But this—" he waved his hand at the shattered landscape around them, "—is all that's left. And unless you want the entire world to become a hotbed of infected, we need someone to hold the line."

Elliot didn't respond immediately, processing what she'd said. Finally, he nodded slowly. "I guess she's right," he murmured, though his voice held a hint of doubt.

Stroud glanced at him, a faint, barely perceptible smile playing on her lips. "I'm not here to convince you, Torres. Just to remind you that in this world, no one has clean hands. Not you, not me, not even the Fireflies with their crusade for freedom."

The Humvee slowed as they approached a massive checkpoint. A reinforced gate loomed before them, marked with the FEDRA emblem and surrounded by guard towers. Armed soldiers patrolled the entrance, their gazes alert as they checked each vehicle entering or leaving.

"Well," Stroud said as she parked the Humvee next to the gate, turning off the engine with a firm turn of the key. "We're here."

Without another word, she stepped out of the vehicle and slammed the door shut. Elliot took a moment before following her, his thoughts still revolving around the conversation they'd just had.

As he adjusted his jacket and stared at the imposing gate in front of him, a nagging thought nagged at him: maybe Stroud was right. Maybe chaos and order were two sides of the same coin, and the world gave them no choice but to stay on the less destructive side.

"Come on, Torres," Stroud said from a few steps ahead, returning to her authoritative tone. "I don't have all day."

Elliot nodded and followed her toward the gate.

Stroud and Elliot arrived at a building marked with the worn emblems of FEDRA. It was a utilitarian structure, with offices and a makeshift operations area. Trucks and Humvees were parked in disorderly rows, and groups of soldiers chatted nearby, some cleaning their weapons, others just killing time.

Stroud walked toward the main entrance with a determined stride, and Elliot followed her silently. Through the doors, they found themselves in a spacious operating room. The place was a mix of outdated technology and improvised resources. Old computers from 2013 flickered intermittently, detailed maps covered the walls, and several radios hummed constantly as operators tried to coordinate patrols.

In the center of the room, a middle-aged man in a FEDRA beret and impeccably pressed uniform stood with his arms crossed, monitoring the movement around him. Spotting Stroud, he raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly.

"Stroud," he said in a deep voice, extending a hand toward her. "I haven't seen you in several weeks."

Stroud shook her hand firmly. "You know, always busy."

"As usual," the man replied, letting out a short laugh. "So, business as usual?"

Stroud nodded without saying anything else.

The man turned to a nearby door, opening it with a casual movement that revealed what was clearly an armory. The walls were lined with weapons of different types, some in better condition than others, along with boxes of ammunition and assorted equipment.

As the man began to gather what he needed, his gaze stopped on Elliot. "And who's the kid?" he asked as he pulled two Beretta pistols from a shelf and placed them on a table.

"Elliot Torres," Stroud replied bluntly. "I guess you've heard the rumors."

The man let out a short laugh as he checked the pistols. "Sure thing. Torres, the tough guy who took on several attackers and came out alive. I thought he'd be more… older."

Elliot shook his head, cracking a smile. "That hurts… sir."

The man gave him a mocking look as he loaded the pistols with meticulous precision. "Good, kid. I expect you'll take good care of Stroud if anything goes wrong."

Elliot arched an eyebrow, his eyes alternating between the man and the lieutenant. "Something wrong? I don't even know what's going on, sir."

The man paused in his work for a moment, glancing sideways at Stroud before looking back at Elliot. "You still haven't told him?"

Stroud sighed, shaking his head slightly as he picked up one of the pistols and tucked it into the back of his pants. "We're going to find an informant, Torres. Nothing complicated."

Elliot frowned, clearly skeptical. "Great," he muttered, though doubts still lingered on his face.

The man laughed again, more sincerely this time. "Always this enthusiastic, huh, Torres?" he said as he pulled a backpack off the shelf and placed it on the table, next to several food ration vouchers.

Stroud took the backpack, briefly checking its contents before tossing it to Elliot. "Come on," he said, adjusting it over one shoulder. "We've got work to do."

End of Chapter 8.