Even though the sky was still cloaked in night, the faintest tint of pale blue touched the horizon. Dawn was creeping in.
Darius sat on the edge of his bed, bare feet planted on the cold floor, elbows resting on his knees. His hands hung loosely, his shoulders slouched beneath an invisible weight. The world outside stirred softly, but inside the room, silence reigned.
After a long pause, he exhaled slowly, as if waking meant more than just opening his eyes. He stood up, rolled his shoulders, and began a light series of stretches, neck rolls, squats, a few push-ups to stir his blood. His body moved on instinct, guided more by muscle memory than intent. He wasn't eager. Just… moving.
He made his way to the bathroom.
Steam curled from the showerhead in soft waves as water splashed across his skin. The warmth loosened the stiffness in his muscles but did nothing to thaw what lay deeper.
He stood under the stream for a long time, unmoving.
Eventually, he reached for the soap and began scrubbing off the sweat of the night. His hands brushed over the familiar scars on his torso, each one a memory etched into flesh. As water pooled at his feet, he turned his gaze to the fogged mirror across the room.
Wiping it clean with the edge of his hand, he studied the man staring back.
A thick, untrimmed beard. A rough, neglected mustache. Eyes heavy, rimmed in red from another night of haunted sleep. Lines had deepened along his face, time had done its work but it wasn't just age that had changed him.
He looked like a man who was still alive… but no longer living.
There was a time when he cared about his appearance, about how he carried himself. But that time had died with the rest of his world. When you've buried your past and burned your future, what's the point of a clean shave?
Still, he ran his fingers through his beard and rinsed his face. Maybe out of habit. Maybe out of defiance. Maybe both.
He dried off, pulled on a plain dark T-shirt, old joggers, and laced up a pair of worn-out running shoes. He didn't need style. He needed air.
Stepping outside, the park greeted him with a light mist clinging to the grass. The roads were mostly empty. Only a few shadows moved along the trail, other runners chasing something. Peace. Clarity. Escape.
Darius joined them.
Every step felt heavier than it should. But he kept moving. Running in silence. One breath at a time.
He wasn't running to stay fit.
He was running to outrun memory.
---
He kept going until his lungs burned and his muscles ached.
By the time he reached a quiet stretch of park tucked away from the main trail, the sun had begun its climb. With even breaths, he transitioned into his workout, push-ups, squats, planks. Each movement controlled, mechanical. Not driven by goals, but by the need to exhaust himself. To feel nothing.
When he finally stopped, sweat clung to his skin and the sky had turned a bright, indifferent blue. He walked over to a nearby bench and sat down.
And stayed there.
Minutes passed. Maybe more. He sat motionless, elbows on knees, hands loosely clasped, staring at nothing in particular. Just breathing. The world stirred around him, birds called, joggers passed, dogs barked, but for Darius, time stood still.
Eventually, he rose and jogged back toward the city. The weight in his chest hadn't lessened.
When he reached his condo building, he saw someone waiting at his door.
A tall, broad-shouldered man in uniform. Gray hair at the temples. Mid-fifties. A rigid stance. Silent and watchful, like a statue left in place too long.
Darius didn't slow down. He barely glanced at him.
He brushed past without a word, pulled out his keys, unlocked the door, and stepped inside. But he left the door open.
Colonel Glenn followed him in.
"Well, thanks for the warm welcome," he said dryly, closing the door behind him.
Darius didn't respond. He walked into the kitchen, poured himself a glass of water, and drank slowly.
Then, without turning, he asked, "Why are you here?"
"I've been waiting for three hours," Glenn replied, stepping into the living room. "I thought maybe you died in your sleep. I was about to call 911. Turns out you were just out jogging."
Darius didn't react.
"Why are you here, Colonel?" he repeated, his voice flat and distant.
Glenn paused.
His eyes scanned the apartment, as if searching for words in the dust-covered corners.
"I need you to come back," he said at last.
Darius turned slowly. His expression unreadable.
"Back where?"
Glenn's jaw tightened. "Back to duty."
Darius said nothing. Just stared.
"I know what you're going to say," Glenn continued. "And I understand. After what happened, you earned your retirement. You deserve peace. And what I'm asking... may sound cruel. For that, I'm sorry. Truly. But if I had any other option, Darius... trust me, I wouldn't be here."
Darius's voice dropped lower. "What are you talking about? Just say it."
"There's a mission," Glenn said. "We need someone to infiltrate the military lab on Mahana Island. Retrieve the antivirus."
Darius blinked. Slowly.
"The antivirus?"
Glenn nodded. "Yes. The only one. The last working formula is at the lab. You know the facility. You worked there. You trained there. You even designed part of the security systems. You're the only one who can get in and out with the package."
Darius didn't reply immediately.
He set his glass down and leaned against the counter, locking eyes with Glenn.
"I thought the government gave up on Mahana," he said. "Didn't they approve a bombing run?"
Glenn hesitated, then lowered his voice.
"This is classified, but you deserve to know. A week ago, at Global Hospital… patients, doctors, visitors, everyone turned. Cravings. It was fast. We locked down the floor. Eliminated them. But it confirmed what we feared."
Darius straightened, eyes narrowing.
"They're already on the mainland."
"Yes," Glenn said. "And we don't know how. No ships. No flights. No communications. Mahana was a dead zone. It should've been impossible."
Darius clenched his jaw. "But it happened."
"It did," Glenn confirmed. "We're investigating how, but right now that's not the priority. The cure is. Everything we know about VX-97, how it mutates, how it spreads, how to stop it, it's in that lab. If we bomb Mahana and there's another outbreak, we lose our last chance. The whole country falls."
The room fell silent.
The weight of it hung like smoke in the air.
And Darius understood, this wasn't about redemption. It wasn't about duty.
It was about survival.
Colonel Glenn stepped closer, his voice dropping to something more human.
"Darius," he said gently, "I know what Mahana means to you. I know what it cost you. I know asking you to return there is cruel. I won't pretend it isn't."
He searched Darius's face for any flicker of emotion.
"But this isn't about the past. It's about what happens next. Someone has to go. Someone has to retrieve that cure before it's too late. And like I said... if there were another way, I wouldn't ask you."
Darius didn't respond right away.
He turned toward the window, where sunlight now stretched across the floor. He stared out, silent. His features drawn, his shoulders rigid.
He wanted to say no. Every part of him screamed for it.
But deep inside, something stirred.
Because no matter how far he'd walked from it, he was still a soldier. Born in uniform. Forged in battle. Mahana had shattered him, but it hadn't erased him.
And what kind of soldier watches his country die and does nothing?
Glenn saw it in his eyes but said nothing more.
"You don't have to answer now," he said softly. "Sleep on it. Let me know tomorrow."
He turned to leave. But at the door, he paused.
Then said, not as a superior, but as a man who still believed in the one standing in that room:
"Captain Darius Quinn."
Darius looked up. The name struck something in him.
Glenn offered a faint smile.
"Take care of yourself," he said. "Shave once in a while. You're still alive, whether you want to be or not. And I think your family… would want you to live like it."
There was no salute.
No goodbye.
Just the quiet click of the door closing behind him.
Darius stood in the silence, the city humming faintly in the distance.
Captain Darius Quinn.
He hadn't heard that name in a long time.
And he wasn't sure if it still belonged to him.