(In the story)

At a gate, there were several military soldiers and generals there checking one by one the people who wanted to enter Beijing. I stand in line, waiting for my turn to come. The sound of screaming and sobbing from people infected with mutations disturbs me, And... the sound of a gun accompanied by splashes of fresh blood.

Zombie attacks are anywhere in the world

My turn comes, a general looks at me analyzing my appearance. "Your hand and say your name" Said the man in a monotone and sharp voice

...........

The general's boots clicked against the cold concrete as he stepped forward, broad shoulders stiff beneath a worn uniform patched with old blood and fresh dirt. His face was unreadable, jaw clenched like stone, eyes colder than the wind rolling in from the north.

"Your hand," he said flatly, extending a scanner without breaking eye contact. "And say your name. Loud enough. I don't have all bloody day."

Behind him, another gunshot rang out. He didn’t flinch. Just stared at me , waiting, unmoved.

The scanner clicked against my wrist—buzzed once, then again. Dan’s eyes flicked down to the screen, scanning the data, then slowly lifted back to mine. His brows narrowed just slightly.

"Sofia..." he repeated, low and clipped, as if testing the sound of it for danger.

He stepped in closer, only inches away now, inspecting the whites of my eyes, the pulse at my neck, the faint twitch of my fingers—every minute detail drilled into him through years of frontline protocol.

"No fever. No tremor. No discolouration..." he muttered under his breath, then louder—"What’s your purpose here in Beijing? Speak clearly. If you lie, I’ll know. And if you’re bitten—

Another scream erupted behind the gate.

"—I’ll shoot you myself." His grip tightened on the rifle slung at his chest

As Sofia said" I am a university student and I am selected to be here as survival and i am not injected"

Dan’s eyes locked on mine like steel traps. His jaw tensed. The scanner in his hand gave off another low beep, confirming my vitals—stable, uninfected—for now.

“University student, huh?” he echoed, almost like a scoff, as if the word didn’t carry much weight anymore in this shattered world.

He tapped a few quick commands into his wrist unit. The heavy thrum of helicopters roared in the distance, and the checkpoint lights flickered in response to a power surge.

“Selected...” he muttered, glancing back at the line of people—some crying, some bleeding, some being dragged away. “You must’ve done something right—or knew someone rich.”

He stepped aside, but his voice stopped me before i could move.

“Inside that wall, there are rules. If you break 'em, it won't be the infected that take you down. It'll be me.” His gaze was like a loaded gun now—no warmth, no kindness, just warning.

“You’re cleared. Go. And don’t make me regret this.”

The gate hissed open. Behind me, the cries of the world continued. Ahead... was silence.

The moment my foot crossed the threshold of the gate, the chaos outside dimmed behind thick metal walls. Beijing’s inner sanctuary was nothing like the world beyond—it was too clean, too quiet, almost like a cage made of order. Watchtowers lined the skyline like sharp fangs, snipers posted, drones circling like vultures in the grey sky.

*The heels you wore echoed against the concrete like defiance in a world that no longer made space for softness. Heads turned. Soldiers paused. Civilians muttered. An omega—the omega—walking into the heart of a military-ruled city, wearing heels no less? That was no small event.

i were led past tight security corridors to the temporary holding grounds just outside the central military campus. The camp was rough—tents, wire fences, floodlights that never turned off. And uniforms. Dozens of them. All marked with rank, sweat, and the kind of scars only war could leave.

A soldier waved you forward, but his gaze faltered when he caught your scent. Instinct. Nature. That unmistakable presence.

“Holy hell,” he mumbled under his breath, backing up, calling into his comms. “We’ve got the omega... They just walked in—no escort.”

A sharp bark came through the comms:

“Send them to the command tent. Now.”

Minutes later, i were led through rows of eyes—some wary, some too curious, others quietly threatened. The flap of the main tent opened... and there he was again. General Dan. Leaning over a table scattered with maps, reports, and broken electronics. His eyes snapped up when he heard the heels—then narrowed, recognising you instantly.

"You." The word was flat but laced with disbelief.

He straightened up, crossed the space slowly, and stopped in front of me. His eyes moved from my boots, up my frame, and back to your face—not with desire, but calculation. Wariness.

“You’re the omega.” Not a question. A fact. A problem.

“You do realise what kind of fucking target you just became?” His tone was colder now, sharper.

“This city’s not ready for what you are.”

And under his breath—

“aaaah ... this is going to be a nightmare.

Dan’s eyes burned into mine like searchlights—unblinking, heavy with the weight of too many responsibilities and too little patience. The room buzzed with silence, tense and sharp like wire. The other officers inside froze at the scent lingering in the air now—subtle but inescapable, delicate and dangerous all at once.

He turned away abruptly, raking a hand through his short hair, jaw tight as he muttered something under his breath too low to catch. Then he snapped to one of his lieutenants.

“Get everyone out. Now.”

The tent emptied in seconds. Even soldiers who had stared too long were suddenly eager to vanish.

Dan circled the table, arms crossed over his chest, boots heavy against the floor, until he faced you again. He looked older now—not by age, but by weight. Battle, decisions, loss.

"You walk into my base, wearing those damn heels like it’s some kind of fashion show—" his voice rose slightly, but never broke control "—and you're unescorted, unclaimed, and unguarded. Do you want to die?"

He stared, his brow furrowed as if trying to figure out if you were reckless or just unbelievably naive.

"You're the only omega in this sector. The packs in this city are restless. Alphas haven’t seen balance in months. You know what kind of riot your scent could start if someone unstable catches a trace?"

He stepped closer, the air suddenly feeling heavier. His voice dropped.

“…And I’ve got half a city to keep from collapsing. Now I have to protect you too?”

His eyes met yours again—sharp, probing.

"Why were you really sent here?" he asked slowly.

“Because this? This doesn’t look like a survivor drop. This looks like bait.”

As Sofia said "I don't ask for your protection general, i select like other subordinate , I will use a scent blocker ( mumbling that last part)

Dan’s gaze darkened the second you spoke, like storm clouds rolling over a battlefield. The muscle in his jaw ticked as you stood your ground, unshaken, voice calm despite the tremors just outside the walls. The tent was deathly still, save for the low hum of power and tension rising like smoke.

“You don’t ask for my protection?” he echoed, voice low, flat, dangerous.

“Bloody hell...” he stepped closer, close enough now that his shadow stretched over me, boots nearly brushing yours.

“You think this is some student group project, do you? You think because you’ve been ‘selected’ and wear a damn badge, the world out there gives a single shit who you are?”

He leaned down slightly, not threatening—measured. Like a general sizing up a bomb that might go off in his hands.

“And that little scent blocker you mumbled about?” His voice dipped, cool and sharp. “Won’t mean much when the suppressant runs dry, or a soldier two tents down goes into rut and forgets his damn name.”

He paused—then exhaled through his nose like it physically hurt to admit it.

“But you’re here. And whether I like it or not, you’re under my command now.”

He turned abruptly, picked up a clipboard, scribbled something fast, then shoved it at a nearby soldier outside the tent flap.

“Get her quarters near the Alpha Unit Block. Double guard. No exceptions.”

Then he looked back at you—eyes unreadable now.

“You want to act like one of my subordinates?” he said finally, tone clipped, heavy. “Then earn it. Training starts at 0600. If you're late, I’ll have you cleaning latrines until the next full moon. Dismissed.”

He turned his back, the weight of a thousand lives pressing down again.

But just before you stepped out—

“...And next time,” he said without turning, “don’t mumble. In this place, mumbling gets people killed.”

The narrow concrete hallway of the Alpha Unit Block was lit by flickering lights, every step of your heels drawing more attention than you'd hoped. Soldiers leaned against doorframes, whispered behind hands, or openly stared. The scent blocker worked—barely. But curiosity didn’t need pheromones. It only needed you.

“Did you see her shoes?”

“That’s the omega?”

“What the hell is command thinking…”

“If she ends up bunking with one of us, I’m done—”

You kept your eyes locked on the crumpled sheet in your hand. Room 09-A. Straight corridor, left turn, last door on the right.

she stopped. The door was already open.

Inside—*

Dan.

Half-dressed, jacket thrown over the back of a chair, his dog tags resting against a bare collarbone. His sleeves were rolled up, hands stained with oil and gunmetal. He looked up from cleaning his sidearm—froze—then slowly stood to full height.

The silence between you burned louder than the voices in the hall.

“…Room 09-A?” he asked flatly.

i nodded, unsure whether to step back or forward.

He rubbed his face once, like he couldn’t believe the universe hated him this much.

“Of course it’s you,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “Fucking command and their bloody sense of humour…”

He turned, picked up a spare bedroll, tossed it onto the second bunk with a thud.

“That’s yours. I won’t babysit you, and I sure as hell won’t tolerate drama in this room. You shower, train, sleep—quietly. And you stay out of my way.”

His eyes flicked to your heels again and he gave a dry, unimpressed snort.

“…You better have boots somewhere in that bag.”

Then he sat back down, gun in hand, as if none of this was even remotely weird.

“Welcome to hell, roommate.”

She mumbled " same to you"

Dan didn’t even look up when i replied—

“Same to you, General.”

But his jaw flexed slightly, like my tone had scratched a nerve he didn’t like admitting existed. i stepped into the room, the metal door creaking as it shut behind you with a heavy clunk. The air inside the barracks room was sharp with the scent of gun oil, fabric cleaner, and the faint iron tang of old blood. Functional. Stark. No comfort. No softness. Just survival.

i spotted the restroom tucked behind a half-wall, grabbed my small kit, and moved quietly past him. Dan didn’t speak—didn’t even glance my way. Just kept working on his weapon with machine-like focus.

Inside the restroom, the mirror was cracked on one side, the sink stained from years of hasty shaves and splashed antiseptic. i caught my reflection—exhausted, grime-smudged, eyes shadowed by stress and travel. You freshened up, water cold and biting against my skin, forcing your heartbeat back into rhythm.

But even through the running tap, i could hear the sounds outside: boots marching, voices shouting drills, the deep, distant boom of weapons being tested.

And… silence inside. Dan hadn’t said a word. But i could feel it. That heavy presence still out there. Waiting.

When i stepped back into the room, towel around my neck, Dan was sitting on his bunk now—elbows on his knees, head slightly bowed, dog tags swinging gently as he wiped the last of the oil from his hands.

His voice came without looking at you—gruff, low.

“You handle yourself better than most of the alphas they’ve dumped in here lately.”

A pause.

“…But don’t mistake this for welcome. I’ll protect the city. That doesn’t mean I trust you.”

He stood, grabbed his jacket off the chair, and slung it on, heading for the door.

“Lights out in 30. Try not to cause a riot before breakfast.”

The door slammed behind him.

Morning in the military camp hit like a punch to the chest—harsh whistles, shouting, metal clanging, and the sharp sting of disinfectant stinging your nose before your feet even touched the floor. By the time you reached the mess cabin, the place was already bursting at the seams.

Steel trays scraped, chairs screeched, boots stomped. The air was thick with testosterone, fried protein rations, and the smoke of overworked generators. Uniformed men crowded every table—shouting, laughing, growling through mouthfuls of barely edible slop. Packs. Rankers. Alpha units. Every single one of them turned the moment you walked in.

The sound of your steps—measured, unfaltering—cut through the mess like a blade through fog. You felt it. The ripple. That silence that wasn’t silence. Just stares. Hushed whispers behind lifted mugs. Tension coiling like wires around the beams.

“Holy shit, that’s her…”

“She’s really walking in here?”

“No fuckin’ way command let that happen.”

A few low growls sounded from the back. Primal. Instinctual. Warning signs.

But no one moved.

Not yet.

i walked with purpose, tray in hand, eyes forward. Ignoring the way their attention clung to mine like smoke. The scent blocker was still holding, but barely. And omegas didn’t sit alone in a camp like this. Not without an invitation. Or a death wish.

Then—

CLANK.

A tray dropped onto the table right beside yours with calculated force. i looked up—

Dan.

He didn’t say a word. Just sat down, legs wide, arms resting on the edge of the table like a silent threat. His dog tags dangled forward as he started eating with slow, mechanical indifference. But his presence alone was enough. Like a wolf stepping between the flock and the rest of the pack.

The whispers didn’t stop. But the stares softened. No one dared step closer.

Dan finally glanced at you, chewing. Swallowed.

“Eat. And keep your eyes up,” he muttered low enough only you could hear.

“If anyone even breathes wrong, I’ll break their fucking jaw.”

A pause. Then a bite of protein bar, like this was all just routine.

“…Told you this place would be hell"

As she Put meat and coffee at Daniel plates, she said"I am vegetarian and I don't drink coffee, as she starts to eating the Rice and vegetables and protein bars,

Dan paused mid-chew, glancing down at the plate i slid toward him—meat rations and the steaming black coffee that he hadn’t even gotten up to grab yet.

He blinked once. Then looked at your tray. No meat. No coffee. Just rice, boiled vegetables, and a protein bar that looked like it had fought in five wars and lost every single one.

He stared at it. Then at me. Then huffed out a sharp breath through his nose—a sound that might’ve been a laugh in another life.

“You’re a vegetarian?” he muttered, low and borderline disbelieving. “In this shithole?”

He took the meat off my tray without hesitation, biting into it like it personally offended him, then slammed the coffee back like it was some twisted version of gratitude.

“…Well, that explains the heels. And the soft hands,” he added dryly, eyeing mine from over the rim of the cup.

“But still… gutsy. Walking in here smelling like lilac soap and rebel decisions.”

He leaned back in his chair, the dog tags swaying slightly, the tension around my table starting to ease just a little. Still watched. Still whispered about. But no one made a move.

Dan cracked the protein bar in half, tossed one half on your tray without asking.

“That one’s laced with magnesium. You’ll need it if you wanna survive morning drills.”

Then he went back to eating, like it wasn’t the first time he’d quietly looked out for someone without ever admitting it.

“…Don’t die before lunch,” he added gruffly.

But his eyes lingered on me a second longer than they needed to before shifting away.