DYING LIGHT: THE DESCENT
Arc Summary: The Tower had gone too quiet for weeks now. With no response over the radio, an ex-champion kickboxer named Mad Jack decides to drop by the Slums to check on family. Unfortunately for her, she is forced to make a pitstop right into the Coast of Scanderoon, the next-door neighbour to Harran and now overrun with the infected.
If she wants to stay alive in this city, Jack's gonna have to make buddies while 'studying' the infected. But she can't let anyone know the little side project she's been tasked with or the other secrets she has. No one outside the Ravs should know. Not even her cousin.
What's more, something is lurking behind her, following far too close to her shadow...
PROLOGUE ARC: WELCOME TO SCANDEROON
PILOT
"I learned to recognise the thorough and primitive duality of man; I saw that, of the two natures that contended in the field of my consciousness, even if I could rightly be said to be either, it was only because I was radically both."
― Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
"First, I'll kill you, bitch."
The corpse beside him, draped in crimson robes and heavy golden jewelry, lay motionless. Its head—severed cleanly from its neck—had been cast aside like a small stone. Blood pooled onto the cold concrete floor, spreading beneath his shoes, but he barely noticed.
In his tired hysteria, Kyle Crane barely registered the Mother's lifeless body. All too focused on the only goal he had since entering the Countryside's dam.
He'd come too far and lost too much.
With his mind spiraling out of control, he rolled over to the thin vials he had dropped to the floor during his tumble. Dark blue liquid shimmering faintly under the dim light.
The vials were the answer. They had to be!
No, they were the cure! That cult leader lunatic was talking out of her ass. Only one way out? Turn on the nuke and kill off millions to save billions?
She genuinely believed it. Tried to convince the outsider, who trekked into their hallowed lands for an answer to the madness, to an outbreak leeching onto the nearby city, like a sane person. Spoke to him as though they were equals, as though he would see eye-to-eye with her and activate the fail-safe himself.
All because of some bullshit prophecy about a sun god—to free them from their suffering and this infection.
Like hell was he going to do that!
He'd heard enough sanctimonious speeches. Enough of 'the greater good' and 'the ends justify the means'. Enough of losing friends around him!
Enough.
Crane was done with this higher moral ground shit! He was finished with taking orders!
"...And save my friends…"
Get the vials, get out, and get back to the Tower.
That was his mission now, he told himself. Nothing else mattered.
"And you can rot in hell."
Crane's goal was set in stone, even in his delirious, battered state. He had just fought—and barely survived—a talking, sentient, dangerous Volatile.
Every muscle in his body screamed at him to rest, but there was no time. People were relying on him. Relying on this medicine making its way home. There didn't have to be any more sacrifices!
So much had happened to him over the weeks—since he first parachuted into Harran. It was supposed to be a simple mission: get in, retrieve the GRE's intel, and get out. But that all went to hell the moment he was bitten, throwing him headfirst into the thralls of the Harran Virus pandemic.
Where the infected hunted the living, where survival meant fighting tooth and nail every single day.
For days, he watched, he fought, and he survived. His entire journey led him to the Countryside, on a rumor that the people there weren't affected by the virus.
But what he found there was far from a solution. It was more than he bargained for. More than what he wanted to know. And, as always, things spiraled out of control. They always did.
A final, brutal confrontation with the cult leader in the dam's hold. He had struck the final blow, victorious.
But he didn't come out of the fight unscathed. He could feel it snake painfully through him. Something was wrong with his head. Something wasn't right with his legs. It was fatigue, wasn't it? He barely got out of that fight alive!
It's fine, he told himself. The battle was over. His long journey could finally end, and just maybe, it could be over with the outbreak! Nothing was going to stop him now: not Rais' men, not the infected, not even the Mother.
She was as good as dead, and he could finally save everyone at the Tower!
He wanted to laugh out loud. But the burning in his lungs wouldn't let him. It didn't matter. He could laugh when he was outside.
Focus. His mind screamed at him to stay sharp, to fight through the haze. You have to do this, he reminded himself. Everyone counted on him!
And that was all that mattered now.
The weakened runner scrambled to the vials and picked the first one. He took one second to glance back - almost expecting the dead body behind him to rise back up even without a head. When it didn't happen, he picked the second one. Then a third for good measures. Once he confirmed he had all three in his hip pouch, he was off, tumbling his way for an exit.
Out of the dark, damp dam.
But things were making it hard on him. Or was it himself? The walls around him blurred into a dizzy, sickening soup. He was almost swimming in it and yet some leftover willpower urged him to keep going. No. Don't stop. He couldn't afford a short rest.
Then the visions flashed.
He was gone under for a couple of seconds, watching the faces violently snarl at him. Trying to kill him. They were enraged at him for leaving them behind. For abandoning them! But his body kept going. Once he surfaced back up to reality, he found himself clumsily wobbling into some white containers. Somewhere else.
"You can't change anything, Kyle."
This didn't feel right. He couldn't put his finger on why. This dizziness was taking far longer than he had hoped, along with this growing headache. Cold sweat breaking down his temple while his stomach did somersaults.
"What's happening to me?"
"You'll see for yourself…"
The colors around him warped again, twisting into iridescent, prismatic spheres. Again, he went down. Like drowning—sinking to the bottom of an endless ocean, and he was clawing back up for a breath of air. A set of old mattresses softened his lumbering fall.
Something was wrong—very, very wrong.
"I… I killed you! I fucking killed you!"
Where was she? Where?! His frantic eyes darted around, searching the shadows. He'd find her—he had to—and he'd do it again if he had to. Again and again until she stayed dead.
"This is a poison…"
"It's not a poison!" Crane snapped. His rage faltered into desperation as he fumbled for a vial. He yanked it from his pouch, clutching it tightly, as if to anchor himself. He stared at it, his breath ragged, to calm himself down from losing to insanity. "It's a cure!"
His fingers squeezed the vial, the cool glass pressing into his palm. It was real. Not an illusion! This was it: the key to everyone's problems!
"Lena?" His voice cracked as he activated his radio, slipping the vial safely back into his pouch. "Lena, I'm coming back with the medicine. We'll be able to help everyone now! Tell Camden that he has all the time in the world… No! Tell him that we have a new lead… A better one…"
Again, he went under. Crane wasn't sure if his words reached her. His world fractured again, the flashes getting worse—the familiar faces screaming at him. Tortured him with their accusations.
That he betrayed them.
That he abandoned them.
All of the failures he'd tried to bury came roaring back at him. When he gasped for air once more, he found himself by a barricade of blue containers. He heaved himself over them to see a ray of hope gushing down a manhole.
A way out. A ladder. At the end of the tunnel. Out of this damp sewage-soaked tunnel.
With every ounce of determination left in his body, Crane pushed forward. Ignored the flickering faces that flashed in the corners of his vision.
The masks, the symbols, the crazy fanatics? They were gone. That damn Mother's voice in his head was just an aftereffect from having his brain smashed up inside—that was it. Because she was silent now, no more of her whispering.
Replaced by something else. He couldn't hear it, but it lingered in the back of his mind.
A scratch. A faint, nagging sensation in the back of his mind, like the echo of a thought he hadn't formed.
Just go, Kyle. Get out of here.
Out into the blinding light.
Once the delirious runner climbed up to the surface, everything became relatively clear in his head. The blurriness had stopped, and he found himself feeling like he had woken up from a bad dream and into a surreal one.
Crane blinked, taking in his surroundings one he emerged out of the manhole, at the edge of a playground.
There were no hissing walkers hiding in the tall crops, no rotting carcasses littering the streets. The sprawling farmlands and congested urban ruins of the Countryside were nowhere to be found.
Instead, he was greeted by cozy suburban serenity. With neatly trimmed lawns behind picket fences. The sun beamed down on the scene, casting everything in a golden, idyllic light.
It felt... wrong.
He searched his surroundings again. No infected. No cries for help. No signs of the outbreak.
The only movement Crane saw was across the playground. Two kids, a boy wielding a toy sword and a girl, played around the jungle gym while an adult—maybe their mother or older sister—was watching nearby.
"Where am I?" he murmured.
It all felt alien. After everything he'd been through—everything he'd seen in the Slums and the countryside—none of this peace felt real to him. Did he just wake up or something? Or had he been dropped into a world where the virus never existed and everyone was moving on with their lives?
No... That would mean moving on after so many deaths in Harran. He couldn't accept that.
"Oya! Time to go home!" he heard the woman call out, snapping him from his thoughts.
Crane hopped down into the park, his legs unsteady but his mind racing. Maybe the family there could fill him in on the details. Where he was, what was happening—anything to make sense of this. He needed to know.
And he needed to get to the others pronto-
The visions flashed violently again in his head, violently. A split second—an infected woman launched towards him with bared, bloodied teeth for a split second.
And her face…it looked familiar.
"Aaaaa!"
The sharp cry pulled him back to reality. One of the kids pointed at him with a tiny trembling finger. They looked directly at him with wide, terrified eyes. Why? Both children rushed over to the lady, like frightened chicks seeking shelter under a hen's wings.
"W-What?" Kyle muttered, stumbling a step forward.
He reached out-
And gasped at the sight before him. At his outstretched hand...they shouldn't be his hands.
Molten orange veins ran through his arm, glowing out of disgusting blackened, crusted skin that looked more like charred stone than flesh. His fingers had warped into deadly talons.
He had seen these kinds of hands. Only at night. These weren't his hands!
But they were attached to him.
What...what is happening?
More screaming around him. At him.
He wanted to calm them down. He wasn't a threat! He was trying to save people, not hurt them!
But nothing came out of his throat. It was as if something deep within had started to take root in his subconscious and had stolen his voice for something...much more sinister.
Shout out your name, Kyle! Do something! To confirm that he was still human.
That he was still inside!
Someone please hear him!
Then his eyes caught movement—a dimming of the enormous light above.
The sun was sinking, slipping behind the suburban houses. And just as it slowly descended behind the houses, something crept deeper into his mind. Settling into every corner of his grey matter and making itself at home.
It was foreign. Primitive.
Hungry.
His instincts screamed that this wasn't right. Kyle Crane wasn't in control anymore.
Dark whispers telling him to embrace it. Tear, rip, kill. Getting louder and louder as the night stretched its claws over the quiet suburb.
His instinct screamed at him this wasn't right. Kyle Crane wasn't in control anymore.
He turned back to the family, his heart screaming at them to run! To get away from him! But when he opened his mouth, a snarl came out instead.
The unknown energy was building up inside his muscles, aching for release. Readying him for the hunt. Sink his teeth into flesh.
And that something in the back of his mind murmured at him. Low, toxic, and insidious.
Look over there. At the playground.
They were easy prey.
Get them.
No. No, no, no!
He tried again to scream.
RUN!
But the only sound that came out of his mouth was the bloodcurdling howl of a monster into the fading light of day.
Three months later...
"Hm-Hmm-hmm!" hummed the chirpy, upbeat hum, bouncing off the damp, moss-covered walls. An uncanny melody of sunshine in stark contrast to the shadows and rot.
Along the tunnel banks lurked the rabid walkers—Biters. Infected husks of humanity, driven for the taste of human flesh, snapped their decayed heads to the humming. And just like animals alerting to any new sound and smell, their grunts and guttural snarls grew louder toward the source of the disturbance.
Vroom, the small motorboat's engine growled. Painted in bold, chipped script on its starboard was the baptized name, Caroline. She glided over the gentle ripples—and over the bloated corpses, each body bumping against its hull with a loud thud.
The engine's noise, the portable radio's music, and the light humming. Something had entered the tunnel—into the freaks' dark home from the sun. The Biters lashed out at the source, only for them to lose their balance and clumsily fall into saltwater.
Their decaying limbs reached toward the boat like trapped rats clawing at the sides. But it was a losing battle to stay afloat.
The cold water embraced them, dragging them down into silence.
The upbeat beats continued to play from a portable radio on the boat's dashboard, drowning out every bump, every thrashing and every snarl. The driver seemed unbothered, humming along as if taking a leisurely ride.
And even if danger did present itself, the woman in an eye-catching red jacket was ready.
Her fingers tapped rhythmically to the beat of the music, her hazel-blue eyes—shielded by orange-tinted sports sunglasses—focused on what was ahead.
To the end of the tunnel.
As of now, water was one safe means to travel around and away from the monsters. The channel provided the only best route without any sort of problem to worry about, so she could get to her destination.
It wasn't long before she spotted the morning sunlight streaming in at the tunnel's end, casting a warm, golden glow to greet her. The woman at the helm flipped a switch and turned off the modified UV lights along the bow just as Caroline glided through the exit and into the open air.
The sun's glare pierced through her sunglasses, stinging her eyes. She raised a gloved, calloused hand to shield herself from the brightness. With a slow, deliberate movement, she pulled down her grey, tattered cowl scarf off her nose, freeing her auburn braid that tumbled loosely over her shoulder.
As her vision adjusted, the familiar sight of Harran's Mediterranean coastline stretched before her.
It used to be a vacation beacon for tourists. Now look at it.
The breathtaking blue water and clear sky clashed harshly with the city's horrors: the plumes of black smoke in the distance and the distinct screams of the damned. An isolated apocalypse struck in this day and age, and yet, in some defiant way, the city seemed to rebel against it.
One more day. Just one more day of surviving the Harran outbreak. That was all anyone could hope for.
Fighting off the infected. Enduring the treachery of men turning against one another—the true reflection of Harran's downfall, as honest as cold steel driven into a comrade's back.
Yet the woman steering the small speedboat remained unfazed, used to the destruction.
She spotted the edge of the Slums in the far distance—only a thin line on the horizon. So close and yet so far away. The proverbial grip in her chest tightened a little, but she shoved the grim thoughts aside, first with a sigh and then with a little ritual of hers.
Breathe in. 1, 2, 3, 4. Her fingers counted on the wheel. Breathe out. 1, 2, 3, 4. Rinse and repeat.
Everything's going to be fine, Jackie. You'll see them soon.
Her attention drifted, as it often did, searching for something to keep her from overthinking. And she found it on the dashboard. Because it annoyed her. And that annoyance grounded her from her anxiety—a welcomed distraction.
There it sat. A cheap, weird bobblehead knockoff that practically screamed "Made in China." She'd been told it was some game character—a rap singer with an open black shirt, red bandana over his eyes, and one gaudy gold B-pendant chain hanging around his neck.
The ridiculousness of it tempted her to poke at it and watch the head bobble. Which she did after some consideration.
"You sure have weird taste, Lenny..." she muttered with a thick Londoner accent.
There was then a feeling of vibration in the pocket of her sling bag, hard to miss. At first, she ignored it. Because she knew what the call would be about.
Maybe if she let it ring long enough, the upcoming earful wouldn't be quite as deafening. After all, it was still daybreak. Surely her caller would be looking for a perk-me-up right about now anyway.
That was what the woman had bet on. Eventually, she slipped a small earpiece into her ear, linked to the walkie-talkie stowed in her sling bag.
Beep!
"Jack? Do you read?"
Oh, she could hear that lovable, exasperated voice loud and clear. Steaming hot and ready to give her a verbal one-two punch. So she deliberately stayed quiet and continued watching the scenery again.
"I know you can hear me!" the young lad in his twenties shouted on the other end.
"Just admiring the view, Bones."
"Where are you? Everyone's been looking for you all morning."
"Somewhere near the Coast. Smooth sailing to the Slums in a few hours, tops."
"...Ok. I don't know which to be mad at. Thinking you got killed. Or out of all the places in Harran to go to, you're heading there!" He groaned. "You don't even have a Lifeline with you!"
Jack chuckled, disregarding that one important rule—a rule everyone back home agreed to. Her friend easily conceded defeat instead of barraging at her for ignoring that one rule. He could do nothing but sigh.
"Asem's going to be pissed."
"Actually, she's the one who approved it."
"Wait. She did?"
"You gotta do what you gotta do for family," Jack reassured him before drifting the conversation off. "...You know, this boat ride is mighty relaxing."
"Well. That explains Lenny going ballistic this morning... Seriously, Jack. You could have been gunned down by the Navy."
"It's just a short trip," she said with a grin. "I'll be back in a tick."
"Short trip. Right."
"Tower's gone quiet for too long, Bones. I just want to make sure they're all right," she boasted despite the knot in her chest. "My idiot cousin will be thrilled to see me up and about again."
"You've never liked your cousin."
"No. But he's a bloody fool and he's all I have left in this world."
A heavy sigh crackled through the earpiece, too close to the mic to miss. She could hear him fretting over her choice to head back to Harran. But she wasn't going to give him room to argue.
"Could be a faulty wire in their radio," she continued. "We don't have the best equipment either."
"But for them to be radio silent this long?"
"I'm not worried." And she most certainly knew her friend did not believe her one bit. "Rahim wouldn't shut up about their newest runner doing all the heavy lifting."
"Sounds like he's the complete opposite of you."
"Sounds like I've never done any good for you lot. Remember," Jack playfully shot back. "I'm the only one who's doing this little pet project of yours."
"No, I mean - you are a good person! But sometimes your methods are...unorthodox."
"At least it brings bread on the table, doesn't it?" she pointed out. "You know. I should extend this trip a little longer. Do a little sightseeing. You lot will do fine without me."
"What - No! Of course, you're needed here. Stop putting words in my mouth!"
She chuckled. "I'm joking, Bones. It'd take a lot more for me to cut ties."
Another sigh, this time out of relief. "Thank you. Asem would have my head if you did…"
"Our fearless leader? Nooo," Jack chided. "She'd just stick you on radio duty for another week."
"Ugh. She would... Jack. Are you sure you want to be doing this...? There's nobody to get you if you go under. And no one outside the Ravens can know about this 'project' either."
"Don't fret, hon. All I'm doing is a little birdwatching out here," the woman in red chided, dramatically twirling her hand. "Watch how those freaks of nature think. Let a few Biters take a snack off my blood-"
"For collecting data, not screwing with your life," the young man grumbled loudly on the other end. "We have no idea if it will even work. We haven't finished the tests, for Pete's sake!"
Jack rolled her eyes at how thick the uncertainty fled from her earpiece. How many times would she have to go through this before he understood?
"Bones. My secret weapon works. You saw the results," she stated as a matter of fact, clenching her fist for emphasis, though it was more for herself than him. "If I can get the data you need, then we can help the Tower out with that cure of theirs, right?"
"Theoretically, yes. But-"
"Then it's a better solution than just waiting. I beat the odds. I'm the only one brave enough to get up close for those samples."
There was a muffled scream—hands over a mouth. Bones was surely having a hard time trying to win this one-sided argument.
"...You were cutting so close last time," he finally muttered, his voice soft, almost pleading. "Your cousin...if you two really do care about each other, then he's gonna be real broken about you if something happens to you."
Jack's hand paused on the wheel, her confident smirk faltering for the briefest moment.
Bones was still shaken up about the past month and she couldn't blame him. Hell, it was understandable, so Jack couldn't help but feel a little apologetic.
"I know, Bones. I know... I'll...try to be a bit more careful."
"That doesn't give me a vote of confidence. And you're not going to listen to me one way or another… You got your PACT with you?"
She raised her wrist, glancing at the sleek black digital bracelet. The thin green monitor pulsed steadily, tracking her vitals—from adrenaline spikes to some chemical mumbo jumbo she didn't care to understand.
"You should really come up with a better name."
"Shut up and keep an eye on the color. When it goes blue, call me with the results. When it hits red, call me! Keep that tracker on at all times, got it?"
"Got it."
"And no fists!" he hissed. "Just...find a weapon. Craft it out of thin air, for all I care. But no hand-to-hand combat. Don't even be a hero."
"Hero?" she snorted. What a word to pick out of the hat, landing more like an insult than a compliment. "I'm Mad Jack. I'm immortal."
"Was. Keyword, was Mad Jack. You're retired, remember?" Bones groaned, letting a pause swing by. "Call us when you get to the Slums, okay?"
"You'll hear from me in a couple of hours."
"And be careful out there," her worried companion persisted—if she didn't know better, he had a long list of worries he wanted to go over with her. "GRE's been seen out and about lately. Coming in hot and heavy."
"What's new?" Jack jested, unfazed, and a little irritated.
"Hey, no joke. We don't want any of their attention."
"You know, they could just bring in another bomb and solve all their problems in one go."
"Jaaack," he whined. "Why can't you be optimistic for once?"
"I am being realistically optimistic. There's a difference."
"Just get those samples and be back here in one piece, okay? Good luck."
The line went cold and Jack slipped her earpiece into her pocket, satisfied with the conversation. Her grin gradually softened as she stared back at the awful scene on the horizon.
"...Don't think I can promise you that last bit, mate."
Looking back to the horizon deepened Jack's apprehension—it wasn't her first time in a pandemic.
The infected ruled the streets like packs of lions. At night, even worse things prowled, craving flesh and blood. And that was the least of Harran's problems.
Inside the city, citizens struggled with food, water, and even Antizin. For what was nearly a year, only the strongest endured, and factions had risen from the chaos. Running on fragile hope, fear and dwindling supplies.
And then there were the stories. Rumors about the Slums—a faction led by a psychopath, a madman with a reputation as bloody as it was terrifying. Jack could only imagine what the city looked like now, with no airdrops in over three months.
Harran had become a graveyard of desperation, its foundations cracking under the weight of the outbreak. And she was heading straight into its heart.
Well, that's what happens when the world abandons a dying city. Harran had been walled off, condemned, and forgotten. The rest of the country focused its efforts on containing the virus beyond Harran's walls. They had left Harran to solve their issues on their own; humans left to their own devices turned into the most threatening and vicious enemy than the undead.
So once Jack reached the Slums, she'd need to keep her head down and stay low—no unnecessary trouble or attention while she was there.
The worst part was how much time had passed. The Outskirts, where she and the speedboat originated, had changed significantly after months without normality. Jack witnessed those changes during her time there, and with that, she understood that with the same passage of time, the city had changed so much.
Nature slowly took over, spreading inward. Fewer and fewer people from small communities bunkered down at the city's corners for sanctuary, while more and more infected conquered areas beyond saving.
The world grew smaller and smaller beyond human control.
If it wasn't death by the infection or a nuclear bomb, then time was suffocating the city to a slow and insidious death.
"...You'd better be alive and breathing, Harris."
It was a pointless hope. That didn't mean she couldn't try to hope.
Just as Jack's gaze drifted to the bow for a moment, something else caught her attention.
At the edge of the nearby coast, the jagged rocks and weathered supports provided a good hiding spot. Boats—several of them—were clustered near the shore. Similar to the one she had, their paint had long since faded and peeled.
Abandoned, maybe. But as her eyes lingered, she spotted movement on one of the decks.
Enough to set her on edge.
Jack turned back to cruising, half a mind to focus on staying the course. But she looked at her rearview mirror anyway.
In only seconds, those boats emerged from their cover and sped towards her. Three of them.
Yup, trouble. And it wasn't the Navy. They'd have shot her down already.
Jack sighed.
She hit the throttle.
Faster, faster Caroline went. The boats tailing her picked on this and immediately matched her speed.
She already knew it was unavoidable; it didn't take long for one of the pursuers to be neck-to-neck with her vehicle.
Three men occupied the boat. One behind the wheel, two stationed at the starboard. Orange jumpsuits. Prisoners.
And judging by the Glock one had on him, they certainly weren't there to welcome her with hospitality.
"Stop the boat!" the man with the gun shouted, his aim shaky as the waves rocked his balance.
No. Jack made a hard turn on the wheel to the right.
BAM!
It was a clear miss! But any more bullets could surely hit her. Or the engine. A straight line to the Slums was no longer an option.
"After her!"
The chase was on. And this early in the morning too. She steered Caroline left and right, ducking from the bullets. How free and happy the convicts must have felt to be using firearms—they didn't have to worry about the zombies out in the ocean.
Jack hated guns.
So a change of plans was in order: to the Coastline. On foot, she'd stand a better chance. Sort of.
"We ain't trying to kill ya, lady!" one prisoner burst with laughter, thinking of a prize better than the boat itself.
"Capsize her!"
THUD!
The impact rocked Caroline violently, sending Jack stumbling forward before regaining control.
"Hey! You'll ruin the paint job!" she yelled, before hissing to herself, "Lenny's gonna kill me!"
"Shit! It's that thing!"
Thing? What thing? Jack quickly peered back, watching the convicts suddenly slam the brakes on; one boat making a quick 180 around.
"Fall back! FALL BACK NOW!"
And just like that, they retreated.
Jack snapped her gaze forward, searching for whatever had spooked them. Nothing loomed above the waterline, but the surface told a different story—trails of seafoam heading in her direction at an alarming speed.
Whatever it was, it was underwater. And it was already right on top of her boat before she could do anything.
THUD!
The impact slammed into the bow with the force of a battering ram.
The boat lurched into a 45-angle left, veering sharply into a stone pier. The wheel revolted in her hands, no matter how hard she tried turning it the other way. All she could do was go along with the shaky ride.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
She was crashing, whether she liked it or not.
KLUNK!
The crash came hard and fast. The bow struck the pier with a teeth-rattling impact, and Jack's body went flying like a ragdoll.
"GARGH!" she grunted as she landed on a pile of blue garbage bags, cushioning her abrupt fall. The full brunt of the crash knocked the wind right out of her.
For a few undesirable seconds, she lay sprawled on the pile with her vision swimming. The shock left her gasping.
Her mind screamed. Get up. Move. NOW.
Her hands scrambled against the trash as she rolled off the bags with a painful huff. Her legs shook as she forced herself upright. She wasn't alone on the dock. She couldn't afford to waver.
Biters everywhere, staggering towards the deafening noise of her crash like moths to a flame.
Then she remembered the boat. Caroline. Its side was smashed in, and without anyone to pilot it, it aimlessly drifted away from the stone dock. Away from her.
"No, no, no!" She had to hurry-
"Grooooaaawnn!"
Out of nowhere, an 8-foot-tall Goon lifted up a piece of rebar high above its head. The rusted metal gleamed ominously in the sunlight, ready to smash her skull like a ripe watermelon.
"Whoa!"
THUD!
The rebar came crashing down, shattering the concrete where she just stood. Jack skidded a good three, five feet across the ground on her bum. Her heart pounded as the Goon's hollow white eyes glimpsed with raw instinct. To kill a puny human.
Her situation couldn't get any worse!
Except it did. Jack's orange-suited pursuers decided to take advantage of her crash, slowing closer to Caroline. Or maybe they wanted to get to land before whatever sea monster out there could catch up to them; she couldn't say.
Whatever. She wasn't sticking around to deal with both zombies and prisoners.
"You know what?" she hollered at the Goon. "Keep it!"
She bolted. Like a bat out of Hell before the Goon's next swing cracked into the concrete once more.
Nobody in their right mind would dare go toe-to-toe with a Goon. That's crazy thinking! And sure, Jack had her fair share of craziness—just not the right opportunity right now and not after that talk with Bones.
The odds were stacked way too high against her. She was weaponless, defenseless, and carried little on her; the rest of her equipment was now at the bottom of the sea.
She wasn't about to throw herself into a losing fight.
So, she ran.
A fistfight couldn't help in times like this. Her opponents were far too resilient than most pro fighters. But speed was another tool and the only weapon she had. So Jack took off in a harsh sprint as she dodged the swinging rebar. No time to stop for a split second.
There was just one slight problem.
She had nowhere safe to go!
Ahead of her loomed a towering white concrete barricade—a reinforced extension of Harran's infamous City Walls. The structure jutted out into the coastline like a fortress, stretching from one end of the beach to the other.
It was new. The Coast was a closed-off area for a reason; to keep anything from hopping out of the quarantine zone and into the next-door municipality. And that includes humans.
That was the reason she chose the route in the first place! No infected along the coastline, no Navy patrols breathing down her neck. It was the safest option.
Now she was paying the price.
"Someone! Anyone!" she hollered along the side. Just one kind soul over the wall to hear her and pull her over, which was highly unlikely. They'd shoot her on sight if they were up in the walls' canopies.
If she must, she'd have to take a dip in the murky waters and face whatever the hell was lurking below.
On second thought, she'd take her luck in finding a port and a working vehicle. Anything.
Something beyond the walls did hear her cry.
It just so happened that it perched itself on a nearby coastal high-rise. The voice of a panicked human rang like that of a dinner bell, golden eyes snapped in Jack's direction. Its sight was attuned to a monochromatic world of grays and blacks, but there, in the distance, the blurry figure of a woman flared as brightly as the sun.
A prey running to its dinner plate.
Shreds of tattered fabric clung to its wiry frame, the remnants of something once human now worn thin and frayed. It tilted its head, sniffing the air, catching her scent from so far away.
Fifty feet? A hundred? It didn't matter. It had locked on.
A low, hungry hiss escaped from its split mouth—declaring to itself that it had chosen the newcomer—the creature dropped off its perch. Mid-air, its claw split open grotesquely, firing a fleshy tendril toward a nearby lamppost. The momentum whipped it forward under the protective shadows of the buildings. Right towards the woman in red.
The hunter loomed after the hunted along the great walls. Unseen and relentless.
And Jack was oblivious to what loomed towards her. She had her focus pinned on the usual small fry at her ankles as she weaved between them.
Her run, however, dropped to a skip and a halt as her eyes widened at a new sight that shouldn't be present. At all.
Crumpled chunks of concrete and twisted steel lay strewn across the ground, a giant hole torn into the wall itself.
What? When did this open up? Did a Demolisher break through?
Or something bigger?
She shut the thoughts down. Questions later! Her life was the only thing that mattered!
The gurgling groans and snarls were closing in. Surrounding her on all sides. The walkers picked up the pace, honing in on the prey as Jack galloped through the tear in the wall.
Sure enough, beyond the walls, more infected awaited her. Heads spinning around to fresh, tasty meat on two legs.
It was like a gazelle running along the waterhole surrounded by lions.
Perfect! As if I didn't have enough problems!
With a surge of adrenaline, Jack leaped onto a fence, then scrambled up the side of a sliding roof with practiced ease.
"Get up, Jackie! The floor's lava!"
Her feet skidded against loose tiles as she swished her way up to the second deck of coastal houses. Hopping from one balcony to the next, Jack frantically looked for a safe spot. Anywhere she could catch her breath and get her bearings.
Up was better than down. The streets below were riddled with Biters and the occasional Viral, just like Harran-
"Graaargh!"
The snarl came from her side—too close.
"Oomph!" Jack barely had time to register the Viral barreling out of an open doorway before it slammed into her. The impact sent them both tumbling down the balcony.
This time, there was no soft cushion for Jack.
"Gargh!"
A blinding pain exploded through her body. Her ears rang with a sharp, dizzying vertigo hitting her like a kick to the head.
She hoped her skull was fine; Bones would never let her hear the end of it if he found out.
As her head cleared up, she became acutely aware of a new, sharper pain radiating elsewhere.
On her leg.
The Viral that had fallen with her was clawing its way up her body, teeth trying to chew through her legging as it hissed hungrily.
"Get off me!" She kicked it off with all her strength. Her foot connected, sending the walker flying off her.
She scrambled to check her leg. No bite marks. No sign of tear in the fabric. But she did get a scratch during the tussle—beads of blood trickled from her palm.
A bite wasn't and shouldn't be her main concern right now. Not when a second Viral was already sprinting towards her from across the street.
Quickly, her hand searched behind her, until they gripped a length of pipe lying nearby. It would have to do. She barely had time to lift it before the infected pinned her down with its rotten body, spreading saliva at her.
Jack shoved the pipe against its neck to hold the snapping jaws back and one foot pushed hard against its chest. And on an important matter; she was spending too long on the ground.
Seriously? This was how she was going to end up? Getting eaten by these feral bastards?
"Mad Jack isn't gonna die here! Not. Until. I say so!"
With a burst of determination, she booted the Viral right off her, sending it sprawling across the pavement. Wasting no time, she jumped to her feet.
She gripped the pipe tightly, taking a second to steel herself. She has a weapon now. The next second, she realized she could be doing the pet project on the go. But oh, it couldn't be that easy.
Why wasn't her choice of weapon a blade?!
"Gaaarh!" The Viral she had kicked away let out a piercing scream like a dinner bell, calling others to join the hunt.
Jack ran her bleeding hand along the metal pipe's cold surface. As the next Viral charged, she swung hard, catching it square in its open mouth. Yellowed teeth flew as the infected collapsed in a twitching heap at her feet.
She wheeled around for the next incoming freak, ignoring the gurgling death rattles behind her.
Body count: two.
However, more zombies flooded into the open space she found herself in, magnetized to her brash fighting.
As much as she joked with Bones at the confident idea she'd let the Biters 'take a snack' at her, that was a fool's idea and she knew it! All the while, she didn't see the hunter lurking in the urban canopies above her.
Waiting for the right moment to dive onto her.
The hunter's golden eyes locked onto every movement. The small fry below made a good distraction, each receiving a good whack to the head. Less competition and the prey would tire out.
But what kept it at bay, sinking its teeth right into her flesh, was the burning UV rays across the open space—the sun particularly sheltered her in a mocking way to the hunter.
Broad daylight—a Special infected's weakness. But not enough to ward off the lesser walkers.
A clicking sound erupted from the beast's throat with growing impatience as another infected made a frantic dash to claim the fighting prey.
Jack didn't miss a beat. She spun, driving the pipe into the side of the infected's skull with a sickening crunch. That was her fifth opponent of the day, the exhaustion creeping in faster than she liked.
Another Viral hared towards her, screaming its head off. Two choices she could make now; make a break for it or stay and fight. The first sounded better in her head!
Just as she was about to swing at the approaching sixth, then run-
"Rrrargh!"
The Viral was gone. Two bodies rolled across the ground in a blur. The force of their tumble nearly yanked Jack along for the ride. Clank, her pipe slipped far from her hands.
On the ground, she watched one infected rise up triumphantly over the other—the larger, more terrifying one. Its chest heaved, and it let loose a roar so loud and primal that Jack's heart jumped into her throat.
It was pure, unrestrained domination that expressed the message, "this one is mine!" outright. There was a fleeting moment out of the Viral; pleading out of sudden terror at its towering foe.
But the infected never had any concept of mercy.
The large beast roared at the trembling scamp. Even the surrounding infected didn't intrude, as if instinctively acknowledging the hierarchy of predators.
Jack scrambled back on her hands and heels, retreating as far as she could until her back slammed into the stone rim of a large fountain. She froze, her breath hitching as she bore witness to a one-sided, feral fight unfolding before her.
And it was brutal.
Smack! Smack!
The larger beast's fists came down like sledgehammers, one after the other, pounding the Viral into the concrete. Blood, brain matter and bone fragments scattered from every hit.
It had been a while since Jack felt fear, shaking in her shoes. Because that thing was a beast! Bashing the Viral to a bloody pulp with its bare fists!
Fists? Jack's mind reeled. Zombies don't punch. They flail their arms at humans in an attempt to overwhelm them, but they didn't have a shred of intelligence to know how to 'punch'.
Those fists beating the Viral were split-opened claws that looked more suited for ripping flesh. Yet the hunter used them with deadly precision.
What is this thing?!
Suddenly, a pair of golden eyes snapped right onto her.
They glowed as bright as embers under the shade of the fountain. The hunter bared its canines at her in a fierce snarl that made the hair on Jack's neck stand on end.
Jack couldn't tear away from those eyes. This infected...it wasn't like anything she'd seen before. She had encountered all sorts: Biters, Virals, even Volatiles—every variety of monstrosity Harran had to offer.
But this...Beastly was on a whole new level. Its sheer build was monstrous, a grotesque mix of power and speed. She could make out bone spikes poking through its shredded draperies.
She couldn't see the face; the bastard wore some sort of head covering before that too turned into rags. Maybe long after its infection.
Either way, she wasn't keen on getting a better look at its ugly mugshot.
Because one thing became very crystal clear in a heartbeat. Those glowing, feral eyes weren't like the empty stares of the other infected. It wasn't hunger driving it but with an intensity locked onto Jack that made her blood run cold.
And they were angry.
Angrier than anything she'd ever seen.
As if some sort of switch had flipped inside its head the moment it saw her
She could see it in those eyes.
It wanted Jack.
The hunter tilted its head slightly and then it let out a piercing howl.
"Are you kidding me?!"
The hunt was on.
Jack scrambled to her feet and into a desperate sprint towards an uphill street. No time to vault up to the roofs when she could feel Beastly hounding after her. On foot!
It wasn't just fast. It was ferocious! It could outmatch any professional athlete if it wanted!
And as if that wasn't bad enough, the dead didn't give her any room to breathe. They hawked behind her, around her and in front of her.
The hunter's deafening roars forced Jack to glance back, even if for only a second. That thing—whatever it was—flung off a few backers like they were nothing more than pesky flies swarming its meal.
It sounded like the tough guy didn't want to share her with the other infected. She took that conflict among 'their kind' as ironically, her saving grace.
"HEY!"
The shout made her whip her head forward.
Up the stretch of road ahead, a heavily fenced-up warehouse came into view, standing out as a fortress of hasty engineering—makeshift bridges and canopies cobbled together above it and barred spikes lining its edges.
On a platform perched high above the main gate, a short figure waved her arms frantically. Jack squinted, catching sight of a youngster with a military cap jumping up and down.
"This way!" the lass hollered.
Jack's heart surged. Survivors!
Two more figures joined the young woman on the platform, all three clearly in similar runner attire. They took to the spotlights with the purple lens mounted on the platform and propped them up like assault rifles, right in the brunette's direction.
"Blast it!"
For a moment, the lights didn't seem to do anything, almost invisible under the blazing sun. But the sound of sizzling skin and snarls behind her confirmed Jack's notion: ultraviolet lights.
One peek over her shoulder; like all the other Biters, the hunter recoiled, its skin sizzling where the purple rays licked it.
She didn't wait to see what would happen next.
"Open the gates! Hurry!" the girl with the military cap hollered to someone below, who complied. The heavy-grate doors growled loudly but opened too slowly.
It was a tight squeeze, but Jack quickly dropped down into a skid and slid right through the narrow gap.
"Close it! Close it!" the young lass hollered.
One towering man rushed to the gates, grabbing the crank with both hands. More men joined as he worked with all his might to shut the heavy gates.
Jack rolled to her side, finally catching her breath. She was safe. Beyond the warehouse's perimeter, she could hear that beast roar like an animal denied its meal.
Cry all you want, freakazoid-
"Get down!" someone screamed.
Something came flying! So fast that if one of the runners hadn't shouted, the younger woman wouldn't have ducked just in time, the object narrowly missing her head.
CLANG!
That something tore into one of the UV lights, sending sparks flying in all directions.
And it continued its projectile path towards Jack.
"Shit-!"
She flung herself across the ground, arms over her head and body into a ball. The object smashed into the dirt where she'd been lying just seconds ago, and skipped a good few feet away, kicking up a cloud of dust and tiny rocks.
Heart hammering in her ears, Jack slowly uncurled on shaky elbows. Her wide eyes locked onto the thing now lodged in the earth like a grim warning.
A fucking cinder block.
"Keep those UV lights on that thing! Get some heat out there now!" A man's dominating voice boomed across the front yard of the warehouse.
Jack allowed herself to exhale and lay on her back.
She tilted her head just enough to spot a man with a noticeable limp, barking orders. "Will, go check out our visitor."
Jack couldn't do much but lie there, dazed. Right now, she was safe and sound. Coming into her vision, an old man in his fifties kneeled beside her, wrapping a stethoscope around his neck that he had carried in his hand.
He muttered something she took time to catch up and comprehend. First, it was Turkish? Polish next?
Finally, in English, he asked, "Are you alright?"
More or less. But Jack was too worn out to respond. She listened as the sounds in the warehouse settled into a more controlled rhythm.
This day wasn't supposed to end like this. Her boat wasn't supposed to crash. She wasn't supposed to make an emergency pit into the Coast. And she definitely knew this city, next door to Harran, wasn't supposed to be overrun with the infected.
Nothing had gone according to plan. But then again, when did her plans ever work out?
"B-Bloody fucking dandy…" was all she could muster out.
The exhaustion won and she let herself collapse fully. She was gone, out like a light.
One thing was for certain.
She was stuck in Scanderoon. And she wasn't getting out anytime soon.
2024 A/N: I never did make this but I want to put up front a special thanks to my best friend and beta editor of the Descent, the support of close DL friends, a big thanks to is-gw for doing a Chinese (simplified) translation of Descent, and to my readers. This started as me having a random idea of "what happens to Kyle Crane after the Following and how can I *beep* him over in the writing?", ended up with making one of my most passionate world-building fanfic with Crane meeting new and old people, along with creating my most comprehensive and fun original character, Mad Jack. I could not get this far thanks to so much love and support for this fic.
A/N: Hello all. So this is my take on what happens after The Following—or more specifically, a sequel to the Vile ending. Dying Light has become a gem to me and I wanted to create a fanfic that not only continues the story but also explores the aftermath in a meaningful way.
This is still very much Kyle Crane's story—his redemption arc. Meanwhile, the red herring protagonist, Mad Jack, is to serve as his wingmate (for a lot of reasons later on, cough) with plans and circumstances that will affect the development between them, for the better or worse. There are OCs, and I do hope that each original creation I make is as fresh and well-polished to your liking, especially Mad Jack. She's a well-rounded brawler with her own personality and backstory. I understand that OCs can be hit or miss for some, so I want to make it clear: Jack is the deuteragonist, supporting Crane's journey throughout most of the plot. She's the sidekick so to speak.
Jack's creation is built around the relationship between Brecken, Kade and Rahim. I took Brecken's lines as being protective towards the two in the early part of the game and there could be reasons for the amiability (like Rahim was one of his students). But I've also thought of the idea that someone was a common denominator between all three to create bonds between Brecken and the siblings. So I made Jack Brecken, aka Mad Jack the Wild Dog. She's Brecken's relative, Jade's ex-rival/mentor and Rahim's friend before the outbreak.
And with that, created a powerful plot point: Crane discovering that Jack knew the Aldemir siblings—and hiding the truth from her that they're dead. When that moment comes, it'll be an emotional turning point in the story. Moreover, I designed Jack as a darker counterpart to Crane, bringing out facets of his personality in new ways. Metaphorically, while Crane represents white lies, Jack represents the brutal truth: the false hero, and the honest villain. There are going to be a lot of dynamics I have, not just between them but with the broader world of Descent.
Another note: I've mapped out the overall plot into five main arcs (the prologue arc is currently being reworked on the go). With Dying Light 2 on the horizon, I've been considering how much of this fic can tie into that story while maintaining continuity. So as to what has happened with Harran and its characters during the time leading to Dying Light 2 will be an interesting take to delve in.*
Ok enough rambling. I hope you'll enjoy this and review. Please let me know if there are some problems or mistakes I can improve on or lore I should tackle. Thank you very much and welcome to the Descent.
* 29/10/24 - With the Beast DLC coming around and now working on the Harran Arc, a lot of initial ideas I had have been shifted around, especially what I initially had for the ending. But I'm very much looking forward to how the rest of the story will be heading.
Edit, 10/10/19: Hey all, this is a major update which probably current readers won't see but I'm going over my chapters for revamping and fixes. Nothing too major but
also some added things to make the flow better. One thing I'm doing is organizing these chapters and separating them into arcs so I'm not all over the place onwards.
There'll be a total of four arcs, and a fifth being the prologue arc.
18/10/19 - Reedited for minor mistakes and errors.
13/8/20 - Reedited minor mistakes and errors. Added a small important key story dialogue.
1/2/2021 and 5/1/2021 - Changed timestamp and added minor details according to new timeline of Descent.
25/12/21 - Edited some phrasings.
15/2/22 - Went over a full chapter edit with some fixes, retwists, deletes and adjustments. Added more description into first encounter between Jack and Freakazoid.
5/10/22 - Fixed some lines.
18/2/23 - Made new cover page.
21/2/23 - Edited some lines and grammar.
23/2/23 - Edited more lines, tweaked some of the mood and pacing.
16/4/23 - Added a new section of a boat chase before Jack's crash.
28/10/24 - Edited some lines and had to rework my author note because of how long it's gotta X'D
27/1/25 - Reedted some parts to be more streamlined and removed some unwanted text. Retweaked the hunter's chase scenes.