Hawk groaned as he pushed himself to his feet, bruised but standing. His eyes landed on one of the fallen Titanborn rifles—sleek, alien-looking, pulsing with faint blue energy along its barrel.
"What the hell is this thing…" he muttered.
He picked it up and turned it over in his hands. The gun felt heavier than it looked, its surface warm. He noticed a strange circular dial on the side and instinctively twisted it.
PSSSSSSHT!
The gun hissed and let out a plume of steam from its vents.
"Okay. Yup. Definitely not from around here," he said, eyes narrowing. "I'm gonna need some answers."
He slung the rifle over his back, the barrel sticking out awkwardly, and turned toward the museum's control room. The hallway was eerily quiet now, save for the hum of distant machinery and flickering lights above.
When he reached the door, he gave it a shove.
Clunk.
Locked.
"Ah… of course. Of course," Hawk muttered sarcastically, slapping the metal doorframe in frustration. "Can't just let me have one win."
He turned, eyes scanning the room again until he spotted a dusty backpack under a shattered display case. He yanked it out and slung it over his shoulder.
"Mmm… this'll do," he said, tugging the straps tighter. He walked back toward the crates where he'd left his extra 12mm slugs, picked up the box, reloaded The Iron Lung, then stuffed the rest into the backpack.
The Titanborn rifle jutted out like a flagpole, but he didn't care.
"I look ridiculous," he muttered, then grinned. "But at least I'm ridiculous and armed."
He made his way to the area where the Titanborn had mentioned prisoners. As he crept down the stairs, the air grew mustier. He pushed open a creaky door—and was immediately greeted by two grotesque mole-rats, their beady eyes locking onto him.
"Shit!" Hawk raised The Iron Lung.
BANG! BANG!
Both creatures dropped twitching, smoke curling from their singed fur.
"God damn it," Hawk muttered. "Already wasting bullets…"
He glanced left—nothing. Right—just a few bodies slumped against the wall. Human. Torn up. Bloodied.
"Old man's group…" he whispered. "Poor bastards…"
But then he remembered the Titanborn's words. Break his legs until he talks.
"At least one's still breathing," Hawk said, moving deeper in.
The tunnel ahead was long, blackened by soot and age. As he stepped forward, he heard the faint sound of dripping water echoing in the distance.
His boot landed in something wet.
"Ahh fuck, are you kidding me?" he whined, recoiling. "Oh my god… and it stinks!"
He pinched his nose and forged ahead, boots squelching through the muck. The further he went, the darker it got—light slowly bleeding away behind him.
He paused.
"Okay, this could be bad," he said quietly. "Monster could be lurking. Or maybe… maybe they can't see in the dark. Shit, I don't know…"
He steeled himself. "Just go straight. Eyes forward."
Step after step, the shadows closed in. He heard something scuttling far off, or maybe above him. His fingers tightened around the Iron Lung.
Then—
Something grabbed his ankle.
"AHH—!"
He tumbled backward, instinct kicking in.
BANG! BANG! BANG!
Three shots fired, muzzle flashes lighting the tunnel like lightning strikes. Whatever had grabbed him let go, scuttling away into the blackness with a guttural hiss.
Hawk sat there, chest heaving, sweat soaking his shirt.
"Shit…" he panted, staring into the dark. "That's one more thing I'll have nightmares about."
He reloaded what he could, sat for a moment in the silence, then whispered:
"…Why'd it have to be the sewers?"
Hawk limped forward through the tunnel, boots splashing in shallow, foul water. The air was thick with mildew, rot, and the iron sting of old blood. As he rounded a bend, a faint glow appeared up ahead—light.
"Finally," he muttered under his breath, breath fogging in the cold, damp air.
But just ahead, in the flickering light, he saw them—seven Crowls. Twisted things, hunched and twitching, their pale eyes glowing faintly green. They clustered around the bottom of a short, grimy staircase—maybe five steps—that led to a large, rusted door just beyond.
Hawk crouched behind a broken pipe and narrowed his eyes. "Okay… you bastards," he muttered. "I already learned not to get close to you. Your blood burned through my skin like acid last time. Not letting that happen again."
He took a deep breath, raised The Iron Lung, and fired.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Each slug tore into the Crowls, sending splatters of smoking black blood across the concrete. One by one, they dropped—twitching and gurgling. Only one remained, shambling toward him, dragging a mangled leg.
"Persistent little freak…" Hawk grunted, breaking open the cylinder to reload.
But just as he shoved in a fresh round—
CHOMP!
"AHHHH!" he screamed as a mole rat burst from a nearby tunnel and sank its teeth deep into his leg.
He twisted and fired downward instinctively.
BANG!
The mole rat exploded into wet chunks, its body twitching in the water. The final Crowl lunged, screeching—
BANG!
Hawk dropped it mid-leap. The body slammed into the sewer wall and slumped.
Breathing hard, Hawk limped toward the short flight of stairs leading to the heavy metal door. He dragged himself up the steps one at a time, blood trailing behind him. As soon as he reached the landing, he collapsed with a grunt and gripped his leg.
"Shit… shit… shit!"
Blood seeped from the jagged wound on his thigh. He rolled up his pants leg and flinched—dark red flesh, swollen and raw. A nasty bite. Too nasty.
"Am I infected?" he whispered, voice shaking. "Fuck, fuck, fuck…"
His mind raced. "I swear to God, if I'm infected I'll—I'll…"
But he stopped. His hands trembled, his breath shallow.
"I don't even know what I'll do."
He stared at the bite, breathing fast. The pain pulsed through his leg like a heartbeat. He didn't speak anymore. Didn't move.
He just sat there, slumped at the top of those small, rusted stairs—watching his wound, wondering if this was the beginning of something worse.
He wiped sweat from his brow and whispered to himself, barely above a breath.
"Maybe… maybe I'll be fine. I can't give up. Not now. Not over this."
He pushed himself to his feet, wincing as weight settled on the injured leg. Blood had soaked into his pants, but he gritted his teeth and took a deep breath.
"I'm not turning into one of those things. Not today."
With that, he grabbed The Iron Lung, checked the cylinder—five slugs—and reached for the door handle. It was rusted, but not locked. He turned it slowly, the hinges groaning with a metallic shriek.
The door opened into a wide, dimly lit chamber. The walls were concrete, cracked and old, but what caught his eye first were the skeletons. Dozens—maybe more—strewn across the floor like discarded dolls. Some still wore scraps of armor, others had nothing left but bone. The smell hit him next. Coppery. Old blood and rot.
And then he saw the message scrawled across the far wall in smears of dried, dark blood:
"TITAN BORN RULE"
Hawk shook his head slowly. "Fucking animals…"
As he moved further in, he noticed the ground wasn't as empty as it looked. There were wooden spike barricades set up across the room—defensive, but desperate. He stepped closer—and that's when he heard it.
Beep.
He froze.
Beep... beep.
He glanced down and saw it—nestled between the cracks of broken tile, half-hidden by debris: a small, blinking metal device.
"Shit!" he hissed, his eyes scanning the ground. "Land mines… these bastards trapped the damn place."
Carefully, slowly, Hawk tiptoed around the first mine, then another. The floor was a death trap—but someone had left a narrow path between the explosives, just enough to slip through if you had the nerve.
He moved like a ghost, barely breathing, every step calculated. His boot brushed against a soda can and it rattled across the floor—his heart leapt into his throat. But nothing exploded.
He made it to the wooden spikes and gently climbed over them, landing on the other side with a soft thud. Another door. He grabbed the rusted handle and turned it.
The hinges wailed as he opened it.
What he saw next made his blood run cold.
A Titan Born, towering over a bloodied man. The man's face was swollen, one eye already shut, bones broken. He tried to speak, but only gurgled.
The Titan Born raised a massive, bloodstained fist—and brought it down again.
CRACK.
Hawk stood in the doorway, frozen. His grip on The Iron Lung tightened. His breath caught.
His eyes locked with the Titan Born's just as the next punch landed.