"Brecken, I’m near the drop zone," Crane said into his radio, his voice tight.
He felt the wind of a clawed hand narrowly miss his shoulder. He scrambled up a barricade of spiked plywood, kicked a climbing infected square in the face, and threw himself through the closing gap of the Tower’s main gate. Articles on the topic: "Dying light"
Crane pulled the Antizin from his bag, his hands finally shaking. He looked out through the reinforced glass at the pitch-black city. The light was dead, but for one more night, he wasn't. "Brecken, I’m near the drop zone," Crane said
Kyle Crane stood on the edge of a rusted crane, the metal groaning under his boots. Below him, the city was a labyrinth of shattered concrete and laundry lines, illuminated by the bruised purple of a setting sun. In Harran, the sunset wasn't a romantic view—it was a death sentence. Crane pulled the Antizin from his bag, his