Dying Light 2: Volatile Virus

Aiden wiped the sweat from his brow, his hands still sore from the day's skirmishes. He had already completed several jobs for the people of Villedor—running supply routes, settling disputes, and dealing with the ever-present infected that roamed the streets. But despite all his efforts, one question still lingered in his mind: where did this all begin?

He sat by a flickering campfire with Spike, one of the few Pilgrims he trusted. The older man was staring into the flames, lost in thought, a bottle of old whiskey in his grip. The night was approaching, and with it, the deep howls of the infected in the distance.

"Hey, Spike," Aiden said, breaking the silence. "What do you know about the virus?"

Spike took a sip of his drink before glancing at him. "What do I know?" he muttered. "Same as everyone else. It started in Harran. Some kind of outbreak, got out of control. Nobody really knows how. At least, nobody alive."

Aiden frowned. "You mean, even back then, they didn't know?"

Spike shook his head. "Nah. People had theories—some said it was a bioweapon, others thought it came from some mutation in an old rabies strain. All I know for sure is, once it started, there was no stopping it. Harran became hell overnight."

Aiden leaned forward. "What was it like?"

Spike exhaled, rubbing his face. "Kid, you think Villedor is bad? Harran was a nightmare. The most dangerous place on Earth. We had Volatiles before the sun even went down, and those who didn't turn into monsters turned into something worse—desperate people, killing each other over a single vial of Antizin. It wasn't a city. It was a graveyard."

Aiden's mind wandered as he tried to imagine it. Harran, the place where it all started. How different was it from Villedor?

Here, in Villedor, the streets were always crawling with infected. Daytime was never truly safe. The Biters were everywhere, their decayed bodies dragging through the ruins, swarming the streets like a tide of the dead. The Virals—faster, more agile—were a constant threat, hiding in the ruins, waiting for any sign of movement before they pounced.

But nighttime… night was something else.

As soon as the sun dipped below the horizon, the city transformed. The streets that had been barely manageable during the day became utterly hostile. Volatiles ruled the dark, their monstrous screeches filling the silence, their glowing eyes hunting for anything that moved. There was no peace. No safety. Only the hunt.

Aiden thought about Harran—about what it must have been like back then. If Villedor was this bad now, then what did Spike mean when he called Harran "the most dangerous place on Earth"?

He found himself staring into the fire, listening to the distant roars of the infected, his mind racing.

If Harran was worse than this… what the hell had happened there?