EASRS ZERO Z
Chapter 1E
Chapter E = The events take place before the main storyline.
September 23rd, 2010
Minnesota, United States of America
Deep within the dense forests of northern America, where pale birch trunks stood like silent sentinels and layers of green leaves smothered the forest floor, the roar of helicopter rotors tore through the sky.
The sound was monstrous—like the beating wings of something not meant to exist.
From above, AH-64 Apache helicopters surged forward, their dark, hardened frames slicing through the blue sky. The bold emblem of the EASRS Foundation was stamped clearly across their bodies, an unmistakable mark of authority and secrecy. Their machine guns swept across the land below, tracing invisible lines of death, as if ready to pulverize anything that dared move.
On the ground, beneath the suffocating canopy of trees, a temporary dirt road cut through the forest—raw, brown, and unstable. Dozens of M977 military trucks thundered forward, their eight massive wheels caked in thick mud. Soldiers aboard the vehicles tightened their grips, eyes darting in every direction.
They wore black tactical uniforms, the EASRS Foundation insignia on their right arms, the United States emblem on their left. Bulletproof 6B23 body armor and B826 helmets offered a fragile illusion of safety. In their hands rested Mk18 rifles, equipped with QDSS NT-4 suppressors, GPS-02 grips, and EOTech 553 sights—weapons engineered to kill silently, to reassure the men who held them.
Yet even steel and training could not silence the unease crawling up their spines.
Deep gashes scarred the tree trunks around them—marks carved as if by enormous claws, as though some colossal beast had passed through, tearing at the forest itself. A chill crept in, primal and unmistakable.
It felt as if thousands of unseen eyes were watching.
Then—
Something fell from the trees.
A black shape crashed down from above.
A skeletal hand—bare, elongated, inhuman—grasped the lead vehicle and flipped it over effortlessly. The truck overturned with a violent crash. Soldiers were hurled onto the ground, crushed beneath tons of steel and weight. Flesh burst. Blood scattered. Bones shattered.
Screams tore through the forest.
From the wreckage rose the creature.
Its body was tall and emaciated, draped in blackened fur like a funeral shroud. Its head resembled the skull of a deer—empty, hollow, crowned with thick, rigid antlers. Its eyes were nothing but pits of absolute darkness.
A deer—
Standing upright.
Walking on two legs.
From within the trees, more shapes emerged.
More of them.
Gunfire erupted in desperation. Soldiers regrouped frantically, retreating from the wrecked vehicles while firing blindly into the forest. Engines roared as trucks reversed, bullets ripping through branches and bark.
Amid the chaos, a Radio Telephone Operator (RTO) adjusted his transmitter, his voice sharp with tension as his eyes scanned the encroaching monsters.
RTO
> Bearing 1:37.
Assault Company 302, 14th Corps, Eastern U.S. Branch.
Minnesota Farmland Sector under attack by a large number of UTA US-660 — Wendigo-class entities.
Numbers exceed all prior estimates.
Requesting immediate air support.
---
Elsewhere—
Inside a temporary communications facility hastily constructed within the forest, military vehicles were packed tightly together, forming a makeshift stronghold. Armed guards patrolled relentlessly, electric fences humming day and night.
There, Kana, only nineteen years old, still merely an intern, watched silently.
Her curious eyes followed a man seated before the communications console.
He had dark brown, slightly wavy hair, sharp blue eyes, and olive-toned skin. His height was average—around 174 centimeters—but his presence was anything but. He wore a white dress shirt, black vest, red tie, tailored black slacks, and polished leather boots.
A headset rested over his ears.
His voice was calm. Serious. Unshaken.
Fuyuki
> Copy that.
Thank you for the detailed battlefield report.
He turned the dial, switching frequencies—his fingers moving with practiced ease across a panel crowded with buttons Kana couldn't begin to understand.
Once the connection stabilized, his voice dropped lower, colder, as he addressed the other end of the line.
Fuyuki
> Assault Company 302, bearing 1:37.
Requesting immediate aerial fire support.
---
Above the forest—
The two AH-64 Apaches banked sharply, like hawks locking onto prey.
They surged forward.
Machine guns unleashed a storm of rounds into the forest beside the road, where towering black silhouettes—some reaching three to eight meters in height—moved between the trees. Inhuman screams echoed as bullets tore through branches and flesh alike.
Then—
Rockets rained down.
Explosions swallowed the forest in blinding red fire. Trees were obliterated. The ground erupted. Smoke and flame devoured everything beneath them.
The helicopters pulled away, circling above as they observed the inferno below.
What had once been a forest was now a burning scar—
a landscape torn apart by war and something far worse.
At the same moment, inside the temporary communications sector—
Fuyuki removed his headset and ran a hand through his dark hair as he rose from his chair, stretching slowly. His shoulders sagged for a brief second, exhaustion finally leaking through the rigid posture he had maintained for hours. The low hum of machinery and the constant ticking of clocks filled the cramped space like an unending pulse.
Nearby, Kana—only nineteen at the time, still a fresh recruit—watched him with open curiosity. Her eyes sparkled with countless unspoken questions, yet her posture remained respectful. There was no trace of the reckless attitude she would develop years later. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft, hesitant, almost afraid of sounding rude to her senior.
Kana
> "Um… hey… Tanaka-san… could you maybe explain something to me…?"
"That '1:37' coordinate you mentioned earlier… what does it actually mean?"
Fuyuki glanced at her and allowed himself a faint smile—one so subtle it almost vanished the moment it appeared. His expression soon returned to its usual seriousness as he reached for the glass of salted iced coffee on the desk. The cold condensation soaked into his fingers while his other hand rested against the cluttered console, steadying his tired body after hours of sitting.
Fuyuki
> "Kana Aston."
"You are an intern assigned to the Psychological Research Division."
"There is no requirement for you to understand the duties of communications officers like us."
Kana frowned immediately,
She had long, neatly kept orange hair, smooth and glossy, cascading softly down her back. Behind a pair of round prescription glasses rested calm blue eyes—clear, observant, and quietly intelligent.
She wore a simple white shirt beneath a laboratory coat, its fabric slightly oversized on her still-youthful frame. Brown slacks and practical sneakers completed her attire, creating an appearance that was both modest and functional.
There was something paradoxical about her presence:
beautiful yet innocent,
gentle yet composed
carrying a faint seriousness that hinted she was farther than she appeared at first glance.
At nineteen years old, Kane looked like someone standing delicately on the boundary between youth and responsibility—someone who had not yet been hardened by the world, but was already beginning to unde
.her lips tightening in visible displeasure. Her eyes screamed unfair even if her mouth didn't say it. Fuyuki met her gaze calmly, a faint glimmer of amusement hiding deep within his eyes—like a man quietly observing a rose that hadn't yet grown its thorns.
Kana
> "Yes, yes… Tanaka-san…"
"If you don't want to explain, you could just say so."
"You don't have to dodge the question like that…"
Before Fuyuki could reply, the communications console behind them suddenly flared crimson.
The room changed instantly.
Fuyuki's eyes widened. In one swift motion, he grabbed his chair, pulled it forward, slipped the headset back on, and twisted the frequency dial. A sharp, urgent voice burst through the static as his finger slammed down on the recording button.
Communications Operator – Station 12
> "This is the communications and surveillance operator of Station Twelve."
"Location: Minnesota."
"We have confirmed a pack of Uta US-660 entities moving toward your temporary encampment from direction 2:56."
"Among them, one individual is suspected to be a Uta US-660B."
"Please prepare for the worst-case scenario."
Fuyuki responded immediately. His voice was low, calm, and unwavering—so composed it seemed almost inhuman. Not a single drop of sweat formed on his face. This was the discipline drilled into him through years of training.
Fuyuki
> "Thank you for the early warning."
"Your report will be officially logged and forwarded to higher command."
He cut the recording and adjusted the frequency again, transmitting the data onward. Then he turned toward the rest of the room, raising his voice so it cut cleanly through the chaos of ongoing work.
Fuyuki
> "We need to prepare immediately."
"There is no longer time for secondary approvals."
"Station Twelve has confirmed a pack of Uta US-660 entities, including one Uta US-660B, approaching from direction 2:56."
"Notify all officers in the area and begin defensive preparations at once."
The atmosphere shifted.
Eyes widened. Faces stiffened. Several personnel exchanged quick looks before nodding in silent agreement. One soldier pulled out a radio and began calling someone, while an officer rushed outside the facility, shouting rapid orders in French—words Kana couldn't understand.
She stood frozen.
Kana's eyes drifted across the room, confusion clouding her expression. She didn't yet possess the experience—or perhaps the emotional maturity—to grasp just how severe the situation truly was.
Or maybe…
She was simply still too innocent to understand what kind of nightmare was about to descend.
Suddenly, a deafening howl tore through the forest.
From the darkness between the trees, a grotesque arm emerged—unnaturally long, skeletal, and dry, its texture resembling the cracked skin of a giant serpent. The massive hand reached down and seized a stationary M977 transport vehicle. Its grip was so overwhelmingly powerful that the armored body of the truck crumpled like thin metal.
In the next instant, the vehicle was hurled violently toward a nearby military tent.
An explosion followed.
Fire erupted, swallowing the tent whole in a violent bloom of orange and red. Thick black smoke surged upward, blotting out the sky as debris scattered across the ground. Amid the flames, a horrifying silhouette revealed itself.
A gigantic white deer skull—stained with dirt and overgrown with patches of green moss—rose slowly from the smoke. Its hollow eye sockets were pitch black, fixed unblinkingly on the communications facility. The creature's towering form reached dozens of meters into the air, dwarfing the surrounding trees like a god of ruin born from the forest itself.
From within the burning wreckage, charred human corpses began to move.
One by one, blackened bodies staggered upright. Their eyes turned completely black. Their shoulders twisted unnaturally upward, fingers elongating into claw-like talons as the skin on their faces sagged and peeled away. A collective scream erupted from their throats—no longer human in sound or intent.
They charged.
Security personnel retreated in panic, drawing their UMP45 submachine guns and opening fire. Bullets tore into the creatures, and thick black blood sprayed from the impact wounds. Some of the monsters collapsed onto the dirt, twitching violently as their bodies convulsed.
But from the shadows beyond the firelight, more deer-like skulls watched silently.
Dozens of them.
Their silhouettes barely visible between the trees, their presence announced only by distorted howls echoing through the forest—sounds that felt less like roars and more like mocking laughter. As if the forest itself was amused by the helplessness of its prey.
Above, the sky was choked with smoke.
The AH-64 Apache helicopters, their fuel nearly depleted, were forced to retreat toward the horizon, disappearing into the darkened clouds. The last line of aerial support vanished, leaving only silence and despair behind.
Beneath the communications tent, soldiers, scientists, and operators stood frozen.
No one spoke.
Fear, shock, numbness—perhaps even resignation—etched itself across their faces. In that moment, they understood a brutal truth: without overwhelming firepower, humanity was insignificant before the raw, merciless force of nature.
At the center of it all, Fuyuki stood drenched in sweat. Strands of hair clung to his forehead as his trembling hand twisted the frequency dial. His voice, when he spoke into the headset, was strained—fear bleeding through despite his desperate attempt to maintain composure.
Fuyuki
> "This is the central communications base for the operation to hunt and eliminate Uta US-660 entities."
"We are requesting immediate support from Lota 17—'Night Wolf.'"
"We have confirmed the presence of one Uta US-660B during the assault on this facility."
"Several of our personnel have been transformed into Uta US-660B+32."
"We urgently request assistance."
For a brief moment, only static answered him.
Then, a calm, low female voice came through the headset—steady and authoritative. Fuyuki exhaled quietly, a fragile sense of safety washing over him.
???
> "Acknowledged."
"Lota 17 has confirmed your request."
"We will arrive as soon as possible."
The forest continued to howl.
And the night was far from over.
[To be continued]
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