Dying Light 2: Volatile Virus

As Aiden approached the Bazaar, he could already hear the noise of life.

People talking, trading, arguing—normal life in a broken world.

The Bazaar was a converted church, its massive wooden doors reinforced with metal sheets, its stained glass windows shattered long ago.

Survivors gathered around makeshift market stalls, bartering whatever supplies they had left. Others huddled in groups, whispering about rumors of the outside world.

And then—they saw him.

A stranger, masked, robed in gold and blue.

And behind him? The Daywalkers.

The moment the first person noticed them, everything stopped.

The chatter died.

The trading halted.

Survivors turned one by one, their eyes widening.

Then—someone screamed.

Survivor:

"VOLATILES—INSIDE THE WALLS!"

Panic.

People scrambled, rushing back, some grabbing weapons, others trying to flee.

Aiden's muscles tensed.

He had expected this reaction.

Now, he had to stop it—before it turned into a bloodbath.

The moment the scream echoed through the Bazaar, chaos erupted.

Survivors scrambled away, knocking over crates, dropping supplies—pure, unfiltered fear.

A merchant abandoned his stall, sending a stack of canned goods crashing to the ground. A woman clutched her child, backing away toward the church doors, her face pale with terror. A few armed men rushed forward, gripping rusty machetes, their hands shaking as they pointed toward the Daywalkers. Survivor (frantic):

"They're inside the walls! Volatiles! How the hell did they get in?!"

The entire Bazaar was on edge.

Aiden knew this could go south fast.

If even one person attacked, it would start a chain reaction—panic, bloodshed, the entire safe zone turning against him.

He had to act. Now.

The Command of a Successor

Aiden lifted his hand.

Then—he snapped his fingers.

The Daywalkers froze.

They had started moving forward, reacting to the fear around them, but now? They stopped completely.

Their glowing golden eyes locked onto Aiden, waiting for his signal.

The survivors, still panicked, saw this.

And for the first time… they hesitated.

Because no Volatile had ever done that.

Aiden (loud, firm):

"ENOUGH!"

His voice cut through the chaos, sharp and commanding.

The entire Bazaar went silent.

The survivors stopped moving. The armed men hesitated.

Aiden took one step forward, his golden-blue veins pulsing beneath his sleeves.

Then, he lifted his mask.

For the first time, they saw his face.

Aiden:

"I am not your enemy." (His voice was steady but firm.) "And neither are they."

(He gestured to the Daywalkers, who remained completely still.)

"If they were like any Volatile you've ever seen… you'd already be dead."

(A heavy silence followed. The survivors exchanged glances, uneasy but listening. Some still held weapons, but they weren't attacking—not yet.)

One man—a middle-aged survivor with a scar running across his face—took a slow step forward, squinting at Aiden.

Scarred Survivor:

"Wait… I know you. You're… Aiden. The Pilgrim."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"The one who helped Frank?"

"The guy who fought Waltz?"

"I thought he was dead!"

Aiden:

(Lowering his mask slightly, exhaling.)

"Yeah. It's me."

(He let that sink in before continuing.)

"And I came back for a reason." (His eyes swept across the crowd.) "I found something. A cure. A way to live without fear. And I'm here to bring it to you."

The crowd was still tense, still wary, but they were listening now.

Then—a voice from the back.

Skeptical Survivor:

"A cure? You expect us to believe that?" (His tone was sharp, almost mocking.) "That these things aren't gonna rip us apart the second we turn our backs?"

Aiden held up his hand.

Aiden:

"Then let me prove it."

(He reached into his bag, pulling out one of the vials Draemir had given him. The golden-blue liquid shimmered in the dim light.)

Aiden:

"This is what keeps them from turning into monsters." (He raised the vial slightly.) "It's what keeps me from turning into one."

(The crowd stirred at that—people whispering, eyes widening.)

"He's infected?" "How is he still… human?" "That doesn't make sense…"

Aiden stepped forward, his tone low but powerful.

Aiden:

"You're afraid. I get it. I was, too." (His gaze hardened.) "But you don't have to live like this anymore. You don't have to keep hiding. There's a way out."

(He let the silence settle for a moment before adding—the final words that would make or break this moment.)

"I'm taking people to a place where they don't have to fight to survive anymore. A real home. A life where you're safe—where you can actually live."

(A deep breath. Then, he turned to the crowd.)

"But the choice is yours. You can stay here, living in fear of what's outside these walls…"

(A slow glance toward the Daywalkers, then back to the people.)

"Or you can come with me… and see what real freedom looks like."

The Bazaar remained silent.

For the first time…

They were considering it.

Silence.

The survivors of the Bazaar stood frozen, their eyes shifting between Aiden, the vial in his hand, and the Daywalkers.

It was as if the entire city had stopped breathing.

Aiden had seen people afraid before, but this was different.

This wasn't just fear of the infected.

This was fear of hope.

Because hope was dangerous. Hope had betrayed them before.

Someone had always promised salvation.

And it had always been a lie.

Breaking the Silence

Then, a voice—soft, hesitant.

A woman, standing near one of the makeshift stalls, her face thin, tired, worn from years of survival.

Hesitant Survivor:

"You said… a real home?"

Aiden turned to her.

She wasn't gripping a weapon. She wasn't panicked. She was just tired.

Aiden gave a slow nod.

Aiden:

"A real home. No fighting for scraps. No running from the infected. A place where you can actually live."

She glanced at the Daywalkers, her lips pressing into a thin line.

Hesitant Survivor:

"And… they're not dangerous?" (Her voice was still shaky.)

Aiden shook his head.

Aiden:

"Not to you." (His tone was firm but reassuring.) "Not to any survivor who wants to live without fear."

Another voice spoke up.

Skeptical Survivor (gruff):

"And we're just supposed to take your word for it?" (A man stepped forward, arms crossed.) "That's what you're asking?"

Aiden exhaled sharply.

He knew words wouldn't be enough.

So he acted.

Aiden grabbed another vial from his pack.

Then—he opened it.

A soft golden-blue mist drifted into the air.

Aiden took a slow breath in.

Then another.

Then another.

He exhaled, feeling the energy settle in his bloodstream, his veins pulsing faintly beneath his skin.

He turned back to the crowd.

Aiden:

"I'm infected." (His voice was sharp, cutting through the silence.)

(A ripple of unease passed through the survivors.)

"He's what?"

"Then why hasn't he turned?"

"That's not possible…"

Aiden rolled up his sleeves, revealing his veins—deep red, pulsing with faint golden sparks.

Aiden:

"This is what's keeping me human. This is what keeps them from being like the Volatiles you know." (He motioned to the Daywalkers, who remained still, waiting.)

Aiden:

"This is your proof."

The Bazaar stayed silent.

Then—the woman stepped forward.

She walked right up to Aiden, staring at the vial in his hand.

Then, without a word—she reached out.

Aiden handed it to her.

She hesitated for only a moment—then lifted it to her nose and inhaled.

The golden mist dispersed into her lungs.

She exhaled, her body relaxing slightly.

She didn't choke. She didn't react violently.

She just… breathed.

Then, she looked at Aiden.

Hesitant Survivor:

"Take me with you."

The Bazaar shifted. Murmurs turned into whispers.

Then—more voices.

"If this is real, I want to go too."

"I have family—can they come?"

"Aiden, if you're telling the truth, we need to see this place for ourselves."

Aiden's breath steadied.

This was it.

They were starting to believe.

Then, another voice—louder, angrier.

Skeptical Survivor:

"This is bullshit!"

The crowd turned.

A man pushed forward, shoving past people, his eyes burning with rage.

Skeptical Survivor:

"We've heard this before! Hope. Salvation. A way out. But it's all a damn lie!"

(He turned toward the crowd, pointing at Aiden.)

"This bastard is no different from the rest! He's just another conman, feeding you stories to get what he wants!"

Aiden felt the tension shift.

Some survivors hesitated. Others stayed firm.

This was the moment.

This was where it could fall apart.

Aiden clenched his jaw.

He had one chance to end this doubt.

One final move.

And whatever he did next… would decide everything.

Calling the Sun God

Aiden clenched his jaw, his mind racing.

He had done everything Draemir had told him. He had shown them the Daywalkers, given them the vials, the proof.

And yet… some still doubted.

That was when it hit him.

If what Draemir had given him wasn't enough… then maybe Draemir himself was.

Without hesitation, Aiden reached into his pack, pulling out his radio.

The survivors watched closely, curiosity and unease flickering in their expressions.

Aiden turned it on.

For a brief moment, only static came through.

Then—a voice. Deep, calm, certain.

Draemir (radio):

"Yes, Aiden? What is it?"

The entire Bazaar fell silent.

Survivors froze in place.

Aiden didn't hesitate.

He brought the radio closer, his voice clear, steady, direct.

Aiden:

"Draemir, I need you to talk to them." (His eyes swept over the crowd.) "They still don't believe. They need to hear it from you."

Draemir:

"Alright, Aiden. Survivors? Alright, pass me to them."

Aiden:

(Without hesitation, he raised the radio slightly, turning the speaker toward the crowd.)

"You all wanted proof?" (His golden-flecked eyes scanned the survivors, lingering on the ones who still looked uncertain.)

"Then listen."

(He took a slow breath, then spoke into the radio one last time.)

"You're on, Draemir."

The Voice of the Sun God

The radio crackled, and then—Draemir's voice filled the air.

It was calm, deep, unwavering.

But there was no warmth.

No reassurance.

Just raw authority.

Draemir (radio):

"Listen."

(The survivors stiffened. Some flinched. Even the Peacekeepers at the edge of the Bazaar exchanged uneasy glances.)

"For what I can imagine, Aiden may have already shown you multiple proofs of a possible new life. But it seems you still refuse to see the gate being opened for you."

(A few murmurs spread through the crowd, but no one dared to speak up.)

"So I'll make this clear."

(A long, heavy pause. Then—his voice dropped slightly, edged with something darker.)

"I trained those Daywalkers for years. I can command them to tear you apart if you are a threat."

(The tension snapped like a live wire. Several survivors took a step back, eyes darting toward the Daywalkers, still crouched, still waiting.)

"You decide—accept the risk of something better, something greater… or stay where you are, clinging to the life you already know."

(His voice remained steady, but there was no mistaking the underlying warning.)

"But understand this… I won't hesitate to allow them to feed on non-infected flesh instead of their regular sustain."

(A sickening, silent realization settled over the Bazaar. This wasn't a threat. It was a fact.)

"So be good. Be wise. Take the risk, prove your worth, and work toward a better life."

"Or… remain where you are. Continue surviving your way. But if you choose that, then stay out of the way."

(A heavy pause. Then—his final words.)

"Because the moment you become a clear threat…"

(The air grew still. Every breath in the Bazaar felt suffocated by his voice.)

"I will make sure you don't live long enough to see the sundown."

Draemir (radio):

"Do you understand?"

Silence.

No one spoke.

No one moved.

For the first time since Aiden arrived, there wasn't just fear in the Bazaar.

There was respect.

And now—it was time for them to choose.

Aiden's Next Move

The Bazaar remained frozen.

No one spoke. No one dared to.

Draemir's words had left a weight in the air, heavier than anything Aiden had ever seen in this city before.

This wasn't just a threat.

It was a challenge.

Aiden could see it in their eyes—conflict, hesitation, fear, and something else.

Something dangerous.

Pride.

Some of them weren't just afraid of the unknown. They were too stubborn to admit they might be wrong.

And those were the ones most likely to fight back.

Aiden exhaled sharply, lowering the radio slightly.

His golden-flecked eyes scanned the crowd, looking for who would break first.

Then—a voice.

A single survivor—the woman who had taken the vial earlier.

Hesitant Survivor:

(Her voice was soft but certain.)

"I understand."

(She stepped forward, past the other survivors, past the ones who still clung to their fear.)

She looked at Aiden, then at the radio in his hand.

Then, finally, she turned to the Daywalkers.

And she didn't flinch.

Hesitant Survivor:

"I want to go." (Her voice was steadier this time.) "I want to see it. To see if this is real."

Aiden studied her.

She meant it.

This wasn't blind faith.

This was a survivor—one who had lost enough to know when it was time to take a chance.

Then—another voice.

A young man near the back of the crowd.

Young Survivor:

"If she's going… I'll go too."

A murmur rippled through the crowd.

One by one, others started to shift.

Some whispered among themselves. Others stayed rigid, uncertain.

And then—the shift truly began.

More voices joined in.

Various Survivors:

"I have family. Can they come?"

"If there's a chance we don't have to live like this anymore… I want to take it."

"How do we get there? When do we leave?"

Aiden felt the change.

The doubt wasn't completely gone—but now, it was fighting against hope.

Now… it was time to see who refused to listen.

Aiden lifted the radio back to his mouth.

Aiden:

"Draemir, we have people who are ready to leave." (His voice was clear, strong.) "But not all of them."

(He glanced at the ones who still stood back, arms crossed, silent, unmoving.)

"Some of them… still need convincing."

The Final Choice

The radio crackled, and Draemir's voice cut through the tense silence of the Bazaar once more.

Draemir (radio):

"Well, let's go one by one. Alright?"

(The survivors barely breathed as they listened, their fear now tangled with something far more dangerous—hope.)

"About the family—yes, you can bring as many as you please. There is no limit to who you can bring."

(A few murmurs spread through the crowd, those who had hesitated before now glancing at each other, considering what that meant.)

"In Solara, we have immense fields, crops, and space. With enough work and effort, we can expand into multiple villages—or even a town."

(A few people whispered among themselves. A town? A place that could actually grow? That wasn't just another temporary safe zone? The idea alone was almost unbelievable.)

Draemir (radio):

"Aiden will take you there. If not, just follow the Daywalkers—they can sniff out the trail Aiden left while traveling. By following them, you will reach safely."

(More whispers. More shifting. The idea of Volatiles guiding them was still unsettling—but Aiden had proven their control. And they had seen it with their own eyes.)

"If anyone wants to arrive, they will be welcomed."

"But if anyone doesn't want to join… then get out of the way."

"I won't force anyone." (His voice darkened slightly.) "Just… don't be a problem for anyone else who wants to join."

Then—another voice came through the radio.

It was different. Softer. Male.

No one in the Bazaar recognized it.

Cult Member (radio):

"Draemir, God of the Sun… Please, I beg you to accept this gift."

(A ripple of confusion spread through the survivors. A gift? What gift? Who was this speaking?)

Draemir's tone didn't change.

Draemir (radio):

"Thanks. I will gladly accept it. May you please wait a few seconds, if it's not too much to ask? Thank you, I will be for you shortly."

*(A slight pause. Then, **the faint sound of Draemir coughing—*not from sickness, but clearing his throat. It was a sound of preparation, of someone readying themselves before delivering something absolute.)

Then, Draemir spoke again.

Draemir (radio):

"Alright. Simple. Three choices."

The Bazaar tensed.

Aiden could see it in their eyes.

This wasn't just a choice.

This was a judgment.

A final, absolute truth.

Draemir (radio):

"First—accept."

"You accept, you follow Aiden and/or the Daywalkers. Once you arrive, you will be required to receive my blessing before entering."

(A few survivors murmured, unsure.)

"This blessing is a ritual in Solara." (Draemir's tone remained steady.) "But more importantly—it is essential for your own protection."

(Aiden caught a few confused expressions among the crowd. Protection? From what? Or… from who?)

Draemir (radio):

"Second—decline."

"You simply step aside. You continue with the life you have."

"If you decline, everything I can do for you is this—good luck, and good night."

(The words were final. Absolute. No anger. No bitterness. Just truth.)

Some of the more stubborn survivors shifted uncomfortably at that. They had expected Draemir to be like every other leader—someone who would beg for them to follow.

But he wasn't.

If they refused, he wouldn't fight for them.

He would simply move forward without them.

Then—his voice darkened.

Draemir (radio):

"Third—threat."

The air in the Bazaar grew even heavier.

Aiden could feel it—the instinctive reaction of every survivor.

They had spent years fighting, surviving, defending themselves against threats.

And now, they were about to learn what it meant to be one.

Draemir (radio):

"You try to stop Aiden. You try to attack him, the Daywalkers, or the survivors who want a better life."

"If you become a threat to the well-being of others…"

Aiden didn't need to see Draemir's face to know his expression was cold, unwavering.

Draemir (radio):

"I will growl the command."

"And the Daywalkers will tear the threat apart."

A few survivors took a step back instinctively.

The Daywalkers remained still, crouched in their controlled stance, golden veins pulsing faintly.

But suddenly, to those who had doubted them, they no longer looked like a mystery.

They looked like executioners.

Draemir (radio):

"And trust me… they can tear any infected apart."

"More so if they absorb sunlight."

(A slow exhale—calm, but edged with something final.)

"So… in this case…"

"You should kill yourself first."

(The words ripped through the air like a knife. A few people gasped. Others stood frozen. No one had expected him to say that.)

"Because if they do it—you will become their meal."

"And you will be devoured alive."

Silence.

Absolute, unshaken silence.

Every survivor in the Bazaar now understood exactly what they were dealing with.

Draemir (radio):

"And now, please… I hope we can reach an agreement."

"I'll be waiting for your arrival."

"And before you even set foot here… welcome to Aurenshaven, located in Solara, the countryside of Harran."

Then—the radio crackled.

Static.

Aiden exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening around the device.

Then—he turned it off.

He looked at the survivors.

Some were staring at the ground, deep in thought. Others were shaking, hands gripping whatever they had left of their old world.

And then—some began stepping forward.

Not out of fear.

But because they had made their choice.

Now… it was time to see who had the courage to walk into the future.