Nolan swallowed hard.
As much as it annoyed him to admit, they were right.
These kids had grown up wielding blades since their earliest training cycles—swords, short sabers, curved knives.
Their stances, reflexes, and instincts were built around edge-weapons.
A machete might be heavier, rougher, but the feel, the swing, the bite—it was close enough to a sword that muscle memory alone could carry them through a few early clashes.
He couldn't deny that.
But then, his lips curled into a smile. Not smug this time. Just… entertained. "Close to a sword, sure," he muttered under his breath. "But this game isn't a sword fight."
He turned back toward the main screen and tapped into the new simulation's live feeds.
"This… is 27 Hours Later," he whispered.
If 27 Seconds Later was chaos and speed, then 27 Hours Later was something else. Something meaner.
