Cans clinked softly in Adam's bag as he moved between the shelves. He grabbed anything edible—beans, tuna, meatballs in sauce, even canned peas. Anything could be useful. He also found a few bottles of water, one still slightly cool, as if it had recently sat in a working fridge. For a moment, he stood there, absorbing the absurd normalcy—stocking up for a trip, except this time, his life depended on it.
By a large, dried bloodstain next to an overturned bread rack, he spotted a backpack. Larger, sporty, black with red stripes. Adam knelt, unzipped it, and looked inside. He found a few schoolbooks—a math textbook, a folded Polish language notebook, and a thin journal. He stared at them for a moment without moving.
Then he reached in, pulled them out, and tossed them aside without ceremony. The books landed on the floor with a muffled flutter of pages. Without hesitation, he repacked all the supplies and medicine from his old bag into the new backpack.
Adam's fingers were fastening the last zipper when the silence shattered.
Footsteps. First one. Then another, then more—the pounding of boots on tile growing louder, like an oncoming storm. Short breaths, ragged shouting, heavy steps. He sprang to his feet, as if launched, and turned toward the entrance.
The door burst open.
Three people stormed in—two men and a woman. Young, maybe in their twenties, dirty, sweaty, with torn clothes. They stumbled in, nearly knocking over a shelf. One of the men turned with a knife in hand and shouted:
"Close it! Close the door!"
The other man managed to shut the entrance, but it was already too late—through the window, they could all see them. Zombies. Not a few. A whole wave of rotting, shambling bodies, chasing without pause.
"Hey!" the woman shouted, noticing Adam. "You! Help us block it!"
Adam looked at them—standing just steps from the entrance, the door behind them barely closed, jammed hastily without any real support. To their left, at the end of the drinks aisle, was a large window—cracked, webbed with fractures, letting in light from the street.
He assessed the situation instantly. If the zombies got in, the doors wouldn't hold. No shelf would stop them. That trio, panicked and loud, would only make things worse. He'd be trapped between them and the entrance. The supplies he'd just gathered would be worthless if he couldn't escape.
The window was risky, but it had one advantage—it led directly to the street, in the opposite direction from the incoming horde. It was his only way out before everything turned into a deathtrap.
He glanced once more at the three strangers—desperately trying to take control, eyes darting around. The woman who had shouted was looking directly at him, disbelief and pleading in her eyes. Adam hesitated... but only for a moment.
He turned away.
He moved toward the drinks aisle. Spotted the window—partially shattered, cracks spreading like spiderwebs. He approached with purpose and tightened his grip on the steel pipe.
One swing. The glass shattered with a crash, fragments falling to the floor.
"What the hell are you doing?!" one of the men yelled.
Adam didn't look back. He threw his backpack through the frame and jumped after it. He felt his leg catch on the edge of the window, fabric tearing against metal.
He landed hard on his feet outside. His eyes scanned the surroundings—street, gate, side alley. He still held the pipe, ready to run. He sprinted forward, forcing his body to move despite the exhaustion and tension clinging to every muscle.
He barely registered the shout behind him: "He left us!" before the sounds behind him blurred into screams, scraping metal, and heavy impacts against the frame.
He didn't stop.
He turned into a side alley, darting between two buildings, glancing around frantically. Looking for any open space, an entrance, stairs—anything that might give him the upper hand or just a moment to breathe. He shoved through trash, abandoned carts, toppled road signs. The backpack thumped against his back with each step, and his eyes constantly scanned for threats.
He passed an empty street. In the distance, he spotted a residential block—five stories high, its stairwell open. He ran up the concrete steps, skipping two at a time, his footsteps echoing off the walls.
On the ground floor, he tried the first door. The handle didn't budge. The door was thick, locked, maybe even barricaded from inside.
On the first floor—another door, this one with a metal grate and a thick chain locked with a padlock. No chance.
Second floor. A sign on the door: "Beware of dog." Adam tried the handle—only a soft click, no give. Another dead end. He gritted his teeth and pushed on, faster, tension rising with each step.
Climbing higher, he heard muffled growls behind him. His heart jumped. On the third floor, to the left of the stairwell, one door stood slightly ajar. Adam approached cautiously. He reached for the handle, pushed gently—the hinges creaked, breaking the heavy silence. The door gave way, revealing a dim, still apartment.
Inside, there was a strange stillness, as if the space had been holding its breath. Adam crept forward, pipe at the ready. In the living room, his eyes locked onto two figures. They sat motionless, as if asleep, but their heads twitched when the floor creaked beneath his foot. Their faces were ashen, deformed. Eyes open, glassy. Lips moved in silent rhythm, and their bodies stirred—as if waking from a deep slumber. Adam understood—these must've been the residents. Once people. Now... just remnants of who they were.
One of them rose first, staggering to its feet. As it moved, Adam dodged to the side and swung the pipe—striking the creature's knee with a dry snap. The leg buckled at an unnatural angle, and the body crashed sideways into a coffee table, knocking over a lamp.
The second zombie was on him. Claws slashed the air as Adam stepped back and struck the side of its head. It staggered, and Adam followed with another blow—straight to the temple. The pipe sank deep, and the body collapsed to the floor with a groan of dying life.
The last of the two lay on the carpet, struggling to lift itself on trembling arms. Adam didn't wait—he stepped forward and brought the pipe down with full force, ending it in one brutal motion.
Silence remained. And a door he could now lock from the inside.
[Essence Record — Kills Confirmed]
[Targets: 2x Zombie (Level 2)]
[Reward: +1 VIT]
[Level Up: LVL 2 → LVL 3]
[Stat Points Gained: +4]
Adam looked at the system window floating before him and exhaled. Despite the exhaustion, he felt his body pulse with a subtle energy.
His gaze shifted to the bodies lying on the floor. Two dead zombies, unmoving but still present.
Adam walked to the balcony door and opened it slightly, letting the stale air escape. He looked at the corpses, then at the exit.
He wasn't going to share this place with the dead.
But the thought of touching them disgusted him. He instinctively recoiled, as if contact alone might carry disease. He searched the apartment for something useful. He found a long-handled broom and an old, torn blanket.
He wrapped one of the corpses in the fabric, avoiding direct contact, and used the broom to push the body toward the balcony door. It resisted with dead weight, but eventually, it tumbled over the railing, landing with a dull thud several floors below.
He repeated the process with the second. When it was done, he collapsed to the floor and listened—only the wind and distant wails answered him.