A group of seven youths marched through the rain-soaked street, each gripping a different cold weapon—gleaming swords, one handed axes, and even two wielding nothing more than mop sticks, their ends crudely wrapped with barbed wire and rusted nails. The rainfall drummed steadily against the pavement, muffling the sound of footsteps and carnage alike.
They were all clad in the bloodstained uniform of Emerald High School, their once-white shirts now dulled with dirt and grime, green ties hanging loosely around their necks. At their helm walked a blonde youth, no older than eighteen, a vivid red scar slashing diagonally across his right eye.
That scar twisted what could've been a prince charming visage into something fierce and menacing.
He didn't bother to swing at the zombies that lunged at his group; the others took care of that with practiced efficiency.
He simply walked, calm and unhurried, his cold gaze fixed on a three-story building up ahead—his expression unreadable, carved from hatred and obsession.
The downpour cloaked their movements in a curtain of sound, shielding them from distant ears. It was the perfect weather to hunt. And the prey today was the girl who had carved that scar into his face.
At the front of the group, a black-haired youth with sharp eyes and a fireman's axe moved with feral confidence. Ben. His skill had granted him the acute sense of smell of a trained bloodhound, and he sniffed the air, narrowing his eyes as he approached the building.
With a grunt, Ben cleaved open the skull of the last staggering zombie, then lifted his chin toward the entrance.
"She's in there. It's faint, but she's definitely inside," he said.
The corners of Riven's lips curled into a cruel, anticipatory smirk.
"Is that so?"
"Hehehe, Carla... that body of hers is so—"
The perverse comment died in the throat of the speaker. His face paled as Riven's gaze shot sideways like a blade—hard, cold, and lethal.
"She's mine," Riven said quietly, voice laced with venom. "Even if I catch you thinking about her, I'll carve the thought out of your skull."
"Boss!" Ben's urgent voice cut through the moment like thunder.
Riven turned sharply—and froze.
Carla had just stepped out the building's front door, her soaked school blazer clinging to her figure, hair slicked against her face from the rain. Her eyes stared straight ahead, unfocused, as if chasing something across the street—but then, after a heartbeat, she turned her head to the right.
Their eyes met.
Her entire body stiffened.
There he was—Riven, the boy she once admired, now flanked by six others, standing among a dozen motionless zombies corpses. Blood pooled at their feet. The rain streaked down their faces and blades, but even the storm couldn't hide the cruel glint in his eyes.
Riven had been speaking to someone at his side, but now, slowly, he turned over his shoulder, locking eyes with her. That scar. That face. The expression he wore like a brand.
Terror slammed into her chest like a wrecking ball.
Without hesitation, Carla turned and bolted, sprinting with all her strength. Her heart pounded violently as her shoes splashed through puddles, slipping slightly on the wet pavement as she made for the cafeteria.
"Get that b*tch!" Riven roared, and his cronies launched into pursuit behind him.
Though Carla had already gained precious ground. The gap between them still reduced with every frantic stride she took.
None of them, not even Riven, noticed the river of blood streaking across the road.
Nor did they pause to wonder about the dozens of dead zombies lying cold and broken in the rain.
….
"Good Lord... it's like heaven in here."
Tevin's voice rang with awe as he stared into the industrial freezer, his breath catching in his throat. Frost clung to the steel door like lace, and inside, row upon row of vacuum-sealed meat gleamed beneath a coating of icy mist—beef, chicken, fish, and things they hadn't seen in over a week. Another freezer was packed with frozen vegetables, milk, and delicate perishables that somehow still held their form.
Around them, the cafeteria's storage room was a hidden treasure trove—shelves groaning under the weight of rice sacks, flour, canned food, oats, cooking oil, biscuit tins, bottled water, and even a few rare spices. For a moment, the group stood in stunned silence, the air thick with cold and disbelief. It was like stumbling across a dragon's hoard.
"We can't cook at the gym," Nero finally said, voice low but practical. "We should take the canned food, the biscuits, and as much bottled water as we can carry."
At once, Tevin turned to him, incredulous. "Can't you roast the meat with your flames?"
Nero frowned and shook his head. "My control over fire isn't that good yet. Not without setting off the smoke alarms—or burning it all to ash."
Tevin turned a slow circle, gazing at the abundance around them. "Are we really just going to leave all this good food behind?" His voice cracked with disbelief as he looked from Merek to Felicity to Nero, searching for someone to argue with.
Felicity's eyes flickered, uncertain. Her lips parted as if to speak, but Merek beat her to it.
"We'll take it all," he said firmly. "We just need to get the school bus. Strip out a few of the back seats, fit in a freezer or two—White Shop could use more supplies. You show up with a haul like this? They'll welcome you with open arms."
Nero nodded slowly, considering it. Merek's plan made sense. But Felicity's sharp eyes didn't leave him.
"You don't plan on staying in White Shop, do you?" she asked, her tone dropping its usual cool indifference.
Merek met her gaze. "No. I don't."
"You'll die," she said flatly, as if delivering a fact. Not a threat, not a warning, just truth.
He shrugged. "Maybe. But I won't waste time hiding behind someone else's rules. Places like White Shop will want people with combat classes to work for them. Enforcers. Scavengers. Laborers. That's not my goal."
His voice dipped into something colder. "I need to grow stronger without restrictions."
His mind flashed to the mall, the largest in the district, now a fortress ruled by monsters in human skin. Somewhere inside, his brother was surviving... or suffering.
He didn't know what his brother faced. But he would repay every scar, every slight, in full.
In this world, he had a brother, someone who had always stood for him, risked everything for him. Only a fool would abandon that kind of bond.
And in a world like this? Trust was rarer than food.
"The military will come," Nero said quietly. "We just have to hold on. They'll help us."
Merek raised a brow. Felicity sighed through her nose, her silence saying more than words ever could. It had been ten days since the world crumbled, ten days of silence from the government. Not a single rescue chopper, not even a message on the emergency bands.
Who knew if anyone was even left?
Felicity turned toward the shelves. "Let's take what we can and check the bus. Without it, we won't even make it to White Shop."
Her blue eyes met Merek's—sharp, questioning, resolved.
He nodded.
Just as she reached for a can of beans, she froze. Her fingers went still mid-grab. Her breath hitched.
"There are people outside," she whispered.
Every muscle in the room went taut. Merek's hand moved instinctively toward his trusty revolver. Tevin backed up a step. Nero turned to the door, jaw clenched.
Merek led them out, each footstep heavy with caution. As they exited the cafeteria, the scene before them came into brutal focus.
Six boys with weapons stood in a loose circle a dozen meters ahead. They were jeering, laughing—egged on by the cruel theater unfolding at their center.
A blonde-haired youth knelt over a girl, pinning her hard to the ground. Her arms flailed, feet kicking against him, but his strength overwhelmed hers. Her cries were swallowed by the noise of the crowd and the downpour.
"What's he—!" Nero began, but the words withered in his throat.
He watched, horrified, as the boy, Riven, struck Carla across the face with a slap so hard it echoed across the distance.
Then, with a cold, deliberate motion, he went for her shirt but the girl struck his face, opening another, a more ugly scar.
Consumed by rage, almost teetering at madness, he mercilessly landed heavy slaps that echoed, laughter swelled from his cronies.
"Stop." Felicity's voice was low but the chill behind it struck the high schoolers.
Riven's head lifted.
Four figures stood outside the cafeteria.
And at that moment, both sides locked eyes.