William swung the door open and immediately froze.
"Fuck."
The word slipped from his mouth as his eyes widened at the sight before him. The dim corridor was packed with bodies rotting, twitching, and barely human anymore.
Zombies.
Not just a few.
Hundreds of them.
The horde slowly turned toward the sound of the door. Decayed heads twisted, cloudy eyes locking onto the two living men standing at the entrance. For a moment, the hallway fell into a terrifying silence.
Then the growling started.
William clenched his jaw.
He had seen hordes before. Too many, in fact. Ever since the world collapsed six months ago, survival had become his only routine-sleep lightly, trust carefully, and never hesitate when death stood in front of you.
Beside him stood Vincent.
Unlike William, Vincent looked almost relaxed.
"We doing this or nah?" Vincent asked casually, glancing at William.
That was Vincent's way of dealing with fear-jokes, sarcasm, and a reckless kind of bravery. Before the outbreak, he had been a soldier, the kind who ran toward danger while everyone else ran away. The apocalypse hadn't changed that about him.
If anything, it made him worse.
The zombies began moving toward them. Some dragged their broken legs across the floor, while others suddenly burst into a sprint, their guttural screams echoing through the corridor.
William inhaled deeply and steadied himself.
Unlike Vincent, William didn't rush blindly. He was the careful one-the thinker. Before the world fell apart, he had spent years training in close combat and survival tactics. Every movement he made was calculated.
That was probably the only reason he was still alive.
In one hand, he flipped out his karambit knife, the curved blade glinting under the flickering hallway lights. In the other, he raised his Glock 45, his finger resting near the trigger.
Beside him, Vincent adjusted his grip on his AR-15 and pulled a military knife from the sheath on his vest.
The sound of metal sliding against leather echoed faintly.
Vincent smirked.
"You know," he muttered, "one day we're gonna open a door and it's just gonna be a normal hallway."
William didn't smile.
"Today's not that day."
The horde was already closing in.
The two men exchanged a quick glance.
William-the calm strategist.
Vincent-the fearless fighter.
Different minds.
Same goal.
Survive.
No words were needed.
Just understanding.
They both nodded.
Then, without hesitation, they charged straight toward the horde.
May 30, 2029
Seven Hours Before the Calamity
"William Smith!"
The shout exploded through the small pizza shop kitchen.
William slowly turned around, wiping flour off his hands as his manager stormed toward him, face red with anger.
"Our customer, Ms. Gemma Lee, told me you gave her terrible customer service!" the manager barked.
William stared at him, unimpressed.
"That bitch told me I looked like my mother," William replied flatly.
For a moment, the kitchen fell silent.
The manager's jaw tightened.
"Bastard!"
His fist shot forward.
The punch slammed into William's face, sending him stumbling backward into the metal counter behind him. Pans clattered loudly as he caught himself.
William wiped the blood forming at the corner of his lip and looked back at the manager with cold eyes.
"Aren't you being one right now?" he said calmly.
The manager's breathing grew heavier.
"Because of you, we're in trouble!" he snapped. "Do you even know who that woman is? Ms. Gemma Lee is one of the most powerful people in this city!"
William said nothing.
"You're fired!" the manager shouted. "Get out of my shop, you bastard!"
There was no argument.
No apology.
William simply stared at him for a second, then slowly untied his apron.
The cloth dropped onto the floor.
He pulled off the pizza cap from his head and tossed it onto the counter.
"Fine," William muttered.
Without another word, he walked toward the back door of the restaurant.
He didn't look back.
Outside, the late afternoon sun hung low over the city streets. Cars passed by. People laughed. Life moved normally.
William stepped out into the street.
The city moved like any other day. Cars rolled past the intersection, people walked along the sidewalks, and distant music drifted from a nearby café. The warm air carried the smell of food and gasoline.
Normal.
Too normal.
William shoved his hands into his pockets and started walking toward his apartment building a few blocks away.
As he passed a narrow alley, a strange sound caught his attention.
A low, painful groan.
William glanced over.
An old man sat slumped against the brick wall near a trash bin. His clothes were dirty, and his body trembled as he clutched his stomach. His breathing sounded wet and uneven, like every breath hurt.
"Ugh... help..."
The old man barely managed to speak.
William stared at him for a moment.
People passed by on the sidewalk, pretending not to notice.
William sighed quietly.
"Not my problem," he muttered under his breath.
He turned away and kept walking.
A few minutes later, he reached the old apartment building where he lived. The paint on the walls had long faded, and the stairway lights flickered weakly as always.
Nothing unusual.
Nothing alarming.
William climbed the stairs to his floor and unlocked his apartment door.
Inside, the small room greeted him with silence.
He tossed his keys onto the table and collapsed onto the couch.
Outside the window, the city continued its normal rhythm.
William closed his eyes, just for a moment.
His body was more tired than he realized.
Without even knowing it, William fell asleep.
And while he slept peacefully in his small apartment...
the world outside was already beginning to unravel.