The door creaked.
And slowly—
It opened.
From the dim interior, five figures stepped forward.
Not wandering. Not confused.
Waiting.
The air tightened.
One of them moved ahead of the others. Calm. Controlled. The kind of calm that didn't need to prove itself. He raised a hand slightly, signaling the others to stay back. In his other hand—
A pistol.
Every muscle in the group locked.
"I wouldn't come any further," he said evenly.
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried. It didn't need force. It had authority stitched into it.
He studied them for a moment, eyes sharp, measuring.
"My name is Muhammad Ali," he continued. "And this—" he lifted the gun just slightly, not pointing yet, but close enough to mean everything "—is mine now. Took it from a dead security guard."
No one spoke.
Behind Corvin, Marco muttered under his breath, "Well… that's not ideal."
Aisha didn't react, but her posture said enough. She was calculating distance, angles, timing. One move. Maybe two. But a gun changed everything.
Ali's gaze flicked across them, catching every twitch.
"Don't," he added quietly, as if he could hear the thought forming.
Silence stretched.
The group shifted subtly, forming an unspoken line. They weren't backing down—but they weren't stepping forward either.
"Eight of you," one of the others behind Ali said, stepping slightly to the side. His tone was sharper, more aggressive. "And one gun is enough."
Corvin's jaw tightened.
He leaned slightly toward Aisha without looking at her. "We could take them," he murmured, low enough for only a few to hear.
Aisha didn't respond immediately. Her eyes were locked on the weapon.
"Maybe," she whispered back. "But not without risk."
And risk, right now, meant everything.
Mei Lin spoke next, calm and precise. "We don't know how they'll react. One wrong move—"
"—and someone gets shot," Chase finished quietly.
That settled it.
Corvin exhaled slowly. Fighting wasn't a plan. Not here. Not like this.
Ali watched the exchange, reading it like a page already written.
"Good," he said. "You're thinking."
He lowered the gun slightly, not out of trust, but control. "Come in."
It wasn't an invitation. It was a decision already made.
Inside, the building felt hollow. Shelves stripped, debris scattered, the faint smell of dust and something stale lingering in the air. Both groups kept their distance, like magnets held just far enough apart to avoid snapping together.
They began searching.
Quietly at first. Tension still coiled tight between them.
But it didn't stay quiet for long.
Two of Ali's people drifted together near a broken counter, whispering. Not quietly enough.
"They've got more than us," one muttered.
"Yeah," the other replied. "Wouldn't be hard. We take it, we're set."
Corvin froze mid-step.
Aisha heard it too. Her eyes sharpened.
The suggestion hung in the air like smoke.
Ali turned slowly. "No."
Just one word.
Flat. Final.
The two exchanged looks, annoyed.
"It's smarter," one pushed. "Why share when we can—"
"I said no." This time, there was steel behind it.
Silence fell again.
Ali stepped forward, placing himself between both groups, as if drawing a line no one else could cross.
"We don't kill people who haven't given us a reason," he said, voice steady but firm. "Not like that."
For a moment, no one argued.
Then he shifted his attention to Corvin and the others.
"There is something you can do," he said.
Corvin met his gaze. "What?"
Ali gestured deeper into the building.
"The cafeteria. It's not secure. Supplies might still be there, but it's risky."
A pause.
"You help us clear it. Secure it properly."
His grip on the pistol tightened slightly.
"And in return," he continued, "you take what you need. Then you leave."
It wasn't trust.
It was a transaction.
The group exchanged looks.
Marco raised an eyebrow. "So… we don't get shot, and we get food? That's… surprisingly reasonable."
Aisha didn't smile. But she nodded once.
Corvin considered it. Risk, again—but this time, controlled.
"Fine," he said.
Ali gave a small nod. "Good." He turned, calling out a name. "Omar. With me."
Then, glancing back at them:
"Corvin. Aisha. Marco. Mei Lin."
The chosen group stepped forward.
The rest stayed behind, watching as they moved deeper into the building—toward the cafeteria, and whatever waited inside.
They moved deeper into the building like a single, cautious organism, each step measured, each sound weighed.
The hallway stretched ahead—long, dim, and too quiet. The kind of quiet that felt crowded.
Corvin noticed it first. "Listen," he whispered.
Everyone paused.
At first, nothing. Then… a low, uneven chorus. Scraping. Shuffling. A wet, restless murmur that seemed to breathe through the walls.
Aisha's grip tightened. "They're close."
Ali raised a hand, signaling silence, and edged forward toward the cafeteria doors. They were slightly ajar, just enough to let darkness spill into the corridor.
Omar leaned in beside him, peering through the gap.
Then he froze.
"…That's not a few," he murmured.
Ali shifted, looking inside.
Corvin stepped closer, just enough to see—
And his stomach tightened.
The cafeteria was packed.
Almost a hundred of them.
Zombies crowded the space, pressed together in a slow, restless mass. Some wandered in circles, others stood motionless like broken mannequins waiting for a signal. The air inside seemed heavier, thick with decay and silence stretched too far.
Marco exhaled quietly. "Yeah… that's a no from me."
Charging in wasn't an option. Not even close.
Aisha leaned against the wall, thinking fast. "We can't fight that many. Not without casualities."
Ali didn't respond immediately. His eyes were scanning—doorways, windows, distances. Calculating.
Then Omar straightened slightly, something sparking behind his eyes.
"Wait," he said.
Everyone looked toward him.
"What if we don't fight them?" he continued, already moving a few steps back down the hallway.
Ali watched him carefully. "Go on."
Omar pointed toward the far end of the corridor.
"There's a window. Big one. Floor to ceiling. No bars, no fence. Just glass."
Corvin followed his gesture. He remembered passing it—a wide pane stretching almost the entire height of the wall, overlooking a drop to the outside.
Omar's voice lowered, gaining confidence. "We draw them out. Use noise. Get them to rush the window."
Marco blinked. "…And hope they politely jump out?"
"No," Omar said. "We make them think the noise is beyond it. They'll push forward. Too many bodies, too much force…"
Understanding clicked into place.
"They break through," Mei Lin finished quietly.
"And fall," Aisha added.
Ali's expression didn't change, but something in his posture shifted. Approval.
"…It could work."
Corvin nodded slowly. Risky—but far better than walking into that swarm.
Ali made the call.
"Do it."
Omar moved quickly, pulling together what he needed. A loose metal tray. A half-broken chair leg. Anything that could make sharp, repetitive noise.
He set it up near the window, adjusting angles, testing balance. A crude trap—but effective.
The rest of them took positions, pressing against the walls, staying out of sight.
The hallway felt tighter now. Like it was holding its breath with them.
Ali stepped forward, pistol ready.
He looked at Omar. "Now."
Omar triggered the trap.
The sound exploded through the corridor—metal clattering, echoing, sharp and unnatural. It bounced off the walls, carried down into the cafeteria like a thrown stone breaking still water.
For a split second—
Nothing.
Then—
Movement.
A surge.
The zombies reacted instantly, heads snapping toward the noise. The mass inside the cafeteria shifted, then lurched forward all at once.
The sound pulled them like gravity.
They flooded out of the cafeteria doors, spilling into the hallway in a chaotic wave. Their movements were jerky, frantic, driven by pure instinct.
The noise kept rattling.
Closer and closer.
The first ones reached the window, clawing at the glass, pressing forward. More slammed into them from behind, bodies piling, pushing, compressing. The pressure built.
Cracks spread across the surface like lightning.
They retreated further into cover just as—
The glass shattered.
A violent burst of sound as the entire pane gave way.
The front line of zombies toppled forward, dragged by the weight behind them. One after another, they tumbled through the opening, disappearing into open air.
The ones behind kept pushing and pushing until they followed.
The noise trap clattered on, feeding the frenzy.
Then, gradually…
Less movement.
Fewer bodies.
Silence began to creep back in.
When it was over, only a handful remained—scattered, disoriented, no longer a swarm.
Ali stepped out first.
"Now."
This time, they moved in.
Fast.
Aisha took the lead, her movements sharp and controlled. One down. Then another. Corvin backed her up, precise, efficient. Marco hesitated for half a second before committing, striking when openings appeared.
Mei Lin stayed alert, watching angles, ensuring nothing slipped past.
Within minutes—
It was done.
The cafeteria stood quiet.
They secured the area quickly, checking corners, entrances, the staircase nearby.
Clear.
Or as clear as anything could be.
Marco wiped his hands on his shirt, breathing out. "I officially vote Omar as our new genius."
Omar smirked faintly. "Noted."
Then—
A sound.
Soft. Faint.
From inside.
Everyone froze again.
Corvin turned toward the back of the cafeteria. "Did you hear that?"
Aisha nodded. "Yeah."
They moved cautiously toward the source—a storage area tucked behind a serving counter. The door was closed.
Ali approached it slowly.
Knocked once.
Silence.
Then, from inside—
"…Hello?"
Barely audible.
Relief flickered through the group.
Ali opened the door.
Inside, three people, two girls and a boy, pale, exhausted, eyes wide with fear. They flinched at the light, at the sudden presence.
"We're not infected," one of them said quickly. "We just—we got stuck in here. They were everywhere…"
"They're gone," Aisha said firmly. "You're safe."
The words didn't fully register at first.
Then it did and something in their faces broke—not fear this time, but relief.
Time moved faster after that.
They gathered everything they could—canned food, sealed packets, water bottles. Anything useful. Bags filled quickly.
The three survivors stayed close, still shaken but steady enough to move.
Ali looked around once more, ensuring nothing was missed.
"Let's go."
They retraced their path through the hallway, past the shattered window where wind now slipped in freely, carrying the outside world with it.
The building no longer felt like a trap.
But it didn't feel safe either.
Nothing did.
As they moved back toward the others, supplies in hand and three more lives added to their number, one thing was clear—
This had gone better than expected.
Which, somehow, made it feel even more fragile.
The return felt lighter.
Not safe—never safe—but lighter. Bags rustled with food, water sloshed faintly in bottles, and for the first time in hours, there was something close to relief moving through the group.
Marco adjusted the weight on his shoulder. "If this keeps up, I might actually start liking this place."
Aisha didn't answer. Her head tilted slightly.
"Wait."
They all heard it.
A dull thud. Then another.
Shouting.
Corvin's expression sharpened instantly. "That's not—"
Another crash echoed down the corridor.
Ali didn't hesitate. "Move."
They broke into a run.
Footsteps pounded against the floor, the sound of the fight growing louder with every second—voices overlapping, anger spilling into the air.
They turned the corner—
And froze.
Chase and Dimitri were locked in a struggle with Zubair and Hamza. It wasn't controlled. It wasn't restrained. It was raw, messy, desperate.
Dimitri swung, Zubair shoved back, Hamza lunged—
Chase jumped in to pull him off—
Everything blurred into chaos.
Marco blinked. "…You've got to be kidding me."
Aisha stepped forward instantly, ready to intervene—
But Ali moved faster. His expression changed instantly.
Not confusion. Not surprise. Calculation.
He moved back—fast, controlled—creating distance between himself and the chaos.
Then he raised the gun.
"Stop!"
The word cracked through the air like a command carved in steel.
Everyone froze.
Mid-motion. Mid-breath.
Ali's aim didn't waver as he scanned them all, taking in every detail in a heartbeat.
"What," he said, voice cold now, stripped of all earlier calm, "is going on?"
No one answered.
For a moment, the entire room stood suspended—
Like everything was waiting for what came next.
Ali's arm stayed steady, the pistol unwavering as tension crackled through the room.
Before anything could snap, Corvin, Aisha, Marco, and Mei Lin stepped forward as one, placing themselves between the gun and Dimitri and Chase.
"Ali—calm down," Corvin said, voice firm but controlled.
Aisha didn't take her eyes off the weapon. "Lower it. No one's attacking you."
For a moment, nothing moved.
Then Ali's jaw tightened. "What the hell happened here?"
Zubair was quick to answer, breathing hard but already defensive. "They started it. We just tried talking to the Indian girl and they lost it."
Hamza nodded immediately. "Yeah. Came at us for no reason."
Ali's gaze flicked toward Dimitri and Chase, suspicion creeping in.
It almost settled there—
Until Astrid stepped forward.
"That's not true," she refuted, clear and unwavering. "They were harassing her. They started it."
The room shifted again.
Ali's eyes narrowed. Conflicting stories.
He turned his head slightly. "Arash."
A pause.
"Whose fault is it?"
Arash hesitated—but only for a second.
"Zubair and Hamza," he said. "They started it."
"Tell me from the beginning what happened." asked Ali.
Arash takes a deep breath and starts recounting what happened.
-------
As the group was gathering supplies.
Back at the entrance hall, time moved differently.
It dragged.
Astrid leaned against a cracked pillar, arms folded tightly, her mind refusing to settle. Every distant sound made her look up. Every second stretched thinner.
Chase paced.
Not nervously—just enough to burn the restless energy that came with waiting. "They're taking their sweet time," he muttered, glancing toward the corridor for the tenth time.
Priya sat nearby, quieter than usual, though her posture still carried that unmistakable presence. Even now, she didn't shrink.
Dimitri stood a few steps behind her, watchful. Silent. His attention wasn't on the hallway anymore.
It had shifted.
Toward them.
Zubair and Hamza lingered off to the side at first, whispering to each other.
Low voices.
Occasional glances.
Then not-so-occasional.
Then not subtle at all.
Astrid noticed it first, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Something's off," she murmured.
Chase followed her gaze. "…Yeah. Definitely not friendly vibes."
Zubair stepped forward just a little, his eyes fixed on Priya.
Not curious. Not neutral. Deliberate. Almost filled with abhoreence.
"Didn't expect to see someone like you here," he said.
Priya didn't respond immediately. She met his gaze, calm but firm.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she asked.
Hamza snorted softly. "You know exactly what it means."
Dimitri shifted slightly.
Chase noticed and stepped closer to him. "Easy," he whispered. "Not yet."
Priya stood now, brushing dust from her sleeve as if the moment bored her more than it bothered her.
"If you have something to say," she said evenly, "say it properly."
Zubair smiled—but there was no warmth in it.
"India, right?" he said. "Figures."
The word hung there, loaded.
Hamza added, "Explains a lot."
Astrid's expression hardened. "That's enough."
But they didn't stop.
"If you think you're better than us—" Zubair continued.
"I don't think," Priya cut in sharply. "I know who I am. That's enough."
That should've ended it. It didn't.
Hamza stepped closer now, circling slightly. "Attitude like that won't help you here."
Dimitri took a step forward.
Chase immediately caught his arm. "No."
"They're crossing a line," Dimitri said quietly, voice tight.
"I know," Chase replied. "But think. If we start something now—"
Astrid stepped in too, her voice calm but firm. "Ali will handle it. He's shown that much already."
Dimitri's jaw clenched.
"She shouldn't have to wait for someone else to fix this."
Priya didn't look back, but her voice carried. "I'm not waiting."
Still—Dimitri stopped.
Barely.
Across from them, Arash stepped in, placing himself between Zubair and Priya.
"Enough," he said. "Drop it."
Zubair barely glanced at him. "Stay out of it."
"I mean it," Arash insisted. "This isn't worth it."
Hamza scoffed. "To you, maybe."
The tension coiled tighter.
Then—
Zubair reached out. Not a strike. But close enough. Too close.
That was it.
Dimitri moved fast.
Chase didn't even have time to react before Dimitri closed the distance and shoved Zubair back hard.
"Don't touch her."
The words came out low. Controlled—but only just.
Zubair staggered, then steadied himself, anger flashing instantly.
"Oh, you want this?"
Hamza stepped in too.
And just like that— It broke.
Zubair swung first.
Dimitri blocked, barely, the impact forcing him back a step. Hamza came from the side, trying to catch him off guard.
Two against one.
Dimitri held his ground, but it wasn't clean. He took a hit to the shoulder, another glancing blow that threw off his balance.
Still—he didn't back down.
Chase cursed under his breath. "So much for waiting."
He jumped in.
Now it was chaos.
Fists, movement, shouting—echoing through the empty hall. Astrid tried to pull them apart, but it was like grabbing at a storm.
"Stop!" she shouted. "All of you—stop!"
No one listened.
Arash tried again, grabbing Hamza's arm. "Enough!"
Hamza shoved him off.
Dimitri landed a hit—solid this time—but Zubair answered immediately, driving him back again. The numbers were starting to show.
Chase stepped in beside him, evening it out just enough. But the fight was spiraling.
And then—
Footsteps.
Fast.
Multiple.
Everyone heard it—but too late to react.
The group returned.
Corvin. Aisha. Marco. Mei Lin. Ali. Omar.
Along with the three other survivors they find in the cafeteria.
"And the rest you know" said Arash. Hiswords settled like dust after a collapse.
For a moment, no one spoke.
Ali looked at Zubair and Hamza, his expression unreadable. "Why did you do that?"
Zubair scoffed, wiping blood from his lip. "Why not? It's what they deserve."
Hamza nodded, impatient, almost irritated that the question had even been asked. "Yeah. You're making it a bigger deal than it is."
Silence followed.
Ali closed his eyes.
A slow breath in. Then out.
For a second, it looked like he might say something else—argue, warn, decide differently.
He opened his eyes.
And pulled the trigger.
Two shots. Sharp. Final.
Zubair and Hamza dropped before the echo even faded. The sound seemed to rip the air apart—and then leave nothing behind.
No one moved.
Marco staggered back a step, his face draining of color. "What the—"
Chase turned away immediately, hand over his mouth.
Dimitri stood frozen, fists still clenched, but whatever fire had been there was gone now—replaced by something heavier.
Aisha's jaw tightened, but even she didn't speak.
Astrid did.
"How could you do that?" she snapped, her voice shaking with anger. "They were human, Don't you feel anything!"
Ali didn't raise his voice. Didn't flinch. He just looked at her, calm in a way that didn't belong in the moment.
"I felt the trigger," he said simply. "It's not my first time."
That made it worse.
Behind them, the three survivors they had rescued stood huddled together, pale and silent, eyes wide with shock. One of them looked like they might collapse.
The room felt wrong now. Warped.
Like something invisible had shifted, and none of them knew how to stand in it.
Ali glanced once at the bodies, then back at the group. "We need to move."
No one responded.
"The shots will draw them," he added, more firmly. "You want to deal with that here?"
That broke the paralysis.
Slowly, unsteadily, they started moving.
No one argued.
Not because they agreed—but because the alternative was worse.
They gathered what they could, avoiding looking at the ground, at the stillness where movement had been seconds ago.
The hallway outside felt colder.
Quieter.
Heavier.
They moved as a group now, tighter than before, but not closer. Something had fractured between them, thin but sharp.
The walk to the fifth building was short. Just one structure away from Sterling Hall—so close it felt almost within reach.
But no one spoke about that.
Not yet.
Because the sound of those two shots still echoed in their heads—
And none of them could quite shake it.