James and Ellie’s brief slice of peace shattered in an instant.

  Through the smoke and noise, an infected let out a guttural shriek and charged straight at them, its limbs flailing, eyes wild.

  Ellie didn’t even blink. She raised her pistol and fired point-blank.

  Crack.

  The creature’s skull exploded in a spray of rot and bone, its body crumpling mid-sprint and skidding to a stop at her feet.

  James flinched, the echo of the shot still ringing in his ears.

  Their slice of peace was over.

  The battlefield had never left them.

  He stood quickly, pulse spiking as reality slammed back into him like a freight train. He scanned the chaos, rifle raised, trying to make sense of the tide.

  The Lanterns had taken heavy losses. Bodies were strewn near the inner barricades—friends, fighters, people who had trusted they were safe down here. Blood pooled in the cracks of the garage floor. But… there was movement. Purpose.

  They were fighting back.

  Somehow, they were beginning to rally.

  At the center of the line, James spotted him—Akil. Covered in blood, barking orders, firing his weapon with mechanical precision. His presence alone had sparked something in the remaining survivors.

  Where there had been desperation, there was now coordination.

  Lanterns shouted over the gunfire, calling positions, reinforcing weak points in the defenses. Wounded were being dragged behind cover. Arrows flew with renewed focus.

  The outer barricades groaned but held. The sniper posts above continued raining death from the high ground. And now—grenades.

  Boom!

  The first explosion lit up the entrance ramp in a burst of fire and shrieking infected. A cheer went up from the defenders.

  Boom!

  Another blast sent limbs and spores flying, bodies torn apart mid-charge.

  The survivors were throwing everything they had.

  Nail-packed explosives detonated with bursts of shrapnel, shredding infected by the dozens. Molotov cocktails lit up the battlefield in streaks of orange and red, sending flaming bodies into the barricades with inhuman screams.

  James even saw a kid—maybe twelve—hurl a brick into the skull of a charging Runner. The impact cracked like a bat hitting concrete, and the creature dropped.

  His blood sang at the sight.

  Adrenaline surged through him like a tidal wave. His heart thundered in his chest, not from fear, but from something deeper. Fiercer. The chaos, the fire, the screams—it should have terrified him. But somehow, it didn’t.

  It was beautiful.

  Not the gore, not the death—but what it meant.

  A testament to the human spirit. To resistance. Even here, buried under concrete and horror, humanity refused to die quietly. Even when all hope seemed lost, people fought. Scratched. Clawed for every inch of life.

  James smiled—genuine, wide, unafraid.

  But the awe didn’t last long.

  His body moved before he could even think, feet slamming against the blood-slick floor, legs driving him forward straight into the heart of the chaos.

  “Goddammit, James!” Ellie groaned behind him.

  But she didn’t protest. She ran, too—matching his stride, rifle raised.

  They darted through firelit corridors and scattered debris until James spotted it—a rusted stairwell twisted up the side of a collapsed maintenance office.

  “Up there!” he shouted.

  Together, they climbed, boots slamming metal, smoke choking the air around them. They reached the top, breath ragged, and positioned themselves behind a crumbling concrete half-wall overlooking the battlefield.

  From here, James had a clear view of the carnage. He dropped to a knee, raised his rifle, and opened fire.

  Crack.

  Missed.

  Crack.

  Clipped a Runner’s shoulder—it staggered, then was finished off by a Lantern’s arrow.

  Crack.

  Hit. The infected’s skull burst, and it went down twitching.

  Currency 22(+1)

  James grunted, reloading clumsily. His hands were still shaky from the injury, and his aim wasn’t great, but he refused to stop. Every shot counted. Every second they bought gave someone below a chance to live.

  Beside him, Ellie was a machine—steady, practiced. She barked targets between shots. “Left flank—got a Clicker! Tall one, fast!”

  He turned, fired—missed again.

  “Goddammit,” he muttered.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Ellie said, dropping another infected with a clean headshot. “Keep shooting.”

  And he did.

  Not perfectly. Not cleanly. But with everything he had.

  He managed to take out another 3 runners.

  Then—

  Something rumbled.

  The ground shook beneath them, vibrations climbing up the rusted structure like a warning.

  James paused, frowning. “Do you feel that?”

  Ellie was already turning toward the ramp.

  And then they saw it.

  Two of them.

  Bloaters.

  Towering, grotesque things. Their bodies bloated and armored with layers of thick fungus, torsos covered in pulsing sacks of spores and rot.

  They didn’t charge—they plowed.

  Straight through the front line.

  A barricade crumbled like paper beneath one of the Bloaters, bodies flung aside like dolls—some hitting the ground already limp, others writhing in agony as their bones shattered on impact.

  The second monster let out a guttural roar and hurled a fist-sized clump of pulsing spores toward a squad of defenders. It exploded mid-air with a sickening pop, unleashing a yellow-green cloud that swallowed them whole. Screams erupted almost instantly.

  Men and women dropped to their knees, hacking, clutching their throats, their skin blistering where the spores clung. One man clawed at his eyes as they swelled shut. Another began convulsing violently, foam bubbling at his mouth.

  The battlefield broke.

  “Shit,” Ellie breathed beside him.

  James didn’t answer. His grip on the rifle tightened, knuckles white. A chaotic swirl of fear and excitement flooded his chest, sharp and dizzying—like being caught in a riptide and not knowing whether to fight it or let it take him.

  He opened fire on one of the Bloaters.

  Crack. Crack. Crack.

  The rounds slammed into its fungus-plated shoulder—but it barely reacted. Just kept moving forward, tearing a defender clean in half with a swipe of its massive arm.

  The other Bloater grabbed a woman by the throat and slammed her against a wall hard enough to snap her spine. He didn’t even pause—he ripped her apart like meat, chunks of gore splattering the floor.

  They weren’t trying to infect.

  They were butchering.

  James kept firing, breath ragged, heart in his throat. But it wasn’t enough. None of it was. The rifle was like throwing rocks at a freight train.

  He swallowed hard.

  This isn’t working.

  He looked down at the fight again—bodies, screaming, fire, and blood.

  And without thinking, he turned and bolted down the stairwell.

  “James—!” Ellie shouted, but he was already gone.

  He vaulted over the last few steps and slid behind an overturned generator, breath coming in gasps.

  Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  He mentally commanded the store to open.

  Survival system

  Currency: 25

  Store:

  Consumables

  Medical

  Weapons/Tools

  Vehicles

  Misc.

  Favorited Items☆

  His fingers moved fast, swiping through options, filtering categories with the frantic precision of someone whose life depended on it.

  Lawn sprayer – 3 currency.

  A basic pump-action sprayer. Metal tank. Hose. Manual handle.

  He bought it.

  Jerry can (5 gal) – 10 currency.

  Red plastic. Cap included.

  Buy.

  Wick lighter – 2 currency.

  Simple. Reliable.

  Buy!

  He yanked the sprayer toward him, unscrewed the top with shaking hands, and dumped in the entire contents of the jerry can. Five gallons of gasoline sloshed into the metal container, nearly overflowing. The fumes were immediate and dizzying, burning his throat and eyes.

  He sealed it. Pumped it. Once, twice—over and over until the handle pushed back with pressure. His arms burned, but he kept going until it was full.

  Then he ran.

  The bloater was still distracted—tearing at a makeshift barricade where two survivors tried desperately to hold it back with spears and arrows. It didn’t even notice him.

  James ducked behind a scorched SUV, then bolted from cover, sprinting low and fast across the open floor. He skidded behind a broken-down sedan, then leapt over a fallen crate to get closer.

  Heart pounding, he raised the sprayer and squeezed the trigger.

  A sharp, pressurized stream of gasoline shot from the nozzle and hit the bloater square in the back.

  The liquid splashed across its fungal armor and down its legs, soaking into the mossy growths clinging to its hide. The bloater twitched but didn’t react.

  He kept spraying.

  Every second counted.

  He circled wide behind it, spraying as he moved, his arms tense, knuckles white on the grip. The smell of gas filled his nose—thick, chemical, nauseating.

  The bloater turned slightly—just enough to make James nervous. He ducked low behind a barricade post, pulse hammering, breath shallow.

  It turned back.

  James kept moving. The tank hissed with each pull of the trigger, gasoline streaking the monster’s body with dark, wet lines. He sprayed its back, its legs, the side of its arms—anywhere the fire could catch. It didn’t notice, still tearing after the survivors.

  The pressure started to fade.

  He tried to pump it mid-spray, but the handle gave only one or two half-hearted pushes. He didn’t have time to rebuild pressure.

  “Come on, come on…” he muttered.

  The stream sputtered. He squeezed harder. It coughed out a few more weak bursts before dying out completely.

  James glanced over his shoulder just in time to see two Runners barreling toward him from the right—snarling, limbs flailing.

  Crack.

  Crack.

  Their heads burst mid-stride, bodies collapsing in twitching heaps.

  He turned, wide-eyed, and spotted Joel and Ellie posted up behind a scorched truck, rifles raised. Ellie gave him a tight nod. Joel didn’t even look—just reloaded.

  James exhaled sharply. No time to think.

  He grabbed the sprayer, flicked open the lid, and pulled out the lighter.

  Flick.

  The flame caught instantly.

  He looked at the bloater—still unaware, drenched in gasoline and looming over the defenders like a living siege engine.

  “Please work,” James whispered.

  He tossed the lighter.

  Time slowed.

  The flame sailed through the smoky dark—and hit.

  WHOOMPF!

  The bloater ignited in a wall of fire.

  The gasoline caught with terrifying speed, flames crawling up its back and shoulders like hungry claws. The creature screamed—a sound deeper and more animal than anything James had ever heard—as fire consumed it.

  James didn’t wait.

  He stepped out from cover, raised the sprayer tank like a football, and hurled it.

  The heavy metal container hit the bloater’s lower back and exploded into a plume of fire and vapor as the remaining gasoline inside splashed over the already-burning body.

  FWOOSH!

  The flames roared higher, now fully engulfing the monster. The exposed spore sacks burst one by one, tiny eruptions of fire and rot. Fungal armor cracked and peeled away, blackening into ash. The air filled with the sickening stench of burning rot and scorched meat.

  The bloater screamed again—louder now, shrill with pain—and thrashed wildly, knocking over barricades and corpses alike in its death throes.

  James coughed violently as smoke flooded his lungs, burning its way down his throat. His eyes stung, tears streaming as the acrid fumes blurred the already chaotic scene.

  He stumbled back, gasping, squinting through the thick cloud of smoke. The flaming body had quieted. No sound now but the distant crackle of fire and the chaos around him.

  Maybe it was finally dead.

  He wiped at his eyes with the sleeve of his jacket, heart still pounding, every inch of him aching.

  And then—

  It came.

  Rushing out of the smoke like a demon from hell.

  Its body was ruined—the fungal plating blackened and flaking, skin blistered and peeling away in ribbons. Large patches of its flesh were raw and red, muscle visible beneath the charring. Fungal sacs on its back had burst, leaking thick yellow pus that hissed against the heat.

  Its jaw hung slightly off-center, warped from the flames, and its teeth—once jagged and rotted yellow—were now blackened and cracked, some fused together from melted tissue. The fungal plates on its head were mostly gone, allowing James to see the remnants of what used to be its skull poking out.

  But it was still moving.

  Still alive.

  James barely had time to react before the thing grabbed him by the torso and slammed him into the ground.

  He gasped, pain flaring through his ribs as something inside cracked. He tried to scream, but all that came out was blood.

  The bloater lifted him again with inhuman strength and hurled him like a ragdoll.

  James hit the ground hard, sliding across blood-slick concrete

  His vision blurred. His ears rang. His rifle was gone. His right arm dangled uselessly, pain screaming through the broken bone.

  All he could focus on was the hulking, smoking monster stumbling toward him.

  He thought he heard someone screaming his name—Ellie, maybe—but it was distant. Muffled. Like yelling through water.

  His head lolled slightly to the side.

  Was this it?

  Was this how he died?

  The thought didn’t hit him like fear. It hit him like resignation. Like an old memory you didn’t want to visit but couldn’t stop from surfacing.

  His life flashed before his eyes—not in bright, happy bursts—but in gray, static frames.

  He thought about the hospital.

  All those years.

  The cold, sterile air. The hum of machines. The dull buzz of fluorescent lights above his bed.

  His parents hadn’t stayed long. A few years, maybe ten—and then the excuses started. Too far. Too hard. Too much. Eventually, they just stopped coming.

  After that, it was nurses.

  Some kind. Some tired. Some too busy to remember his name.

  His companions were the beeping monitor by his bed and the flickering TV mounted on the wall. Cartoons during the day. Late-night reruns of shows that ended before he was born.

  He had no friends. No school dances. No parties. Just pills and needles and a window that never opened.

  And now, after finally getting out—after waking up in this world, after finally starting to live—it was all about to end.

  Torn apart in a smoke-choked garage beneath a dead city.

  He almost laughed. Almost cried.

  And then—he thought of his grandfather. The only one that stuck by his side through it all.

  He remembered something. Not a memory. Just a truth. Something the old man had told him once, said it offhandedly like it wasn’t life-changing.

  "You only know what kind of man you are when dying’s on the table."

  And something snapped.

  That fire inside—faint, almost out—roared back to life.

  He wasn’t ready.

  Not like this.

  His life had just begun.

  A fire lit in his chest—not courage, not even hope—just raw, unfiltered will.

  James roared through blood-stained teeth and threw himself at the bloater.

  He kicked. Punched. Slammed his fist into its burned, pulpy skin. Raged against the idea of dying like this.

  It barely noticed.

  Still, he fought. Screamed in its face. He didn’t care if it was useless. He would die swinging.

  The creature wrapped its hands around him, lifting him again—ready to tear him in two.

  Then—he remembered.

  The grenade.

  The one he’d looted off the dead FEDRA soldier at the hospital.

  His good hand shot out.

  He pulled up his inventory and summoned it out.

  One moment his hand was empty, and then in a blink the grenade appeared in his palm, cold and heavy.

  He lifted it to his teeth and yanked the pin free.

  It was harder than it looked in the movies. He had to twist and bite hard.

  The spoon clinked free.

  The bloater screamed at him, mouth wide—

  James shoved the grenade inside.

  It tried to bite down—but its burned jaw twitched awkwardly, muscles too damaged to close. The metal caught against blackened molars, stuck in place.

  James ripped his arm out just in time.

  The bloater still held him, but he turned—twisting his body, shielding his chest and head.

  BOOM.

  The explosion tore through the monster with a deafening, concussive blast.

  The force hit James like a truck. His ears popped—and then everything went silent.

  The light went white. His vision spun.

  He hit the ground hard again, everything numb.

  Smoke and ash filled the air.

  His body felt heavy, distant. But through the haze—he saw it.

  The bloater.

  A gaping hole where its head used to be. Blackened chunks still smoldering. Its chest a mess of pulp and fungus and ruin.

  And then—finally—

  It fell.

  Dead.

  For real this time.

  James blinked slowly, blood in his mouth, half-deaf, half-blind.

  But alive.

  Somehow.

  Still alive.

  He was barely conscious, but he had enough awareness to notice something new pop up in front of him.

  Bloater Killed!

  Milestone reached!

  +25 Currency

  New feature unlocked in store!

  Body Upgrades:

  Denser bones I: 100

  Increases bone density by 10%

  Denser muscles I: 100

  Increases muscle density by 10%

  Denser skin I: 100

  Increases skin density by 10%

  Improved organs I: 100

  Improves organ functionality and strength by 10%

  Increased regeneration I: 100

  Increases cell reproduction by 10%

  Due to just unlocking this feature, your first purchase is free! Please select now!

  James blinked blearily at the message, barely able to comprehend what was happening. His consciousness was fading, but he somehow managed to select Increased regeneration I before passing out.

  You have selected Increased regeneration I!

  Good luck James

  And then everything went dark.