Lyra spoke with a concerned tone, her brows drawn downward, a faint tremble in her voice.
"Brother, then what are we going to do? There are monsters outside... Are we going to stay inside?"
Cael paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he placed his hand under his chin, thoughtful. His gaze drifted toward the window for a moment, unfocused.
She's right… What should we do? Should I check if there's still food in the refrigerator? I should also check the water station.
He looked back at her with a warm smile, his voice gentle and calming. His expression softened as he met her eyes.
"Stay here. Hide somewhere."
Lyra flinched slightly, her lips parting in protest. Her tone was laced with worry, and her expression turned anxious.
"Why? Where are you going, Brother?"
Cael stepped forward, slowly extending his arm. He placed his hand gently on Lyra's head, fingers brushing through her tangled, dusty hair. He held her gaze with quiet reassurance, then stood upright and smiled.
"Don't worry. I'm just going to check downstairs, see if there's any food and water left."
Lyra looked away briefly, her shoulders slumped. Her voice came out low, touched with sorrow. Her eyes were heavy with fatigue.
"Okay… but be safe, Bro."
Cael gave her one last glance, then shifted his eyes toward the hallway door. He took a few steps toward it and stopped, hand hovering near the doorknob. With a warm, lighthearted tone, he smiled over his shoulder.
"Yes, Yra… even though you probably don't want me to call you that."
He chuckled softly, then gripped the doorknob and twisted it with firm pressure. The door creaked as he pushed it open. He gave Lyra a quick, exaggerated salute, playful, to ease the tension—then stepped through and gently closed the door behind him.
Outside, the upstairs hallway was still dim, dust floating lazily in the air. Cael's eyes scanned the shadows carefully. He moved with quiet, cautious steps, each footfall deliberate. He turned toward his room, stopping a few feet away from the door. The brown wood looked more worn than before.
He reached for the knob but hesitated, his hand hovering. Then he spotted something beside the wall near the door—a golf club, its metal surface slightly scratched.
Wait, not yet. I should get a weapon. Wait... a golf club. That should be a good temporary weapon.
He bent down and gripped the handle tightly, pulling the club into his hands with a firm motion. His knuckles whitened slightly from the pressure as he adjusted his stance.
This should be enough for now.
He turned back to the door, hand once again resting on the knob. He exhaled, but the breath came out shaky.
Should I really do it? What if there's something in there? If something bad happens to me… how will Lyra survive?
His gaze shifted down the hallway. Quietly, he turned and walked toward Lyra's room. He stopped in front of it, gripping the club tighter, fingers flexing over the rubber handle. Just then, from downstairs, he heard a faint scratching sound, dry, inconsistent, but definitely there.
He stiffened, back straightening, eyes narrowing.
What was that? Where did it come from? My room… Lyra's… or downstairs?
He adjusted his grip again, the club now raised slightly as his nerves settled into alertness.
This is very unsettling. What time is it now?
He reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. With his thumb, he pressed the power button. The screen remained black. He stared at it for a few seconds and muttered under his breath, voice low with frustration.
"Damn… I forgot it had no battery. Such a crappy phone."
Cael pressed his fingers against his temples, just beside his brows. His eyes narrowed with reluctant resolve as he muttered, "Looks like there's nothing we can do… I just need to check the door—and come back alive."
With a slow breath, he pressed his palm against the door and pushed it open gently but firmly. A soft creak followed. His eyes scanned the dark interior. He extended his arm carefully toward the light switch, fingers brushing the wall until they found it. With a click, the bulb flickered on.
Empty… I was overthinking. Maybe I let what Lyra said get into my head.
Cael stepped inside and gently pushed the door shut behind him, the sound of the latch locking into place oddly comforting. He moved cautiously toward the bed, feet brushing against scattered clothes on the floor. Just as he reached it, a faint, unnatural sound echoed from downstairs—wet, dragging, and low. His back stiffened. His voice dropped to a murmur.
"What was that? I'll lock the door... scan the room first... and process everything. I'll write it down, maybe that'll help."
He twisted the lock on the knob until it clicked shut. Then, with brisk but quiet steps, he approached the desk cluttered with overdue bills, medical forms, and scribbled notes. His hand shuffled through the mess until he found a paper with writing on one side. He flipped it over and grabbed a pen lying nearby, its body worn and half-cracked.
Let's just write here for now... First, what happened to me.
He began scribbling, his handwriting uneven as black ink spilled messily onto the paper. He spoke softly as he wrote, trying to recall every detail.
"I was locked in the bathroom… and then three figures—ones that looked like me—did something to me, and then..."
His voice faded. He continued the rest in silence, pen dragging across the paper.
I pushed through the bathroom door because it was locked… downstairs was filled with rubble. From what Lyra told me, some kind of disaster happened... chaos everywhere… but this… this feels familiar.
His pen slowed, then stopped. He let his hand fall, drained. He turned his head slowly to the right. The mirror beside his desk reflected his pale face, messy hair, and the slight tremble in his eyes.
This is almost exactly like the beginning of my game… but there were no meteors there. Is this… the end of the world?
Just as he turned his head toward the left—toward the closed door—a screen flickered into view directly in front of him.
「USER SYNCHRONIZATION: 13%」
His breath caught. He pushed himself up from the chair, standing upright as his eyes locked onto the glowing screen. His brows tensed, mouth slightly agape.
"It… it just went up 3%? Does it randomly rise?" he whispered, voice tight with unease. His gaze didn't leave the floating text.
"Is that… good? Or… bad?"
His fists clenched as the room grew quieter, the air colder, only the hum of the overhead light and the faint creaks of the house accompanying the quiet pulsing of the System's progression.
Cael scanned the room again, his eyes dull from fatigue. With a deep sigh, he sank back into his chair, his body slouched and expression heavy with exhaustion. Slowly, his head turned toward the golden screen still hovering in the air.
What should I do? Should I stop here? Or... maybe I should investigate it more?
His lips curled into a faint smirk as he muttered under his breath, "Let's do that."
His eyes didn't leave the screen. He studied it carefully, gaze shifting with thought. No new numbers appeared—only the same faint glow, pulsing slowly as if alive.
Is it time-based? Or is it reacting to my body... or maybe my experiences?
He closed his eyes for a moment, collecting himself. The silence in the room almost seemed to lean in with him.
"What exactly is happening?" he murmured. "But it has to be zombies... Wait—didn't I have a gun? I bought one last year."
His eyes snapped open. He stood up too quickly, and a sudden wave of dizziness hit him like a jolt. He staggered, catching himself by grabbing both the edge of the table and the backrest of his chair. His other hand pressed against his forehead as he groaned.
"Damn it... this orthostatic hypotension is annoying. Especially when I don't have time to waste."
After a few seconds, the lightheadedness began to fade. He straightened up and exhaled sharply, walking carefully toward the drawer beside his bed. A lamp sat on top of it, its dim yellow light casting long shadows on the floor.
He crouched down, lowering his back and opening the drawer slowly. His fingers brushed against scattered objects inside, until they came across a familiar shape—a smooth, hard surface with a faint Braille imprint.
He pulled it out.
It was a Glock 17 Gen 5, UK-legal, civilian-approved, and still in good condition. The paperwork and license were bundled underneath. He let out a breathy chuckle.
"This is it… It's been months since I last held you. All because of that guy who complained about the noise in a firing range. Like, it's a firing range, it's supposed to be loud."
He stood up and walked to the mirror. The reflection showed a tired man: long hair tangled at the ends, gray T-shirt sticking to his skin, black pants loose around the waist, and dark brown eyes slightly sunken. His expression tightened with a bit of self-awareness.
"Damn… I look ugly. But if I pose just right, I might look like a cool dude with a gun... wait—"
He turned the gun sideways and pressed the magazine release. The mag dropped into his palm. He glanced down, and his mood shifted instantly.
"Empty?! What the fuck? Who stole it? I literally didn't use it! Where the hell are the bullets, man?"
Just then,
Thump.
A soft sound echoed from behind the door. Then another. Then another, each step staggered, off-rhythm, dragging against the floor in a disturbing, unnatural pattern.
Cael froze for moment.