Three floors down, Arsenal had gathered the remaining survivors into a loose cluster. There were more than he expected, about thirty-five people in total now.
"Okay, everyone, listen up," Arsenal said as he raised his hand.
The crowd's murmurs gradually died down. He kept his voice low, too much noise could mean certain doom.
"We can't all fit in the elevator at once, so we're gonna take it in groups of six. I'll stay here to keep everyone s—"
A voice cut through the crowd.
"And who exactly are you to say who gets to go first?"
Heads turned. The crowd parted to reveal a middle-aged man in a suit, overly well-groomed hair, an expensive watch and shoes that probably cost more than Arsenal's entire wardrobe. It was clear he was someone used to being important. His clothes were dirtied and disheveled from the chaos, but somehow, he still managed to look pristine.
The man stepped forward until he was face-to-face with Arsenal.
"Arsenal, was it?"
"Uh… yeah…" Arsenal replied, his voice cautious.
"I know most of the capes operating in this city," the man said smoothly. "I make it my business to keep tabs on those flying wrecking balls, so I know where not to be when they go breaking things. But you?" He held up his phone and turned the screen toward Arsenal. "Last I checked, the name 'Arsenal' isn't on California's Hero Registry."
Gasps and murmurs spread like wildfire through the survivors.
"Looks to me like we've got a vigilante on our hands. Judging by your voice, height and crappy costume, I'd say you're what—fourteen? Fifteen?" the man added.
"It's not a costume! It's my suit..." Arsenal replied.
His heart started pounding. He could feel the sweat building. If it weren't for the mask obscuring part of his face, his panic would've been on full display.
"L-look man, I'm just tryna help," Arsenal muttered.
"Shut it." The man shoved Arsenal aside and stepped toward the elevator.
"The way I see it, you're just some dumb kid in a mask who's in way over his head. You're gonna get us all killed, and I'm not planning to die today."
He turned to face the crowd.
"If you idiots wanna leave your lives in the hands of a some child who doesn't know what he's doing, be my guest. But I'm getting the fuck outta here."
And just like that, people started peeling away from the crowd, making their way toward the elevator. They bumped and brushed past Arsenal like he wasn't even there.
"So he's just a kid?" "What was he thinking?" "He's not even licensed?" "We need to get real help."
Each whisper landed like a blow. Arsenal stood frozen, head low, hands clenched into trembling fists.
The suited man was the first to enter the elevator. More people began cramming in behind him, pushing and shoving for space.
"Hey, hey, hey!" the man shouted. The crowd halted.
"The kid was right about one thing," he said, pointing to a sign posted next to the elevator:
MAX 6 PERSONS AT ONE TIME
"I and five others will go down first. When we reach the bottom, we'll send it back up."
Nobody moved.
"MOVE IT!" he barked, and the remaining crowd scattered back in compliance.
The woman who'd grabbed Arsenal's leg earlier approached him quietly.
"Hey," she said, her voice soft.
He looked up, still a little stunned from the confrontation.
"Don't let him get to you," she said. "Far as I'm concerned, you're the only one here actually trying to help. I think I'll stick with you. That is… if you'll have me."
Arsenal gave a small, grateful smile. It didn't fix everything, but it helped.
Two floors above, the man and woman Thalia had rescued stood at the elevator, jabbing the call button in a panic.
Back on the 15th, the elevator doors had just closed, leaving a few confused stragglers behind. They looked around, puzzled.
Inside the elevator, things were already tense.
"Who pressed the button?" the suited man barked.
"Wait, why are we going up?" another asked, eyes fixed on the changing floor numbers above.
"You idiots!" the man snapped, waving his arms. "Which one of you fat asses hit the button without even looking?!"
The elevator was rising, fast.
Back in the cafeteria kitchen, Thalia stared in disbelief.
She'd just seen a skeleton, a literal, headless skeleton, toss a grown man across the room like a bag of trash.
No time to gawk.
"Clear a path," she commanded.
The skeleton obeyed instantly, storming into the hoard with reckless force. It grabbed two zombies by the heads and smashed them together, sending bone and rot flying as their heads squished together with a sickening squelch. It threw another into a table, then another into a wall.
The hoard shifted. Their attention turned.
They weren't focused on Thalia anymore.
"Nice," she muttered.
A narrow gap had opened behind the skeleton's carnage. Without hesitation, she vaulted over the counter and sprinted through it, blood still dripping from her clothing.
Behind her, the skeleton was buried in undead bodies, biting, clawing, scratching, but it didn't fall. It held its ground like a tank.
She ran faster.
The elevator came into view, and the two survivors were still waiting.
The man was slamming the button. The woman clutched his sleeve like it was the last thing keeping her standing.
Thalia skidded to a halt just as the elevator chimed.
"Perfect timing," she panted. "You two..." she panted harder, "...okay?"
"We're fine," the man said. "Thanks to you."
The doors slid open.
Thalia looked up.
Her shoulders dropped.
Multiple pairs of shoes. One pair too many. A whole group of five stared back at her, wide-eyed, frozen in place.
She blinked, processing.
"You've gotta be kidding me…"