The final bell rang, echoing through the corridors of Shikano High School with the usual mechanical chime — sharp, sterile, and achingly familiar. It vibrated off the waxed floors and reflected off the windows of Class 2-B, bouncing between the low hum of tired teachers packing up and the excited chatter of students shedding their school skin for the day.
Books zipped into bags. Chairs scraped across linoleum like jagged whispers. The low thrum of idle gossip filled the stale air, peppered with laughter and sarcastic jokes that masked deeper teenage exhaustion.
Isaac Takahashi sat near the window, his elbow propped against the desk, his pencil dancing across a corner of his notebook. He wasn't taking notes. He wasn't even pretending to. He was sketching again — narrow alleyways and rain-soaked neon signage from a dream he'd had the night before. Cracked sidewalks, looming shadows, and something half-visible around the corner. As always.
A vibration pulsed against his thigh.
He blinked and looked down.
His phone glowed.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: RUN.
His pencil paused.
He stared at the screen. One word. No sender name. The time read: 3:15 PM.
He tilted the phone like it might reveal something from a different angle. Was it a prank? A glitch? Isaac's brow furrowed.
Behind him, Koji Mifune lobbed a crumpled worksheet at Kaho Arakawa. She batted it away with an indignant scoff, sending it sailing back toward him. Jin Osaki burst into laughter, light and full of energy that came alive only when school ended. Koji smirked and stretched like a cat, basking in the feeling of another day survived.
Isaac half-smiled, distracted.
Then the phone buzzed again. And again.
UNKNOWN NUMBER: RUN. RUN. RUN.
Three messages. Identical. No punctuation. No time to think.
He looked up. Something in his chest shifted — a chill, like walking into a room where someone had just been crying.
A scream shattered the outside air.
Everyone in Class 2-B froze.
More than a scream — a howl. From the direction of the courtyard. High-pitched. Wounded. Panicked.
Isaac stood up slowly and crossed to the window. The sky outside was unusually overcast for July. The trees barely moved. But down in the courtyard—
Movement.
A teacher. Mr. Fukuda? Sprinting. Arms flailing. Then falling, hard.
Another figure tackled him.
Gasps erupted around the classroom. Students leaned in, pressing to the glass.
"Was that Fukuda-sensei?" someone whispered.
Kaho pushed closer. "What's he doing?"
"No, what's happening to him?" said Jin.
The two shapes on the ground writhed, but it wasn't a fight. Mr. Fukuda's screams were gargled, unnatural. Blood bloomed across the concrete in a splash of arterial red.
Then others started running. Teachers. Students. Someone fell. Another was dragged.
The hallway thundered.
Then came the first impact. A slamming body against the classroom door.
Everyone jumped.
The door burst open.
A first-year student stumbled in. His face was torn, like he'd run through glass. Blood dripped from his chin. His uniform was soaked with red. His eyes darted madly.
"They're eating people," he rasped. Then collapsed.
A beat of silence.
Then screaming.
Kaho stumbled backward into her chair. Koji jumped to his feet. Jin rushed to the boy on the ground. "Who?! Who's eating people? What the hell is happening?!"
The boy coughed. Blood frothed at his lips. Then he went still.
Outside, another crash.
The hallway filled with shrieks.
Footsteps. Slapping. Dragging.
Desks clattered. Students scrambled toward the windows. Someone tried the side door. Locked. Someone else threw a chair against it.
Then came the sound of tearing flesh. Wet. Crunching.
Isaac stood frozen. His mind blank.
Until something slammed against the glass pane of the classroom door.
It cracked.
Then shattered.
A boy — or something that used to be a boy — crashed through, tumbling over desks. His face was half-peeled, one eye bulging, jaw hanging like torn paper. His limbs twitched. Then he lunged.
He landed on Chie. Bit deep into her neck.
Screams.
Blood.
Koji grabbed a chair and slammed it over the attacker. Once. Twice. The crack of metal against skull echoed like a gunshot.
Chie gurgled, twitching.
Another student ran, only to be tackled mid-sprint. Teeth found flesh. A girl near the windows punched the glass until her hand split.
"Emergency exit!" Koji shouted.
Isaac moved without thinking. He grabbed Kaho's arm tightly in his own, their hands slick with sweat. Jin's voice cracked behind them as he shouted, "Run!"
The hallway had devolved into an unrecognizable hellscape.
More figures filled it now—students, or what had once been students. Some dragged their limbs grotesquely, bones jutting at impossible angles. Others sprinted in bursts, their heads twitching, eyes wide and sightless. A girl with a dislocated jaw made a gurgling sound like choking on her own blood as she limped after them.
Koji kicked aside a pair of desks blocking the emergency back door. It groaned as it opened—rusted hinges screaming in protest. Behind them, flesh hit lockers with sickening thuds. A chorus of shrieks echoed off the walls.
They bolted.
Down the corridor, past crimson-splashed lockers. The fluorescent lights flickered above them like a dying heartbeat.
Blood slicked the floor. Kaho nearly slipped, Isaac catching her waist just in time. A teacher was pinned near the fire extinguisher, hands flailing as teeth tore into her shoulder. The tearing sound—wet and awful—stuck in Isaac's ears.
A boy dragged himself along the ground by his elbows, his legs missing below the knees, eyes wild and begging for something. Mercy? Salvation?
None was coming.
Another girl—someone Isaac vaguely recognized from gym class—screamed as a friend tackled her, mouth biting deep into her ribs. She screamed once. Then again. And then not at all.
Stairwell.
Koji kicked it open, metal slamming against concrete. They tumbled inside. The door slammed shut behind them, Jin throwing his weight against it.
For a breathless second, there was only their ragged breathing.
Then Kaho's foot slipped on the first step, her knee hitting hard against the concrete.
"Got you," Isaac said, grabbing her arm, holding her upright.
Koji took the stairs two at a time. Jin followed. The stairwell echoed their footfalls with a ghostly rhythm, a war-drum of panic. Screams wailed from somewhere below.
They burst onto the third floor.
Koji pointed. "Science lab. That one!"
They dove inside. Koji shoved a rolling cart—topped with stacked beakers—against the door. Then another cart. He jammed a stool under the doorknob.
Silence.
Or what passed for it.
The school groaned. A sound like shifting weight. Faint banging below. Shuffling feet. Choking sobs.
They collapsed.
Isaac sat with his back against a cabinet. Kaho slid down beside him, hugging her knees to her chest. Her fingers were bloodied—not her own blood, Isaac thought numbly. Jin paced. Back and forth. His sneakers left faint red prints with each step.
Koji stood watch at the window, breathing through his nose.
Time slowed.
Kaho's breath came in shaky bursts. She wasn't crying loudly—just quiet sobs, tears streaking down her cheeks as her body rocked slightly. Her braid had come loose, strands of dark hair sticking to her face.
Isaac wanted to say something. Anything.
But what could you say?
"We're alive," Jin murmured eventually. "For now."
Koji didn't look away from the glass. "Won't be for long if we don't come up with something."
"How do you think this started?" Jin asked, his voice small.
No one answered.
Kaho spoke first, quietly. "I was gonna go home tonight. Watch dumb dramas with my mom. She made curry rice last night and said she'd heat it up again… if I got home early."
Jin sat down near her, letting his back thump against the wall. "My mom texted me. Said Dad picked up sushi. I didn't even answer."
"I skipped breakfast," Koji said, arms folded. "Could've eaten cafeteria food, but I was late and didn't feel like dealing with the line."
The mundane details hurt more than screaming.
Isaac didn't speak. He just stared at the scuffed linoleum floor. At the faint outline of a bleach stain near the teacher's desk.
He kept seeing that crawling boy in his head.
"Anyone else see Riku?" Jin asked suddenly. "He was in class 2-A."
No one answered. Kaho bit her lip. "I think… I think I saw someone who looked like him, when we ran."
Isaac looked up. "Was he…?"
She shook her head. "Couldn't tell."
Koji finally turned away from the window. His face looked hard, too hard for seventeen. "We're not safe here forever. We need a plan."
Kaho's voice trembled. "Can't we just… wait?"
Jin looked over. "Wait for what? Rescue?"
"Maybe," she whispered.
Koji leaned against the counter. "Look, I'm not trying to scare anyone. But you saw them. They weren't normal. They weren't just students freaking out. Something's wrong. Something is—"
"Broken," Isaac finished for him. "The school. The world. Everything."
Another silence. This one heavier.
Kaho wiped her nose with her sleeve. "I saw one of them bite a girl. Then she got up. Fast. Not even a minute later."
Jin stiffened. "Shit."
"Was it Chie?" Isaac asked softly. "The girl in our class?"
Kaho nodded.
Koji set his jaw. "Then it spreads. Like an infection."
"But how?" Jin whispered. "That doesn't make sense. It was so fast."
"Not everything makes sense," Isaac muttered.
He leaned his head back against the wall. His fingers trembled in his lap. No one noticed. Or maybe they did and said nothing.
Outside the science lab, something scraped.
Everyone froze.
A dragging footstep. Then another.
A sound like nails across a locker.
The thing didn't try the door. It just wandered. Stopped. Then wandered again.
When the noise finally faded, no one spoke for a long time.
It felt like the school held its breath with them.
Time passed. But not like it usually did. Not in the way that moved with the sun or the rhythm of bells.
Here, time ticked with every heartbeat. Every soft shuffle outside. Every creak of the floor.
Kaho curled up in the corner eventually. Not asleep. Just closed off.
Jin hummed to himself at one point, a nervous tic. A tune from some anime opening, broken in pieces.
Koji sat near the supply closet. Knife in hand—the kind meant for cutting electrical wire. He must've found it in one of the science kits.
Isaac took out his notebook. Blank page. Pencil hovering.
He sketched a hallway. Not like the one they'd run through. Not exactly. This one was longer. Older. Covered in runes. His hand moved faster than his brain.
"Whatcha drawing?" Jin asked.
Isaac looked up, startled. "I don't know."
Koji stood. "I'll take first watch."
"I'll go second," Isaac said.
Koji nodded. "Wake me in two hours."
Jin exhaled slowly. "Feels weird. Like we're already soldiers."
"We're just kids," Kaho whispered.
No one disagreed.
The night dragged. And the school kept groaning.
Below them, it moaned and fed and hunted.
And the science lab held its breath.
Jin slid down the wall beside Kaho. She was huddled in her corner, knees tucked to her chest. Her braid had mostly come undone by now, falling over her eyes in damp strands. Her fingers still trembled faintly, but she didn't cry anymore—just stared forward, into nothing.
"You okay?" Jin asked, voice soft.
Kaho didn't look at him. "No."
Jin nodded, as if that was a perfectly acceptable answer. "Yeah. Me neither."
A few seconds passed. Then she sighed. "I keep thinking about Mom's curry."
Jin smiled faintly. "You really love that curry, huh?"
"She always makes it too sweet," Kaho said. "I used to complain. Every time. And now... I'd kill for it."
Jin leaned his head back against the wall. "My mom puts raisins in her potato salad."
Kaho turned toward him, horrified. "No."
"Swear on my grave."
"That's a crime."
"It is," he agreed. "But she always says, 'It's not a real summer lunch without it.' Like it's some sacred tradition or something."
For a moment, just a moment, Kaho smiled.
Jin smiled too. He didn't have to force it. "My house always smells like laundry softener. Like, all the time. Even at night. I used to hate it. Gave me headaches."
"Now you miss it," Kaho said.
"Yeah."
Koji glanced over from his post by the window. "What I wouldn't give to hear my brother blasting his awful rap again."
Isaac blinked. "You have a brother?"
Koji nodded. "Freshman. Always walks around with one earbud in, thinks he's some kind of underground legend. Writes lyrics in the margins of his notebooks." He smiled faintly. "He sucks. But, like… in a way that makes you proud, y'know?"
"What's his name?" Kaho asked.
"Shun."
"Do you think he made it?" Isaac asked quietly.
Koji didn't answer right away. "I hope so."
The quiet stretched again. Somewhere below, something heavy crashed—like a cabinet falling over. None of them moved. The noise had stopped startling them.
"I was gonna join drama club," Jin said suddenly. "Next semester."
Isaac raised a brow. "Seriously?"
"Yeah. I liked the costumes," Jin said. "And the stage lights. I dunno. Something about pretending to be someone else felt… safe."
"That tracks," Koji muttered.
"Hey!"
Kaho giggled weakly. "You'd be good. You're funny."
"See? Thank you. Finally, someone who gets it."
Isaac found himself smiling too, though it faded quickly. "I didn't really do clubs. Just helped my dad with work stuff."
"What does he do?" Kaho asked.
Isaac hesitated. "He's... a researcher. Genetics, pathology, stuff like that. I don't really know."
Koji looked over. "You helped with that?"
"Just filing things. Cleaning. He always made me wear gloves."
Kaho tilted her head. "You never talked about him before."
Isaac looked back down at his notebook. His hand had started sketching again—absently, like the pencil moved on its own. Runes. Shapes that didn't belong. The hallway now had doors. None of them had knobs.
"He wasn't around much," Isaac said.
A silence followed. Not the kind that asked more questions. The kind that understood there weren't any good ones to ask.
"I think he knew something," Isaac added softly. "Before today. Something was… wrong. I heard him yelling on the phone last week. About containment. About trials failing. He stopped answering when I came in."
Koji straightened. "He worked with pathogens?"
"I said I don't know," Isaac snapped. Then softened. "Sorry. I just… I don't know."
Jin leaned forward. "Do you think this is connected? The outbreak?"
"I don't know," Isaac whispered.
They all sat with that for a moment. The idea that someone in this room might've had a thread tied to whatever this hell was. Kaho didn't move away from Isaac—but her eyes searched his face like she was seeing him differently.
"I don't think you're to blame," she said. "Even if… you know something. You didn't choose this."
Isaac nodded. But he didn't believe it. Not really.
Jin cleared his throat. "I had this dumb tradition. Every Friday after cram school, I'd go to this vending machine near the arcade and get strawberry milk. Sit on the sidewalk. Watch people go by."
"Why strawberry?" Koji asked.
"Because it was the worst flavor," Jin said. "No one else ever bought it. It felt like mine."
Kaho smiled again.
"Maybe," Jin said, "if we make it out, we can do that together. Sit there and drink all the gross milk. Just because we can."
"I'll join," Koji said. "But I'm drinking coffee milk. Like a real man."
"You're seventeen," Jin muttered. "That doesn't make you cool."
"I'll bring Mom's curry," Kaho said quietly. "Even if it's sweet."
They all looked toward Isaac.
He didn't look up from the notebook. "I'll bring the silence."
Koji looked confused.
"It's all I ever had," Isaac said. "Silence. At home. In my head. That's why I draw."
Jin opened his mouth. Closed it again.
"Then we'll sit in it with you," Kaho said gently.
Isaac looked up.
And for a second, the horror outside didn't feel quite as big. Not smaller—but further away. Just enough to breathe.
Koji stretched. "Okay. That's it. I'm naming this group the Milk Drinkers."
"Please don't," Kaho groaned.
"Too late. We're branded."
"I'll stab you with that science knife," Jin muttered.
"You won't," Koji grinned. "You'd miss."
They laughed. Softly. Carefully. But they laughed.
Outside, the school groaned again. A new noise—something like nails dragging on drywall.
They froze.
Koji stood, hand tightening on the knife.
But nothing came.
Just the school. Breathing. Settling into the horror it had become.
Inside the science lab, the survivors stayed quiet.
But in their quiet, they weren't alone anymore.
They were together.
And for now, that was enough.
But then—
Isaac's phone buzzed.
The sound cut through the stillness like a razor. Everyone flinched.
Kaho looked up sharply. "Was that—?"
Isaac fumbled into his pocket, hands slick with sweat. He hadn't even remembered it was still on him. The screen glowed faintly in the darkness. One bar of signal.
UNKNOWN CALLER.
His stomach dropped. But something in his chest—a gravity he didn't understand—made him answer anyway.
He pressed it to his ear. "Hello…?"
Static. Then a low, breathless voice came through, sharp with urgency.
"Isaac?"
He froze. His throat caught. "...Dad?"
Everyone went still. Even Koji stopped pacing.
"I don't have long," the voice hissed. "Listen. Listen to me."
Isaac stood slowly, backing toward the middle of the room. "What's going on? What is this?"
"They released it. Not me. The others. The outer branches. I told them the rituals were too unstable, the blood resonance couldn't be held in a physical vessel—it was never meant to be contained."
Isaac's blood ran cold.
"Blood… resonance?" he echoed.
On the other end of the line, something crashed—glass, metal, maybe both. The voice became frantic.
"They broke the seal. The anchor symbols—we buried them under the south wing of the school decades ago, thought the ground would mask the pulse. But the script reacted. It sang, Isaac. It screamed."
"What are you talking about!?"
His father's voice trembled, distant, as if crouched or hiding. "Listen. There isn't much time. They're converging. It's like the script is calling to them now. The blood remembers. They're not just infected—they're guided."
More static. A choking gasp. Then, hurriedly:
"Code 913-Beta. Remember that. 913-Beta. The blood script will open. And it will close."
"Dad—?"
Then came the scream.
Not his father's. A woman's—raw and ripping, as if her lungs had been torn in half mid-breath. The kind of sound that twisted your bones.
The phone slipped in Isaac's grip. He fumbled it, caught it again.
Gunfire erupted over the line.
A series of pops—then a heavier boom. Screams layered over each other. Screams and snarls. Wet snarls. Growling—inhuman, animalistic but sharper, like it could speak if it wanted to.
And beneath it all—his father's voice again. Shouting, not to Isaac anymore, but to others in the room with him.
"Everyone run!! RUN!"
Another shot.
Then nothing.
The line went dead.
Isaac stared at the phone in his hand like it might burn him.
Jin stood slowly. "...What the hell was that?"
Koji was already moving. He grabbed Isaac's wrist and lowered the phone. "What did he say? Tell us everything."
Isaac's mouth opened, but no sound came.
Kaho stood too, her eyes wide and shining with tears. "Isaac…?"
He looked at them. All of them. His chest heaved like his lungs didn't know how to breathe anymore.
"There's something buried under the school," he whispered. "Some kind of seal. A script. My dad said it... it screamed."
Koji's face darkened. "And the infected?"
"They're not just sick. They're being guided by it."
"You mean… like a voice?" Jin asked.
Isaac shook his head. "No. Not a voice. A pull. Something older. He said the blood remembers."
Silence stretched around them again—but it wasn't safe now. It was tight. Suffocating.
Jin whispered, "And what was that code?"
Isaac swallowed. "913-Beta. He said it would open... and it would close."
Koji ran a hand through his hair. "What does that even mean?"
"I don't know."
From outside the room, something slammed against a locker.
Everyone jumped.
They weren't safe. Not anymore. Not even for a minute.
Kaho gripped Isaac's sleeve. Her voice cracked. "We need to move."
"Yeah," Koji muttered. "And we need to find out what's under this school."
Isaac's phone hit the floor.
The call had ended in a scream—gunfire, roaring, growling, the sound of flesh tearing. Then silence.
He didn't realize he was crying until he gasped.
And then he couldn't stop.
His breath came in shudders. Broken. Chest tight. The grief cracked something in him. Hot tears poured down his cheeks as he curled inward, sobs wrenching free from deep inside. The sounds clawed up his throat—raw, ragged, loud.
The others whipped toward him. Kaho rushed to his side, placing a hand on his shoulder, but it was too late.
From the hall came a noise.
Then another.
Thud.
A dragging footstep. Then another.
SLAM.
Something hit the door. Hard. The carts Koji had stacked jolted. Beakers clinked, trembling.
Koji moved first, voice cutting sharp and clear through the lab. "Barricade it. Now!"
Jin jumped to his feet. "Shit—shit—shit—"
Isaac was still curled up, rocking. Kaho grabbed him, hauled him up roughly by the arm, and shoved him toward the back. "Get up, Isaac. Please!"
Koji flung open the supply closet. "Tables—anything heavy!" he barked, dragging out a metal cart and slamming it against the first barricade.
Another bang. This one harder. Louder.
The infected had gathered.
Outside, the noises grew grotesque—scraping nails, inhuman moans, guttural growls, something wet slapping against the metal door.
Kaho grabbed a tall cabinet on wheels and shoved it forward. Jin threw himself against it as it tilted dangerously. The beakers on top fell and shattered—glass shards skittering across the floor.
"Push!" Koji shouted.
Jin grunted and heaved with his shoulder. "They weren't even here two minutes ago—how did they find us this fast?!"
"They heard him," Koji growled, eyes flicking to Isaac. Not with blame—but desperation.
Isaac, pale and shaking, stood trembling against the far wall, whispering over and over, "That was him. That was my dad. That was him. He said run."
Kaho stood in front of him, arms out, shielding him from the chaos. "We need you, Isaac. You can cry. You should cry. But not now. Not here. Okay?"
He blinked up at her like a lost child. Nodded once.
BANG.
The door bent inward. A hand smashed through the glass pane near the knob—bloody and twitching, its wrist bent at an impossible angle.
"Holy shit—!" Jin leapt back.
"More weight!" Koji yelled, dragging another lab table forward.
Kaho grabbed a metal stool and wedged it between the leg of the table and the wall. Jin grabbed a half-filled water tank and slammed it down on top of the cart.
The door began to creak inward—metal straining—the sound of the infected pounding with every ounce of their corrupted strength.
From the broken window, a long, slick tongue pressed through. It wriggled, as if tasting the air.
Jin gagged. "What the hell?!"
"They're changing," Koji muttered, breathless. "Already…"
CRACK.
The hinge on the top right side began to peel loose.
Isaac suddenly lunged forward.
"Let me help," he rasped, pushing up beside Koji and lifting one end of a heavy cart. Koji didn't stop him.
"Block the top corner," he said. "Press it tight."
"I got it!" Jin slid in beside them.
Kaho grabbed a box of thick cable wires and looped them around the broken handle, tying it off to a gas pipe near the floor. "This won't hold forever."
"It just has to hold long enough," Koji said, sweat pouring down his forehead. "We need a backup. A way out."
Kaho turned to the ventilation shaft near the ceiling. "What about that?"
Isaac glanced up. "We'd have to unscrew the cover."
"I saw tools in the closet," Jin said, voice hoarse but determined. "I'll get them."
"Do it fast," Koji grunted. "We're not going to last long like this."
Outside, the screams grew louder. Not just mindless howls now—but voices. Crying. Whispering. Someone—something—called out Isaac's name.
"Isaac… Iiiisaac…"
He froze.
"No," he whispered. "That's not real."
Kaho looked at him sharply. "Don't listen. It's not them. It's not him."
"They're copying," Jin muttered as he returned with a screwdriver and wrench. "Mimicking people."
Koji growled. "Get that vent open."
"On it." Jin scrambled up a desk and began unscrewing as fast as he could. "One of you—get ready to climb in."
"I'll go last," Koji said firmly.
"I'll help everyone in," Kaho said. "I'm light. I can lift."
Isaac nodded slowly. "I can boost people. I can do that."
The door shuddered again.
CRACK.
Another panel snapped free.
One of the creatures shoved its head through.
It had once been a boy. Face torn, half its jaw gone, but it still grinned as it hissed, eyes wide and gleaming.
Jin screamed, slipped from the desk, and fell backward, knocking over a chair.
"Get up!" Koji barked.
Kaho reached down, dragging Jin up by his wrist.
"I-I'm okay—I'm okay—!"
Isaac grabbed a nearby Bunsen burner and threw it at the infected's head.
Glass exploded. Flames briefly flickered to life.
The thing screeched, recoiling—
Then slammed into the door even harder, rage overriding pain.
Koji caught Isaac's eyes. "That bought us seconds. Use them."
The vent finally came free.
Jin scrambled back up. "One at a time—fast!"
"Kaho first," Koji said.
"No," she shook her head. "Let Isaac go."
Isaac hesitated. But Kaho's eyes were fierce—unwavering.
He nodded and climbed up.
The shaft was tight, but it led into the dark. Hopefully away.
Jin followed next, cursing every inch as his feet disappeared into the duct.
Koji looked at Kaho. "Your turn."
But Kaho didn't move.
Not yet.
Her eyes flicked to the barricade. The hinge was seconds from giving out.
"I'll be right behind," she said softly.
Koji frowned.
"Kaho—"
"Go," she said. "Now."
Koji hesitated in the middle of the lab, the only one not yet inside the vent. Kaho stood beside the broken barricade, breathing hard, sweat soaking through her uniform, a metal rod clutched in both hands. Her face was cut—small, sharp lines on her cheek and chin—but she didn't flinch.
"I said go!" Kaho screamed.
"Not without you," Koji barked, stepping forward.
But she shoved him back with surprising force. "Koji, please. They need someone strong. They need you more than they need me."
He stared at her, eyes wide, lip trembling just slightly. But she wasn't looking at him anymore—her gaze had already returned to the door, which bulged inward with a final, wet crunch of splintering wood.
"Tell Isaac…" she paused. "Tell him he's not alone."
Then she smiled—brave, real—and slammed the vent cover shut just as Koji ducked inside, crawling behind Jin into the dark metal tunnel.
From within the shaft, Isaac twisted, his voice hoarse. "Where's Kaho?"
"Keep moving!" Koji shouted.
The lab behind them exploded with sound.
The final desk tipped. The carts crumpled.
And the door gave in.
Kaho screamed—her voice not of fear, but of fury—as she charged.
The first one in was barely through the frame when her metal rod caved in its skull. A crunch—wet and final.
The second lunged for her, jaw gnashing, arms flailing—and caught a beaker full of acid to the face.
It shrieked and writhed, skin boiling off in ribbons.
She moved like lightning, ducking low, slamming her weapon into kneecaps, faces, anything that came too close. Another infected grabbed her wrist, biting down—
—but she tore free, blood gushing from the torn sleeve, and stabbed her rod through its eye.
More flooded in. Their eyes glowed faint red in the flickering emergency lights. Their mouths hung open—some whispering, others growling, all hungry.
Kaho didn't stop.
She screamed, pure and feral, as she grabbed the rolling cart Koji had used earlier and shoved it with her entire body, toppling two of them into the chemical sink station.
Then she threw her weight behind the last intact lab table, slamming it against the doorway, creating a fresh barricade. Her hands were trembling, her arm slick with blood. She didn't even know if it would hold.
It wouldn't. Not for long.
Behind her, the vent cover rattled.
"GO!" she screamed. "DON'T LOOK BACK!"
Then they were gone, lost in the ductwork.
Kaho turned, shoulders heaving, as the table began to creak.
The first infected slipped underneath, half-crawling, its body grotesquely bent. She stabbed it through the throat, pulled back, kicked another in the jaw—
But there were too many.
One grabbed her ankle. Another crashed into her side.
She screamed again, this time in pain.
Still, she fought.
Even as they surrounded her—pulling her down, clawing, biting—she kicked and flailed, broke a jaw with her heel, gouged at an eye with her thumb.
The table behind her shifted. Then tipped.
And the room was full.
They swarmed.
And Kaho, dragged beneath a wave of bodies, disappeared under blood and limbs and teeth.
The last sound Koji heard from behind the metal duct was her scream—choked, defiant.
Then silence.