The group begins their descent through the school. Gabe leads—but from Miku's eyes, we now experience the weight of that leadership, and what it feels like to watch someone no longer bound by fear.
Gabe held up his hand.
Everyone stopped. Instantly. No hesitation. Like they'd been trained.
But they hadn't.
At least, Miku hadn't. Her legs were stiff. Her throat dry. She hadn't spoken since they left the classroom.
She could still feel the grip she had on Marin's sleeve—tight, clumsy, too desperate. Marin hadn't pulled away, but that made it worse somehow.
The hallway ahead was empty, dim, painted in orange light from the high windows. The floors were clean. Too clean. Except for the bodies.
One of them still twitched. Blood pooled slow beneath the neck.
Gabe had shot it. She saw it happen. Three minutes ago. Maybe less.
He started moving again.
Miku followed without thinking.
The way he moved—it wasn't like a student. It wasn't like anyone she'd ever met.
He didn't creep forward like a horror movie character.
He walked like he already knew what was around every corner.
Like it was all slow to him.
She watched him pass the stairwell door.
He paused, hand resting lightly against the wall.
Listened.
Then dropped low, fast, and pushed the door open with his shoulder. Carbine raised.
A second later, he was gone—down the stairwell. Silent.
No one said anything.
Even Saeko, who had taken up the rear again, said nothing. Her hands didn't tremble. Her eyes stayed focused. Miku had never met her before today. She wasn't sure she wanted to.
They waited in the hallway.
One breath.
Two.
Then Gabe's voice came up from below:
"Clear."
They followed.
The metal stairwell creaked under their weight.
Every step echoed too loudly. Miku hated the sound of her own footfalls. She hated how loud her breathing was. She hated that her heart felt like it didn't know how to beat properly anymore.
But when they reached the second floor, and the stair door opened again—Gabe was already halfway down the next hallway.
He didn't wait.
There was a room just ahead. The lights were off. The door was stuck open—wedged against something.
Gabe peered in, then held up two fingers.
Marin leaned closer to whisper, "What's that mean?"
Saeko answered instead. "Two inside. He's going in."
Gabe pressed through the door in a single step.
Pfthhpfthh—
Two shots. Suppressed, but still sharp.
Miku flinched anyway.
He came back out.
Didn't speak.
They moved on.
Miku couldn't help watching him now. Every move. Every small shift of weight. The way he leaned into his steps, how he never let his rifle lower below eye line. Like breathing and aiming were the same thing.
And every time he fired—
It was final.
No panic. No mess. Just down.
She realized she hadn't seen him miss.
A groan echoed from up ahead.
They all stopped.
A shape lurched around the far corner—arms loose, mouth open, feet dragging with that horrible heel-click rhythm.
Gabe moved.
Faster than her eyes could keep up.
He didn't shoot.
He stepped into the infected's path, sidestepped its grasp, turned, and brought the rifle's stock hard across the side of its head.
Bone cracked.
The thing stumbled. Reached out again.
Pfthh.
Down.
He turned, checked the next hallway, then crouched near the west stairwell.
"Stay here," he said.
And then he was gone again.
Miku realized something just then.
It wasn't that Gabe wasn't afraid.
It was that whatever was happening— He was already past fear.
- - - - - - - -
The sound came from below. Dull at first—like a chair dragged across linoleum. Then sharper. A bang. Then another.
By the time they reached the second floor landing, the group didn't need to guess what it was. Something—no, several things—were moving up the stairwell.
The groans followed.
That wet, uneven exhale. That twitch in every step. No rhythm. No humanity. And louder now.
The group clustered just beyond the hallway bend, out of direct sight of the stair door. Their breathing slowed out of instinct. Saeko's bokken hovered by her thigh. Miku held onto Marin again, but this time her grip was steadier, more practiced. Even Chika, who had been jittery and wild-eyed since the first kill, stood still now.
Then Gabe stepped forward.
Not rushed. Not theatrical.
Just forward.
His boots barely made a sound on the tile as he crossed the space and took position across from the stairwell door, rifle raised. He gave no signal, but the message was clear. They could all feel it now: whatever came through that door wouldn't last long.
The metal latch turned.
It was quiet, but no one missed it.
Then the door flew open—not from hands, but from force. The infected tumbled through. Three of them—maybe more behind. Their feet slapped the ground in a chaotic tangle, arms dragging on the floor, heads tilted like their necks couldn't remember how to carry weight.
Marin flinched back against the wall, pressing her spine to the window. Chika reached for something—anything—to throw.
But Gabe was already moving.
He shifted one step left. Shouldered the rifle. Fired.
Pfthh—pfthh—pfthh.
Three quick flashes. The lead infected dropped mid-step, crumpling on its face. The second lunged forward on pure momentum—Gabe snapped the barrel sideways and fired again. The shot tore through the temple, and the body jerked before collapsing.
The third was closer.
Too close.
It swung a broken arm at him—wild, clumsy, desperate. Gabe ducked under it and pivoted into a shoulder check that slammed the corpse into the stair rail. It rebounded, limbs loose like a doll's, and he brought the butt of his carbine into its skull with a brutal, clean strike.
No scream. No extra shot.
Just down.
Chika's mouth hung open. Miku turned away before the body hit the floor. Marin swallowed hard, eyes locked on the black-smeared rifle now resting low in Gabe's hands.
He scanned the stairwell again.
Two more came into view.
One didn't even make it through the doorway.
Pfthh.
Clean headshot. It dropped into the others like a bundle of sticks.
[Kill Count: 11]
[Alert: Zone Threat Level – Stable]
[Body Temp: Normal]
[Reaction Time Sync: 3.6x Human Baseline]
Still no words from him.
Gabe stepped back into the hallway and lowered the rifle slightly, just enough to avoid pointing it at anything that didn't deserve it.
"Stairwell's not secure anymore," he said. "They'll keep coming."
His voice was quiet, but not strained.
Chika was the first to speak, voice trembling despite herself. "H-how are you even doing this?"
Gabe turned his eyes to her but didn't answer.
Saeko, who had been watching everything with narrowed eyes, finally stepped forward. She wasn't shaken. If anything, she looked… intrigued.
"That was military-level reflex," she said. "And the way you're holding that rifle—you've been trained."
He didn't confirm or deny.
Instead, he looked past her toward the far end of the hall.
"We're moving again. This floor's no longer safe."
"Where to?" Miku asked, her voice quiet but steady.
"North fire exit. Roof access. Then down the side scaffold."
No hesitation. No room for debate.
He started walking.
The others followed this time without needing to be told.
Even Marin, whose legs had looked ready to collapse a moment ago, now moved forward without a word. She didn't know why. Maybe it was the way Gabe didn't stop to reassure anyone. Maybe it was the quiet in his expression, like nothing they'd seen had even touched him.
Or maybe it was because when she'd seen the third infected swing at him—real, inches from impact—she hadn't felt scared for him.
She'd felt scared for it.