The city at dawn was painted in smoke and crimson haze.
Zeke crouched on the second floor of a ruined office building, peering through a shattered window. Below, the group of survivors he'd spotted yesterday stumbled across the street. There were four of them, huddled close, their faces pale with exhaustion.
One man carried a bent length of pipe. Another held a kitchen cleaver, its blade chipped. A woman in a torn hoodie clutched at a backpack that looked far too light. The last—a broad-shouldered guy who tried to walk at the front—looked like their leader, though his eyes betrayed doubt with every glance behind him.
Zeke studied them in silence, knife resting against his thigh. Their movements were clumsy, hesitant. When they struck at a lone shambler that lurched from an alley, it took all four of them working together to bring it down. Their arms shook. Their swings were wild.
Zeke noted every wasted movement, every panicked breath.
They won't last long like this.
He considered leaving.
Allies could mean safety in numbers, but they could also mean dead weight, betrayal, questions he didn't want to answer. The System was his secret. His advantage. If they noticed every corpse he killed dropped a Core, suspicion would spread fast.
He didn't need them.
But as he watched, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled.
Two figures darted into view from the side street—low, fast, claws scraping sparks against asphalt. Their shrieks split the air.
Runners.
The survivors froze, terror flashing across their faces. Their leader shouted something, voice cracking, but panic drowned it out. The one with the cleaver swung too early, missing by a foot. The woman stumbled backward, almost dropping her pack.
Zeke's jaw tightened.
If they died here, their screams would draw more. The Runners would feed, and the noise would echo through the streets like a beacon. It wasn't mercy that pushed him forward.
It was survival. His survival.
Zeke leapt from the second floor. His combat boots hit the ground with a heavy thud, knees bending to absorb the impact. The survivors jerked in shock, eyes wide.
But he wasn't here for them.
The first Runner lunged straight for the woman. Zeke intercepted, driving his knife upward into its throat. The blade sliced deep, but the thing twisted, claws raking across his reinforced jacket. The fabric tore but held. Zeke ripped the knife free and slammed his boot into its chest, sending it sprawling.
The second Runner barreled into their leader, knocking him to the ground. The man screamed, pipe clattering away. Zeke didn't hesitate. He darted forward, slashing across the Runner's spine. The creature shrieked, arching back, giving the leader just enough time to scramble away.
It spun on Zeke, claws flashing. He sidestepped, knife tracing a line across its jaw, then rammed the blade into its skull. It dropped instantly.
The first Runner was already scrambling back to its feet. Zeke didn't let it recover. He lunged, both hands on the knife, and drove it down through its temple with a roar.
Silence.
The survivors gasped for air, trembling where they stood. Their leader's hands shook as he retrieved his pipe.
Zeke stood over the corpses, knife dripping black.
The Cores glowed faintly in his vision, unseen by the others.
Devour?
"Yes."
The black smoke poured into him, hot and violent. His body tensed, every muscle straining as if reforged in fire.
Devour complete. +16 points. +40 EXP.
The rush steadied, his breath evening out. He straightened slowly, wiping the blade clean against his jacket.
The survivors were staring.
"…Who the hell are you?" the leader asked, voice unsteady. He was young, maybe mid-twenties, trying to sound firm but failing.
Zeke met his eyes, cold and unreadable. "Someone who just saved your lives."
The leader swallowed. He nodded, trying to stand taller. "Right. I'm Daryl." He gestured weakly to the others. "That's Mara, Toby, and Lena."
The woman with the backpack—Mara—still trembled, her eyes darting to the corpses like they might rise again. Toby, the one with the cleaver, just clutched the handle tighter, his knuckles white. Lena, the hoodie girl, avoided Zeke's gaze entirely.
"And you are…?" Daryl asked.
Zeke considered lying. But names didn't matter in a world like this. He spoke flatly. "Zeke."
"Zeke," Daryl repeated, like he was testing the sound of it. He forced a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Well. Thanks for stepping in. We—uh—we owe you."
Zeke shook his head. "No. You don't."
The group shifted uneasily under his stare. They weren't used to someone so blunt, so cold.
Mara whispered, "How… how did you kill them so fast?"
Zeke's knife slid back into his belt. "Because I don't hesitate."
The answer left them silent.
They regrouped awkwardly, checking bags, tending to scrapes. Zeke watched them with the same calm calculation he gave the dead. Their movements were shaky, desperate. They weren't fighters. They were survivors clinging to the edge, one mistake away from becoming corpses themselves.
Daryl cleared his throat, stepping closer. "Listen… we've been moving from block to block since yesterday. Lost a couple along the way." His voice cracked on that part, but he pushed through. "You're strong. Smarter than us out there. Maybe we stick together?"
Zeke's jaw tightened. He thought of the Cores, the guaranteed glow he alone could see. If he stayed with them, they'd notice eventually. They'd ask why every kill he made produced something they couldn't see.
And then what? Jealousy? Fear? A knife in his back when he slept?
Still, traveling with them had value. More eyes, more distractions for zombies. Shields, if it came to that.
He weighed it coldly.
"Fine," Zeke said at last. His voice was quiet, but it made Daryl exhale in relief.
Mara gave a nervous nod, clutching her pack tighter. Toby mumbled something under his breath, glancing at Zeke like he wasn't sure if he was safer with him or without him. Lena still avoided his gaze.
Zeke didn't care.
They weren't allies. They were tools.
If they proved useful, he'd keep them alive.
If not—
His hand brushed the hilt of his knife.
He'd do what was necessary.