Chapter 1: From Exams to Apocalypse
Lisa's first year at college had been a whirlwind of stress, late-night studying, and endless assignments. Exams, however, were always worse. They had a way of making her feel simultaneously prepared and completely helpless. On this particular day, the midterm exam in her literature class had left her frazzled, her mind bouncing between essay questions and the faint whisper she had begun hearing earlier that week—a voice she couldn't quite place.
She tried to shake it off as nervous energy, her mind insisting it was nothing more than fatigue. But during the exam, it had grown impossible to ignore. Every time she attempted to focus, the whisper tugged at her attention, soft yet insistent, like someone speaking just beyond a closed door. She looked around the classroom, hoping no one else noticed, but all she saw were students diligently scribbling answers, their faces masked in concentration.
"Lisa! Question five," the professor's sharp voice rang out.
Her pencil hovered over the blank space. Normally, she could answer this question without a second thought, but the whisper now pulsed in her ears, drowning out the words. Her mind went completely blank. "I… I'm not sure," she stammered.
The professor's sigh felt like a judgment heavier than any grade. Lisa bit her lip and mechanically completed the rest of the exam, though the answers felt hollow, written more by habit than by thought.
After the exam, she wandered out into the late afternoon sun, the city streets oddly quiet as if the world itself was holding its breath. She felt the familiar tension in her shoulders begin to ease, replaced by the dull ache of fatigue. She thought of the warm bath waiting for her at home, a quiet meal, and the rare pleasure of doing absolutely nothing for the evening.
At her apartment, she tossed her backpack onto the couch and sank into the cushions. The refrigerator offered nothing extraordinary—a sandwich and some juice—but it was enough. She ate slowly, savoring the mundanity of normal life, grateful for its simplicity.
A bath followed, hot water soothing her aching muscles. She closed her eyes, letting the tension slip away with each breath, imagining that all the stress of the day was washing down the drain. She hummed softly, a tune her grandmother had taught her, a rare comfort in a life otherwise dominated by deadlines and assignments.
Finally, she changed into soft clothes and slipped into bed, the comfort of her blanket and pillow a small island of security in the turbulent sea of her life. Her eyes fluttered shut, exhaustion claiming her quickly, her last conscious thought a vague wonder about why the whisper had seemed so urgent that day.
---
When she woke, the world was not her own.
The ceiling above her was cracked and coated in a thick layer of dust. Faint, sickly gray light filtered through shattered windows, casting uneven shadows across the floor. The air smelled acrid, a mix of smoke, decay, and something unidentifiable that made her stomach turn. Her bed—if it could be called that—was a rough, broken platform, splintered boards poking through tattered cloth.
Heart hammering, Lisa tried to move, but her limbs felt stiff and uncoordinated. Panic rose as a loud thud reverberated through the building, followed by a grotesque moan that froze her blood.
Zombies, she realized instantly, the word tasting like iron in her mouth.
The banging continued, louder now, splintering the door with each strike. Lisa backed against the wall, eyes darting for a possible escape, any hiding place. Her mind screamed, but her body refused to act. She had always prided herself on being rational, calm under pressure—but nothing could have prepared her for this.
And then, as if summoned by fate, the far side of the room erupted in movement. A group of figures burst through an alternate entrance, weapons in hand, moving with coordinated precision that made her jaw drop.
"Stay back!" a tall man shouted, his voice authoritative but not unkind.
"I… I'm fine… I think," Lisa whispered, voice barely audible. Relief washed over her as they moved to reinforce the barricade and block the undead from entering further.
The tallest among them, the leader, glanced at her. His eyes were sharp, scanning for threats, yet there was a flicker of concern when they met hers. "You're lucky," he said simply. "Not many survive this long on their own."
Lisa's mind struggled to process everything—the world she had been plucked from, the grotesque creatures outside, the strangers who had just saved her life. She swallowed hard, the taste of fear and adrenaline sharp in her mouth.
---
The first night was long and restless. Lisa curled up in a corner of the room, the thin blanket offered by one of the survivors doing little to calm the gnawing anxiety in her stomach. She listened to the low moans, the occasional thud against the barricades, and the whispers of her new companions.
Over time, she learned their names: Ryen, the tall man who had saved her; Sera, a nimble woman with quick reflexes; Kaito, quiet and observant; and Minah, cautious but surprisingly warm. They shared what little supplies they had—canned food, bottled water, old blankets—and spoke in hushed tones about what was safe, what wasn't, and what the world had become.
Lisa tried to eat, tried to rest, but the reality was relentless. The whispers in her head—so faint before—now seemed almost like a guide, tugging at her attention, urging her to notice patterns, to understand, to survive.
---
In the days that followed, Lisa began to explore the building cautiously. It was more than just debris and dust. Hidden alcoves, secret rooms, and crumbling stairwells hinted at a past life of safety and shelter. Certain areas seemed… different. Food didn't spoil, metal tools remained sharp, and old supplies were preserved beyond reason. It was almost magical, a small island of security in the chaos that surrounded them.
Then came the discovery of her abilities. At first, subtle—a flicker of energy when she touched a pipe, a brief burst of force when she slammed her hands against a wall. It frightened her. One accidental surge shattered a window, sending glass scattering across the floor. The group stared at her, a mixture of awe and caution in their expressions.
"You have potential," Ryen said one evening, watching her carefully. "But potential without control is dangerous. You need discipline."
Lisa nodded, determination building alongside fear. If she was to survive, she had to learn. Not just to survive, but to adapt, to become stronger than she had ever imagined.
---
Quiet nights around the small fire in the magical building allowed Lisa glimpses of the people who had saved her. They shared stories of loss and survival, of near-death experiences and fleeting victories. Lisa listened, absorbing everything, realizing that she was not just learning about her new abilities, but about the human will to survive.
"You're improving," Ryen said one evening as Lisa managed to levitate a small crate with a flicker of her power. "Keep this up, and you'll be a real asset."
Lisa smiled faintly, a spark of pride warming her amidst the relentless fear. She was no longer merely a scared college student. She was a survivor in training, learning the rules of a world she never wanted to be part of.
A few days later, the group embarked on a short scouting mission outside the safety of the building. Streets were littered with abandoned cars, debris, and the unmistakable shuffle of zombies roaming in packs. Lisa's pulse surged, fear and adrenaline coiling in her stomach. Her powers flared instinctively—small sparks, bursts of force—and she moved in rhythm with the group, a dance of survival she had yet to master.
By the end of the first week, Lisa realized that college life, exams, and ordinary worries were gone forever. She was now a survivor in a world filled with undead, with allies she could trust only cautiously, and a magical building that offered fragile hope.
For the first time, she felt it—a flicker of hope, a tiny ember that promised she could endure, grow, and maybe, just maybe, thrive.
Lisa clenched her fists, staring into the gray light filtering through the broken windows. This was her new reality. And she was ready.