The city didn't welcome anyone anymore.
It loomed ahead of Ty like a corpse that took its time decaying—buildings hollowed out, windows shattered, streets littered with the remains of things people once needed. Wind pushed through the empty spaces, dragging debris along with a restless sound.
Ty moved through it like a shadow. Close to walls. Past alleyways. Across cracked pavement that had long since split open. His rifle stayed in his hands—always ready.
The silence here was different from the forest.
Heavier.
Like something was always listening.
A distant clatter echoed somewhere deeper in the streets. Ty paused for half a second, eyes flicking toward the sound—calculatin—before continuing forward.
He wasn't here to fight.
Just supplies.
The convenience store came into view at the end of the block.
Or what was left of it.
The glass front had been completely shattered, jagged edges still clinging to the frame. The sign above hung crooked, barely attached, creaking faintly with each push of the wind.
Ty approached carefully, stepping over scattered shards as he slipped inside.
Dark.
The power had died years ago, leaving the interior drowned in shadow. The air smelled stale—dust, rot, something sour beneath it.
He moved straight to the shelves, scanning quickly, efficiently. Most of it had already been picked through long ago—empty wrappers, crushed boxes, useless trash.
Still—
He crouched, pushing aside debris, opening drawers, checking behind the counter.
A can. Expired.
A bottle. Empty.
Nothing worth taking—
His hand brushed against something small, tucked beneath a fallen display.
A cigarette pack.
He stilled for a second. Then picked it up. Full.
He exhaled quietly, slipping it into his bag before continuing. A few minutes later, he found another. And another.
Three packs. Not bad.
Ty moved deeper into the store, boots barely making a sound against the floor as he stepped around overturned shelves and scattered items. That's when he saw them.
Bodies.
Two of them. Slumped near the back wall, skin greyed and sagging, clothes stiff with dried blood. Time had taken most of what made them people, leaving behind something hollow and still.
Ty approached anyway.
He always did for a quick search.
He crouched beside the first, checking pockets with mechanical precision. Empty.
The second—
Something clinked faintly as he shifted the body. Keys.
A small ring of them, metal dulled with age.
Ty turned them over in his hand, eyes narrowing slightly.
Not for doors.
Not anymore.
But metal was metal. Useful.
He slipped them into his pocket.
A faint sound reached him then.
Low.
Distant.
But growing.
Ty froze, listening carefully.
And then—
A shrill.
Another.
Closer.
Too many.
His head snapped toward the broken front of the store. Shadows slipping past the doorway—too fast, too many to count.
"…shit."
Ty moved instantly. No panic. No wasted motion.
He grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he sprinted toward the nearest shelving unit. One quick step, then another—his foot hit the lower rack and he pushed upward, pulling himself onto the top with practiced ease.
The shrills grew louder.
Inside now.
Bodies dragged against the floor. Limbs scraped. That horrible, wet clicking of teeth grinding together.
Ty pressed himself flat against the ceiling, barely breathing. Below him, Fleshbounds poured into the store.
Tall. Twisted. Crawling over each other in jerking, unnatural movements as they searched, sniffed, listened.
One stopped directly beneath him. Its head tilted sharply, neck bending at an angle that shouldn't have been possible. The split jaw opened slightly, revealing rows of jagged teeth as it inhaled.
Ty didn't move.
Didn't breathe.
Seconds stretched until it finally moved on moved on.
Ty's gaze flicked upward.
There.
A weak spot in the ceiling panel. Without hesitation, he shifted, drawing one of his knives. A quick, controlled strike—
Crack.
The panel gave way just enough. He shoved his rifle through first, careful not to let it clatter, then pulled himself up, muscles straining as he slipped into the narrow vent.
The sounds below continued—shrills, scraping, movement—but they grew more distant as Ty crawled forward.
The vent was tight.
Hot.
The air suffocating as he moved inch by inch, dragging himself through darkness with only instinct guiding him forward.
Left.
Then up.
The incline steepened slightly, metal creaking softly beneath his weight.
Ty pushed forward faster, forcing his body through the narrow space until—
The vent opened.
He kicked it loose, climbing out onto the rooftop in one smooth motion before pulling his rifle up beside him.
Fresh air hit his lungs. A feeling of relief washing over Ty as if he had just came up from the sea.
He crouched low, scanning immediately.
That's when he saw it. A vehicle tore down the street below—large, black, armored in places like it had been reinforced over time.
Music blasted from it, loud and chaotic, slicing through the silence.
It swerved violently, tires screeching as it slammed to a stop.
Fleshbounds flooded toward it instantly. But the people inside didn't run. They stepped out.
Armed.
Prepared.
Gunfire erupted. Sharp. Controlled.
Each shot wasn't rushed—it was aimed.
One. Two. Three—Four shots before the first Fleshound dropped.
Five for the next.
They knew where to hit.
Ty's eyes narrowed slightly as he watched.
That wasn't luck.
That was training.
The group moved efficiently, covering each other, adjusting positions without needing to speak. Their gear was heavy—combat vests, reinforced clothing, weapons strapped across their bodies like they were used to carrying them.
Organized.
Disciplined.
And then—
They started loading the bodies into the trunk.
Ty frowned slightly.
Why take them?
His gaze shifted.
That's when he saw it.
On one of their arms—just visible beneath rolled sleeves and torn fabric—a tattoo.
A lion.
Another one turned.
Same mark.
Ty stilled.
He'd heard of them.
Whispers. Rumors passed between survivors who didn't last long enough to confirm anything.
A group.
An underground city.
A place where people still lived—really lived.
Led by one man.
No name.
Just power.
Ty watched from the rooftop, unmoving.
Until—
One of them stopped.
A woman.
Her posture relaxed but alert, like she didn't need to try to stay ready. Dark hair was pulled back tightly, strands sticking to her skin from sweat. A faint scar cut across her cheek, sharp against otherwise smooth features. A rifle hung loosely at her side, like it was just an extension of her body.
Then—
She turned her head.
Slowly she lifted her eyes and locked onto his.