The magnetic lock of the server room door disengaged with a heavy mechanical clunk that sounded like a gunshot in the silent corridor.
Ethan Miller stood in the doorway. He gripped the yellow industrial crowbar with a white-knuckled intensity. His heart was not racing. It was beating with a slow and heavy rhythm. A thudding war drum in his chest.
The darkness of the hallway was suffocating. The emergency lights were dying. They cast long and distorted shadows that seemed to dance on the walls. The air was thick with the metallic tang of copper and the sweet and rotting scent of death. It was the smell of a butcher shop that had been left in the sun.
"Stay close," Ethan whispered. His voice was barely a breath. "Do not scream. No matter what you see."
He stepped out.
The HUD in his vision pulsed. The Mini-Map in the top right corner was a lifeline of glowing blue lines against the dark reality. Three red dots hovered in the digital corridor ahead.
Ten meters. Three targets. Idle.
Ethan moved. He did not creep. He prowled. His sneakers made no sound on the commercial carpeting. His Agility stat of 7 was slightly above average for a human male and it showed in the fluidity of his movement.
He rounded the corner near the water cooler.
They were there.
Three figures stood in the gloom. Two men and a woman. They were former colleagues from the Accounting department. Their skin was the color of wet ash. Their clothes were torn and stained with fluids that were too dark to be just blood. They stood perfectly still. Their heads hung low as if they were sleeping standing up.
Ethan raised the crowbar. He needed to be efficient. Noise was death.
He lunged at the nearest one. A man in a shredded blue dress shirt.
The movement stirred the air. The creature's head snapped up. Its white eyes widened.
"Hiss!"
It was too late.
Ethan swung the crowbar in a tight and controlled arc. He didn't aim for the body. He aimed for the temple.
CRACK.
The sound of steel meeting bone was wet and sickening. The impact caved in the side of the accountant's skull. The creature dropped without a sound. It was like cutting the strings of a marionette.
[Critical Hit!]
[Target Eliminated: Level 1 Infected]
[XP Gained: +4]
The other two woke up instantly.
The woman shrieked. It was a high and piercing sound that tore through the silence of the floor. She launched herself at Ethan. Her fingers were curled into claws.
"Claire!" Ethan shouted. "Left!"
He couldn't dodge. The corridor was too narrow. He braced himself and shoved the dead body of the first accountant toward the rushing woman. She collided with the corpse and stumbled.
Ethan stepped back to create space.
The third infected, a tall man named Marcus who used to steal lunches from the fridge, bypassed Ethan entirely. He saw the smaller targets behind him. He saw Jessica.
Marcus roared and charged at the traumatized girl.
"Jessica!" Claire screamed. She swung the framing hammer wildly.
It was a poor swing. The hammer glanced off Marcus's shoulder. It did nothing but annoy him. He backhanded Claire with a strength that sent her sprawling into the wall.
He lunged for Jessica.
Jessica did not scream. She did not run. She stood frozen in the red emergency light. Her face was pale and void of expression. She looked at the monster rushing toward her. She looked at the black veins pulsing in his neck.
She remembered her mother. She remembered the sound of chewing.
Marcus opened his mouth. His teeth were stained pink.
Jessica raised the flathead screwdriver.
She didn't swing it like a club. She didn't slash with it. She stepped forward. Into the grab.
Marcus's hands clamped onto her shoulders. His jaws snapped inches from her nose.
Jessica thrust the screwdriver upward. Under the chin. Through the soft tissue of the jaw. Up into the brain.
It was a precise and brutal execution.
Marcus went rigid. His eyes rolled back. His grip on her shoulders tightened for a second and then went slack. He slid off the screwdriver and collapsed at her feet.
Jessica stood over him. Her hands were covered in black ichor. She was breathing hard. Short and sharp gasps.
"Dead," she whispered.
Ethan finished the woman with a swift blow to the back of the head. He turned around just in time to see Marcus fall.
He looked at Jessica. He looked at the screwdriver.
"Good," Ethan said.
He didn't offer comfort. He didn't ask if she was okay. He validated the kill. In this world that was the highest form of praise.
He quickly knelt by the bodies.
"Watch the hall," he ordered.
He swept his hand over the skulls of the fallen.
[Item Acquired: Colorless Aether Bead x3]
He pocketed the invisible loot. He checked his XP.
[Current XP: 28 / 300]
It was a slow grind. But he was getting stronger. He could feel it. The crowbar felt lighter in his hand than it had ten minutes ago.
"We need to move," Ethan said. "That shriek will draw every infected on the floor."
He helped Claire up. She was rubbing her shoulder but she nodded grimly. She looked at Jessica with a new respect. Or maybe it was fear.
They ran down the hall. Past the bathrooms. Past the copier room.
"There," Ethan pointed.
The maintenance hatch was located in the ceiling above a stack of cardboard boxes near the janitor's closet. It was a square metal panel painted the same white as the ceiling tiles.
Ethan scrambled up the boxes. He jammed the flat end of the crowbar into the seam of the hatch.
"Open up," he grunted.
He put his weight into it. The metal groaned.
Down the hall behind them the double doors of the main bullpen burst open.
A horde poured out. Ten. Maybe twenty. They were climbing over each other. Running on all fours. They saw the fresh meat.
"Ethan!" Claire yelled. panic rising in her voice.
"I see them!" Ethan snarled.
He pulled harder. His biceps burned. The STR stat flared.
POP.
The hatch gave way. The metal panel swung down on its hinge. A cloud of ancient grey dust puffed out.
"Up!" Ethan grabbed Claire by the waist. "Go! Go! Go!"
He hoisted her up. She scrambled into the dark hole kicking her legs.
"Pull Jessica up!" Ethan shouted.
He dropped down and grabbed Jessica. She was lighter than he expected. He lifted her high. Claire's hands reached down from the darkness and grabbed Jessica's wrists.
The horde was twenty meters away. The sound of their feet slapping against the carpet was like the sound of rain.
"Get in!" Ethan roared.
Jessica disappeared into the ceiling.
Ethan looked back. The lead infected, a woman in a torn skirt was five meters away. She leaped.
Ethan didn't fight. He jumped.
He grabbed the edge of the hatch and hauled himself up. His legs swung in the air.
The infected woman clawed at his shoes. Her fingernails scratched against the rubber sole of his sneaker.
He kicked down hard. His heel connected with her face. She fell back into the mass of bodies below.
Ethan pulled himself into the crawlspace and slammed the hatch shut.
BANG.
Fists and heads slammed against the metal from below. The infected were jumping. Pounding. Screaming in frustration.
Ethan collapsed on the metal grating of the catwalk. He coughed in the dust.
"We made it," Claire whispered. It was too dark to see her face. "We are safe."
"For now," Ethan said. "Don't touch the tiles. Walk only on the metal beams. If you step on the plaster you will fall right through."
He tapped his temple. The HUD adjusted to the low light.
[Map Analysis Active]
The crawlspace was a maze of silver ductwork and thick bundles of black cables. It was hot up here. The heat from the building rose and gathered in the ceiling. It smelled of fiberglass insulation and dead rats.
"Follow me," Ethan said. "And keep your heads down. There are nails everywhere."
They began to crawl.
It was a slow and agonizing process. The space was barely three feet high. They had to move on their hands and knees balancing on the narrow steel beams that supported the suspended ceiling.
Below them through the thin plaster tiles they could hear the sounds of the dying building.
They crawled over the marketing department. Ethan heard the sound of sobbing. A woman was begging for her life. Then she screamed. Then silence.
They crawled over the conference room. He heard the wet tearing sound of flesh being consumed.
"Don't listen," Ethan whispered to the women behind him. "Just look at my shoes. Keep moving."
Jessica was crawling right behind him. She was silent. She moved like a machine. The fear had burned out of her leaving only a cold determination.
"Ethan," Claire whispered. Her voice echoed softly in the metal ducts. "Do you think... do you think anyone else made it?"
Ethan paused. He looked at the Mini-Map. There were no green dots. Only red.
"Statistically? Yes," Ethan said. "Realistically? Most of them are dead. Or turned."
"My sister worked downtown," Claire said. "She was at the bank."
"Banks have security doors," Ethan said. "She has a better chance than most."
It was a lie. The banks would be death traps. Vaults turned into tombs. But he needed Claire functional. Hope was a fuel and he would ration it out as needed.
They crawled for what felt like hours. The dust coated their throats. Their knees were bruised and bloody from the steel beams.
Finally Ethan saw it.
A change in the ductwork. The pipes became copper. The cables thicker.
"We are over the Executive floor," Ethan said.
He checked the Mini-Map.
[Location: Floor 26 - Executive Kitchenette]
Below them was a room. He could see light filtering through the cracks in the tiles.
"This is it," Ethan said. "The kitchenette. It should be empty."
He crawled to a ventilation grate. He peered through the slats.
The room below was pristine. Marble countertops. A high-end espresso machine. A stainless steel fridge that cost more than Ethan's car. It was silent.
"Clear," Ethan said.
He used the crowbar to pry the grate loose. It came away with a quiet scrape.
He lowered himself down. He hung from his fingertips and dropped.
He landed on the marble floor with a soft thud. He raised the crowbar instantly scanning the room.
Empty.
"Come down," he signaled.
Claire dropped down next. Then Jessica.
They stood in the luxury kitchen. It was surreal. Twenty feet above them people were being eaten alive. Here there was a bowl of fresh fruit on the counter.
Claire walked over to the sink. She turned the tap. Water flowed. Clear and cold.
"Water," she gasped. She cupped her hands and drank greedily.
Ethan didn't drink. He walked to the door. It was a frosted glass door leading to the executive hallway.
He looked through the glass.
The hallway was carpeted in plush burgundy wool. The walls were lined with expensive art.
And there was a man.
He was kneeling over a body near the elevator. He was not infected. He was wearing a torn suit jacket and he was holding a golf club. A nine iron.
He was going through the pockets of the dead woman on the floor. He pulled out a diamond ring. He held it up to the light admiring the sparkle.
Then he saw the woman's finger twitch.
The man didn't panic. He didn't scream. He raised the golf club and brought it down on her head.
Thump.
He hit her again.
Thump.
"Stay down bitch," the man muttered. His voice was muffled by the glass but Ethan heard it.
Ethan stepped back from the door. His face darkened.
"We have company," Ethan whispered to the women. "And he is not sick."
"A survivor?" Claire asked hope rising in her voice.
"A looter," Ethan corrected. "I watched him kill a wounded woman for a ring."
He looked at his team. They were exhausted. Covered in dust and blood. They were in no shape for a fight against a desperate human who clearly had no moral compass left.
But the Executive Stairwell, their exit was right next to where that man was standing.
[Mission Update: The Descent]
[Obstacle Detected: Human Hostile]
Ethan tightened his grip on the crowbar.
"Listen to me," Ethan said. "That man out there is dangerous. He thinks he owns this floor. If we walk out there he will attack us. Or worse."
He looked at Jessica.
"We need the stairs," Ethan said. "He is in the way."