The next morning, while Ethan and the others were still catching up on sleep in their luxury home, chaos erupted just a few houses down—at Ray's place.
The heir of the Harlan family, dead in his own luxury home.
It was the kind of news that could shake the entire Harlan family to its core.
Ray wasn't just any spoiled rich kid—he was the chosen successor. An Awakened. The golden boy. The family had kept him in Lakeview Estates instead of sending him to the Safe Zone, letting him live in comfort while they hand-fed him zombies to level up. They'd even built reinforced cages for him, made sure he had everything he needed to grow stronger without ever getting his hands dirty.
And now?
Now he was a corpse with a caved-in skull, lying in a blood-soaked living room.
Samuel, the Harlan family's local enforcer, stood in the middle of the carnage, face pale, stomach churning. His eyes swept over the bodies, the blood, the shattered furniture.
This wasn't just a murder. This was a declaration of war.
"Who the hell would dare kill the Harlan family's heir?!" he roared.
"Could it have been zombies?" one of his lackeys offered, voice barely above a whisper.
Samuel turned on him like a whip. "Are you blind? Zombies don't leave bodies this intact. Every one of these skulls was crushed in a single blow. This was deliberate. And whoever did it used blunt weapons."
He paused, eyes narrowing.
"Blunt weapons…"
His gaze drifted toward the neighboring luxury home.
From any angle, they were the prime suspects. Ray had just raided their supplies yesterday. Now he was dead. And everyone in that house used blunt weapons. Not to mention, the mutant cat Ray had captured was missing—and last Samuel checked, that cat had been with them originally.
It didn't take a genius to connect the dots.
Samuel stormed up to the top floor and peered across the neighborhood.
There it was.
In the backyard of the other luxury home—an iron cage full of zombies.
He didn't need any more proof.
"It was them," he muttered, voice low and venomous. "They killed Ray. They're dead men walking."
He turned to his men. "We're heading back. Now. I need to report this immediately."
Without another word, Samuel and his team left the blood-soaked house behind.
...
Safe Zone.
The place had changed—radically.
With the National Guard sweeping the surrounding areas clean of zombies, the Safe Zone had expanded fast. The perimeter walls now stretched for miles, and the population had exploded past 100,000.
But with that growth came pressure.
Feeding over a hundred thousand mouths every day was a logistical nightmare.
And this wasn't the old world anymore. Most industries were dead. Outside of construction crews, almost no one had a job. People sat around, waiting for food, waiting for orders, waiting for something to change.
And so, a new hierarchy had formed.
At the top were the government officials and the well-connected elite. They lived in fortified compounds, never worried about food, and had access to luxuries most people hadn't seen since the world fell apart.
Below them were the high-Tier Enhanced—Awakened who regularly went out to hunt zombies. They brought back supplies, earned their keep, and didn't have to worry about starving.
Next came the skilled laborers—builders, electricians, plumbers. The Safe Zone Authority needed them to keep the place running, so they were paid in food. Sometimes, if they performed well, they even got crystal cores.
And then there were the rest.
The ordinary people.
No powers. No skills. No leverage.
They survived on rations handed out by the Safe Zone Authority—barely. What used to be two basic ration bars per meal had been cut down to two per day. Just enough to keep them alive.
When they'd first arrived, they'd been overjoyed. Rescued! Safe!
But that joy didn't last.
Now they were just another mouth to feed in a system stretched thin.
And they couldn't leave. Not really.
The best time to hunt zombies had passed. Most of the weaker ones—Tier 1 and Tier 2—were gone. What remained outside the walls were mostly Tier 3s and up.
And for a regular person? That was a death sentence.
So they stayed.
Because inside the Safe Zone, at least they wouldn't starve.
Out there?
They wouldn't last a day.
Colonel Reyes had tried—more than once—to get better rations for the people at the bottom.
He argued that every time they went out to clear zombies, they brought back a mountain of supplies. There was no reason folks should be starving on two ration bars a day.
But food distribution wasn't his call. That authority belonged to Mayor Marks.
And every time Reyes brought it up, Marks shot him down.
"We can't just think about today," the mayor had said, tone clipped and final. "Sure, what they bring back might last a month. But what about a year from now? As a leader, I have to plan for the long game."
Reyes had no comeback for that. Not one that would stick. In the end, he'd had to let it go.
Two ration bars a day wouldn't kill you—but it sure as hell wouldn't fill you either. Especially for people with bigger appetites, the constant gnaw of hunger was a slow, grinding torture.
Desperation started to creep in.
People began scrambling for any kind of work. Labor became dirt cheap—offer someone a hot meal, and they'd break their back for you all day.
Some women, with no other options, turned to selling their bodies.
Their clients? The Awakened.
Because the Awakened had food. Plenty of it.
And if one of them took a liking to you, maybe—just maybe—you'd get to stick around. No more hunger. No more begging.
So yeah, life for the strong in the Safe Zone was still pretty damn good.
But they'd earned it.
When most people were too scared to step outside, the Awakened had gone out and fought. Risked their lives. Faced death head-on.
That first step? It was a gamble with terrible odds.
But they'd survived.
And survival came with rewards.
People liked to complain about how unfair life was. But they never stopped to think—maybe this was the result of their own choices.
If they'd been braver back then, maybe things would be different now.
Or maybe… they'd just be dead.
...
At the heart of the Safe Zone, inside a private, heavily guarded residence, Victor Harlan sat in a sunlit living room with Mayor Marks. The two men were deep in conversation, voices low and serious.
Then the door burst open.
A man rushed in, breathless.
Victor's brow furrowed. "Didn't I make it clear? No one comes near this place without my permission."
"Mr. Harlan—it's urgent!" Samuel's face was pale, his voice tight with panic.
"Whatever it is, it can wait until we're done," Victor snapped.
"Ray is dead!"
The words hit like a gunshot.
Victor shot to his feet, grabbing Samuel by the collar. "What did you say?!"
"Ray's dead!" Samuel choked out. "He died in his luxury home at Lakeview Estates. Brent, Mason, the whole crew—they're all gone."
Victor staggered back two steps, as if the floor had tilted beneath him. "That's impossible… Ray was Tier 5. The others were Tier 4. How could they all be killed?!"
"Was it a zombie horde?" Mayor Marks asked, frowning.
"No," Samuel said firmly. "It was people."
Victor lunged again, fists twisting in Samuel's shirt. "Are you sure?!"
"I'm sure. And I know exactly who did it."
"Who?!"
"The group living in the other luxury home at Lakeview Estates," Samuel said.
Victor's face twisted in disbelief. "That's impossible. There are only seven of them. How could they take down Ray and his whole team?"
"Every one of Ray's people had their skulls crushed with blunt weapons," Samuel said. "And that group? They all use barbell bars. Ray raided their supplies the night before. Then the next day, he's dead. And I found Ray's zombie cage in their backyard."
"...!"
"Seven people. Barbell bars," Mayor Marks said slowly, eyes narrowing. "You don't mean the fugitives I've been hunting?"
Samuel hesitated, glancing at Victor.
Victor didn't even try to deny it anymore.
"Yes," he said coldly. "It's them."
Mayor Marks leaned back, expression unreadable. "Well, well. Victor… why didn't you tell me this sooner? If I'd known, maybe Ray would still be alive."
Victor said nothing.
But his silence said everything.
...
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