Outside, Ethan and the others had made it back to the main dining hall.

"They still haven't opened the damn door?" Ethan snapped, pacing in frustration.

"Nope. Not a peep from inside," Vivian said, shaking her head.

"You're strong as hell—ever think of kicking it down?" Ethan shot her a look.

"I was worried I'd break it. What if we can't block the zombies afterward?" she said, a little sheepishly.

"Fuck that! You're worried about later? If you don't kick it now, the zombies'll do it for you—and then you won't even get the chance to block anything!"

With a muttered curse, Ethan stepped forward and slammed his foot into the door.

Boom.

Over 1,600 pounds of force—and the door didn't budge. That surprised him.

He narrowed his eyes and activated True Sight. Through the door, he saw the problem: the other side was stacked floor to ceiling with tables, chairs, and whatever else they could pile up.

"Jesus. Overkill much?" Ethan muttered.

Still, he couldn't really blame them. Without that barricade, the zombies probably would've broken in long ago.

He paused, then cupped his hands and shouted, "Open up! We're here to help! The zombies are gone from this side—you can come out now!"

Silence.

Vivian and the others stared at him like he'd grown a second head. That was some next-level bullshit.

But then—scraping. Thuds. The unmistakable sound of furniture being dragged away.

The word "rescue" had done its job. Fear evaporated in an instant. They'd been holding out for this moment, clinging to the hope that someone would come.

Even the hardliners inside—the ones who'd insisted on staying barricaded—were caught off guard. They tried to stop the others, but it was too late. Most people were already moving, and there was no stopping that kind of momentum.

Ethan glanced at the shifting barricade, then back at the approaching horde. The zombies were getting closer—fast.

There were still tables blocking the door.

He didn't wait.

Boom.

Another brutal kick, and this time the door burst open, chairs and tables crashing to the floor in a heap.

Everyone surged into the dining hall, slamming the door shut behind them.

"Move! Get the tables back up!" someone shouted, already bracing against the door.

But the people inside just stared, stunned, at the newcomers.

"I thought you said the zombies were gone?" one of them asked, eyes wide.

"You took too long opening the door," Ethan said coolly. "They circled back."

"..."

"So… can we still get out?"

"Not right now."

"..."

Thankfully, Vivian's team had numbers. They jumped into action, hauling furniture back into place and reinforcing the door.

A collective exhale swept through the room. Four thousand zombies outside—that wasn't something you took lightly.

Then, as the adrenaline ebbed, people started taking in the state of the dining hall—and their expressions darkened.

The place reeked of blood. In one corner, a pile of corpses was stacked like firewood.

This wasn't the safe haven they'd imagined.

And the people inside? Blank stares. Hollow eyes. Many of them were injured, bandaged with torn cloth or not at all.

"What the hell happened here?" Vivian asked, frowning.

No one answered. Heads dropped. Eyes averted.

Vivian didn't wait. She strode straight over to a girl quietly sobbing in the corner and crouched in front of her. "Hey. What happened?"

The girl opened her mouth, hesitated—then glanced toward a group standing off to the side. One look, and she clammed up, eyes down, lips sealed.

Vivian followed her gaze.

A cluster of people stood there, watching the room with cold, flat stares. But the moment they noticed Vivian looking, their expressions flipped—smiles, all charm and innocence.

Vivian pointed toward the pile of corpses in the corner. "That your handiwork?"

"Of course not," said the man in front, flashing a too-wide grin. "There was a big fight a couple days ago. People got desperate over food. Things got out of hand. Those folks… just got caught in the crossfire."

He kept smiling, but his eyes flicked to the bloodied weapons in the newcomers' hands. He wasn't stupid—he knew better than to provoke a group like this.

"That true?" Vivian turned to one of the bystanders.

"Y-yeah. That's right," the man stammered, nodding too fast.

Vivian narrowed her eyes. Something about this stank.

"Vivian," one of her teammates said quietly, "there's over a thousand people in this dining hall. A fight over food was bound to happen. We can't get involved in everything."

She gave a reluctant nod, but her frown didn't ease.

Across the room...

"Ethan, what do you think?" Chris asked, voice low. "Something's off here."

"Oh, it's rotten as hell," Ethan said flatly.

Then he called out, "Hey, muscle woman! Wanna check out the kitchen?"

The group of smiling men stiffened. Their faces darkened in an instant, eyes narrowing at Ethan like they wanted to skin him alive.

Vivian turned, glaring. "Did you just call me 'muscle lady'?"

"You look like you could bench-press me. That's a compliment."

"..."

"I have a name. It's Vivian!" she snapped.

"Alright, alright—Vivian. You wanna see what's behind the kitchen?"

"What's back there?"

"Go look. You'll see."

"Fine."

Vivian nodded and started toward the kitchen, her team falling in behind her.

But before they could reach the door, the smiling crew suddenly stepped in their path.

"You're here, you stay out here," the lead man said, smile gone, voice cold. "There's food for everyone. No need to poke around."

"And what if I insist?" Vivian's voice dropped, sharp as a blade.

"Then it won't end well—for anyone."

Vivian snorted. "You?"

She didn't wait for an answer. Her foot lashed out, catching the man square in the chest and launching him backward like a ragdoll.

"Holy shit! She hit him!" someone shouted.

Weapons came out in a flash—blades, pipes, makeshift clubs. The man's crew bristled, eyes burning with fury.

But Vivian's team didn't flinch. They drew their weapons too, calm and ready.

Tension crackled in the air.

The other side had numbers, sure—but that was about it. Vivian's squad was Tier 1 across the board, most of them already pushing the peak. Two were Tier 2. The guys blocking the kitchen? Just a bunch of mean, desperate civilians. Not even close to the same league.

"Move," Vivian said, voice like ice.

The men hesitated. Fear flickered in their eyes—but they didn't budge.

"Take them down," Vivian ordered.

Her team surged forward.

It wasn't a fight. It was a beatdown.

In less than two minutes, the entire group was on the floor, groaning, bleeding, or unconscious. Vivian stepped over them without a second glance and pushed into the kitchen.

Back near the door, Chris watched the scene unfold and let out a low whistle. "Gotta say, having a big team does make you feel like a badass."

Ethan nodded. "We need to start building ours up too. But no dead weight. I've got one rule—if you're not Awakened, you're not in."

"...That's your idea of a simple rule?"

"We're going high-end, man. Quality over quantity."

"Fair enough. With you around, we'll find Awakened sooner or later."

Ethan gave a small nod, then glanced toward the kitchen. "Shame that muscle woman's already got a team. She'd be a solid pick."

"Don't call her that!" Henry blurted out, a little too fast. His ears turned pink.

Ethan raised an eyebrow, smirking. "Oh? You into that type?"

"What—no!" Henry said, way too quickly, eyes darting away.

Ethan chuckled. "Come on, just admit it. Nothing wrong with liking her. Honestly, she's got a great face. Sure, she's built like a tank, but with your scrawny ass, you two would balance out."

"..."

Chris clapped Henry on the shoulder. "Don't worry, man. I'll teach you a few moves. You'll have her eating out of your hand."

"Nah, man," Henry muttered. "That's not flirting. That's simping. You always end up with nothing. I'm not learning that."

"..."

"You bring this up again, I swear I'll kill you!" Henry snapped, face red.

"Whoa, he's mad! Look at him go!" Ethan laughed.

…

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