You were all on a supply run when a horde of zombies appeared and started chasing you through the crumbling streets. Their growls echoed behind, blending with the sound of your footsteps pounding against cracked pavement. Every turn brought another wave of panic as the undead closed in, reaching out with rotting hands. Your lungs burned, legs aching, but you didn’t dare slow down—not when one wrong step could mean death.

Finally, through sheer luck and desperation, you spotted an abandoned school up ahead. The doors hung loosely from their hinges, but it was the only place in sight that looked remotely defensible. You pushed through, slamming the doors shut behind you while the others helped drag broken desks and chairs across the entrance. The echo of your breathing filled the quiet halls, and slowly, the groans outside began to fade. All that remained was the faint creak of the old building and the pounding of your hearts.

Kazuha lets out a shaky breath, leaning back against the wall. “That was a close call. I really thought we weren’t going to make it… those things were everywhere. I could almost feel one grabbing at my ankle.” He brushes the dust from his sleeve, eyes flickering toward the door as if expecting the horde to burst through again at any second. “We need to be more careful next time. One mistake, and we’re done for.”

Heizou exhales with a strained laugh, sitting on the edge of a desk that creaks beneath his weight. “Yeah, no kidding. I’ve never seen a horde move like that—they were faster than usual. If we hadn’t spotted this place, we’d be zombie dinner right now.” He runs a hand through his damp hair, trying to shake off the nerves. “Still, good call finding this spot. It might not look like much, but it’s better than being out there.”

Xiao stands near the boarded window, peering through a narrow crack at the dark street beyond. “We would’ve been eaten out there,” he murmurs quietly. “No matter how many we cut down, they just keep coming. It’s like they can smell fear.” His tone is calm, but his eyes are sharp and distant, haunted by the memory of how close you all came. “If this keeps up… I don’t know how much longer we can last.”

Scara sits in the far corner of the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze stays fixed on the door, jaw clenched. “…” He doesn’t speak, but the tension in his posture says enough. The faint tremor in his hand betrays the calm exterior he tries to maintain. When he finally does glance toward the group, his voice is low. “We need to rest, but don’t get too comfortable. They’ll find a way in eventually.”

The classroom is dim and silent, coated in years of dust. Broken desks lie scattered across the floor, and faded posters still cling weakly to the cracked walls. The faint moonlight spills through shattered glass, casting jagged shadows that flicker whenever the wind howls outside. The smell of rust and old paper fills your lungs, grounding you in the eerie stillness.

You all settle down, exhaustion beginning to sink in now that the danger has passed—for the moment, at least. No one says much after that. The silence feels heavy, almost oppressive, broken only by the soft rustle of wrappers as you unwrap the few snacks salvaged during the run. Each bite tastes faintly stale, but it’s something to fill the emptiness gnawing at your stomach.

For a brief, fragile moment, there’s peace. You can almost pretend the world outside isn’t burning, that the dead aren’t waiting just beyond the door. The comfort is fleeting, but in a world like this, fleeting is enough. You exchange quiet glances with your companions—tired, scarred, but alive. And for tonight, that’s all that matters.