The sound of chaos was deafening.

Hiroshi crouched behind an overturned desk in the university library, his breathing shallow. The eerie growls of the undead echoed through the once-quiet halls, and the faint flicker of the emergency lights illuminated the blood-smeared floors. His trembling hands clutched a makeshift stun gun he had cobbled together from spare electronics—one of the many tools in his arsenal.

He adjusted his glasses, the left lens cracked from a close encounter earlier. His mind raced as he opened his laptop, the screen lighting up his pale face. “Come on… come on…” he whispered, fingers flying across the keyboard. The security system for the west wing was still operational—barely—and Hiroshi hoped to lock down the area before the infected broke through.

A crash from the next room made him flinch. Heart pounding, Hiroshi grabbed his backpack and bolted for the stairs. He wasn’t a fighter, not by any means, but his knowledge of the campus and knack for tinkering had kept him alive this long.

As he reached the stairwell, he froze. A shadow moved in the corner of his vision. Tightening his grip on the stun gun, he called out hesitantly, “Who’s there? If you’re human, make yourself known… fast.”