Three men ran through the ruined city, weaving between burnt-out car wrecks and the dusty remnants of shattered storefronts. The echo of their footsteps bounced off the empty tenements like the heartbeat of a dead civilization.
Adam ran at the front, as always. From the start, he kept a slower pace than he could manage—just so Sareth could keep up. He'd expected to slow down even more, especially with the new companion.
But when he looked back...
Sareth held the pace, though his arms were tense from the weight of his backpack. Despite the exhaustion, he didn't complain. What surprised Adam most, however, was the old man. With a bandaged shoulder and a patchy coat, he moved confidently across the rubble, as if he knew every bump and crack in the road by heart. He avoided slick patches of asphalt, leapt over puddles, and strode like a man in his prime. His breathing was steady, his steps sure—as if his body still remembered the days when running was second nature.
Adam furrowed his brows, unable to stop himself from wondering: who the hell was this old man?
He suddenly remembered something and shouted over his shoulder:
"You got a phone?"
"And what if I don't?" the old man barked. "I do. Fully charged. But there's no signal. Useless brick. Not a communicator."
Adam came to a sudden halt. Sareth barely avoided crashing into him, stepping aside at the last second. Their eyes met for a moment—first confused, then lit by the same spark of realization. They smiled simultaneously, as if they'd just found the missing piece of a puzzle they'd been working on for hours.
The old man looked at them with suspicion.
"What're you so happy about?"
***
Minutes later, Adam knelt beside a freshly killed zombie, snapping photos. Then another. And another. Sareth helped too—documenting every corpse.
"You know," Sareth muttered, "someone might say we just found a body and faked it."
Adam frowned, then raised the phone and took a close-up of a fatal wound.
"We'll record the injuries. Blow marks unique to our attacks. That'll be proof it's ours."
Sareth nodded, impressed.
"Smart. Better than carrying around ears."
The old man, who had been watching from a distance, raised an eyebrow.
"First people I meet since the end of the world, and they're lunatics taking selfies with corpses. Wonderful."
"We've got a few hours of light left," Adam said. "Time to hunt."
"Hunt what, exactly?" the old man grunted.
"Zombies," Sareth replied with a grin. "Or whatever else. The more we kill, the more points we get."
"Points?"
Adam turned toward him and explained:
"At the base, we have a system. Contribution Points. For fighting, helping, cooking—everything. You earn them, then trade them for food, medicine, a place to sleep. If you want to survive, you've got to contribute."
"Points for monsters?" the old man murmured.
"Something like that," Adam admitted.
The old man shrugged, still unconvinced.
"And what if I don't care about points? I'll just sleep wherever."
Adam looked at him seriously.
"You can. But without points, no private room. No privacy. You'll sleep in a hall with a hundred others. Constant noise, crying, snoring, talking in their sleep."
"And no one's showered in days," Sareth added with a grimace.
The old man frowned, clearly visualizing the nightmare.
"Shit..."
Then, without a word, he bolted toward the side of the street like he spotted a zombie.
"Well, that was effective," Sareth muttered, raising an eyebrow.
Adam chuckled.
Before he could finish, the old man was already vanishing around the corner, moving with such vigor that Adam and Sareth had to sprint to keep up.
A few blocks later, they saw a lone zombie shambling near some toppled trash bins. Before Adam could react, the old man darted forward.
He halted, aimed his fist in the air, and swung toward the creature. The air rippled.
With a surge of energy, an invisible force blasted from his hand. The zombie was struck square in the chest and flew several meters, crashing through a rusty fence and landing with a dull thud.
Its body lay limp, a gaping hole in its torso.
Adam froze mid-step. Sareth whispered:
"He... punched with air?"
Adam nodded slowly, eyes still locked on the old man.
The old man scowled at their stunned faces.
"What? Never seen a geezer punch air and blow a zombie apart? Take a picture and let's go find another!"
They spent the next few hours scouring more streets and courtyards. Every zombie they encountered was taken down and documented.
By sunset, they sat on a concrete ledge, panting.
"Dozens of corpses," Sareth groaned. "Still no level up. What's the point?"
"At least we earned plenty of points," Adam replied, wiping his forehead.
He glanced at the fading sky, hues of fire and indigo bleeding into each other. The air was cooling, filled with the distant groans of unseen zombies.
The old man massaged his bandaged shoulder—but didn't look tired. If anything, he seemed annoyed.
"If you two weren't so damn slow, we'd have bagged thirty more," he grumbled.
Sareth stared at him, exhausted and incredulous.
"You're a monster," he muttered.
Adam chuckled, then sobered.
"Let's go back. That's enough for today."
The old man scoffed like he wanted to argue… but said nothing. He stood and followed.
He moved without another word, but all the way back he muttered under his breath—unintelligible phrases, like he was composing a list of grievances to one day unleash. Adam had no doubt he'd come to regret inviting this man into the base more than once... but maybe people like him were exactly what they needed right now.
***
They returned to base under a sky painted in orange and violet. As soon as they crossed the gate, they stopped, stunned.
The courtyard—once a chaotic sprawl of blankets and boxes—now had neat paths. People bustled about, arranging crates, pinning up task boards.
"What the..." Sareth mumbled.
Layra and Kosman walked toward them, both smiling faintly as they eyed the full backpacks.
"Looks like you brought back a whole pharmacy," Layra said.