The silence in the presidential suite, after Thiago's words, was dense, almost suffocating. The morning light, which slipped through the cracks in the curtains, painted the room with somber golden hues, revealing the dust suspended in the air and the metallic glint of the weapons Thiago had left in a corner. The smell of coffee and bread, once comforting, now mingled with the subtle aroma of gunpowder and the putrid smell seeping in from outside, a nauseating combination that reminded everyone of the reality surrounding them. The adults' faces, previously a mixture of weariness and apprehension, now showed a new layer of fear, but also a hint of determination. The children, oblivious to the gravity of the conversation, played in a corner, their innocent laughter a cruel contrast to the approaching darkness.
Thiago, with the two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols in his hands, the laser sights lit, the red dots dancing on the wall, was the embodiment of brutal calm. He was no longer the average college student; he was the twenty-year-old survivor, the sole bearer of the burden of the future, the voice of a leader forged in adversity. He had given the order, and now it was time to act. The presidential suite, once a refuge, was now a training ground, and the family, once just a group of loved ones, was about to become a survival unit, forged in the fires of the apocalypse.
"Okay, everyone," Thiago said, his voice resonating with unquestionable authority. "Breakfast was important to nourish us, but now the work begins. And it won't be easy. We'll start cleaning floor by floor."
The descent began on the floor immediately below theirs, the 49th. The group moved with almost reverent caution, each step muffled by the thick carpeting of the luxurious corridors. The natural light that had once flooded the hotel was now scarce, filtered through the dusty windows and heavy curtains that many guests had left closed in their haste to escape. The air was still, with a strange smell of mildew and something else, something sweet and putrid, that Thiago recognized as the odor of decay.
Thiago led the formation, his two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols raised, their laser sights projecting red dots into the darkness ahead. His movements were fluid, his posture that of a predator in its element. Lucas and Gabriel followed closely, their own SIG Sauer P320 pistols drawn, their faces tense but determined. Sofia, with a SIG Sauer P320 pistol in hand, kept to the rear, her eyes scanning the flanks, while the other adults, including Thiago's parents, his friends' parents, and Hiroshi's family, followed in a tight formation, their hands gripping their weapons with a mixture of fear and resolve. The women, Harumi, Akemi, and Yumi, with empty backpacks on their backs, stood ready to gather supplies, their eyes trained on the rooms.
The silence of the hallway was broken only by his own footsteps and the distant growl of the city, which sounded like a hungry monster lurking. Thiago stopped before the first door, a luxury room with the "Do Not Disturb" sign still hanging. He gestured with his hand, indicating absolute silence. Lucas and Gabriel positioned themselves, their weapons pointed. Thiago slowly turned the doorknob. Unlocked.
He gently pushed the door open a crack. The putrid smell intensified. The light from the tactical flashlight on his pistol cut through the darkness of the room, revealing a scene of chaos. Furniture was overturned, clothes were scattered, and in the center of the room, the staggering figure of a Level 0 White zombie. Its eyes were hollow, its skin pale and emaciated, and an opaque crystal pulsed in its forehead. It moved slowly, a guttural sound escaping its throat.
Thiago raised his pistol, the laser sight fixed on the zombie's forehead. A single shot, muffled by the silencer, and the zombie fell to the ground, its head crushed. The sound of its body hitting the carpet was the only noise. Lucas and Gabriel flinched slightly; the sight of death, even from a monster, was still shocking.
"Remember," Thiago whispered, his voice cold. "A shot to the head. Always. And now, the crystals."
He approached the fallen zombie, took his utility knife, and with precise movements, extracted the crystal from the undead's forehead. The crystal, opaque and dull, was the first of many. "Women, gather all food and water," he instructed, handing the crystal to Lucas, who put it in a bag. "Men, check the rooms. Barricade the doors after they're cleaned. And be alert for any sounds."
Clearing the first floor was a slow and methodical process. Room by room, suite by suite. With each door opened, the tension increased. They encountered a few more Level 0 White zombies, and even a Level 1 Pale Green, a bit faster and more aggressive, but still easily dispatched by Thiago with precise headshots. The women, though frightened, did their job, collecting cans of food, bottles of water, packets of cookies—anything that might be useful. The men, guns drawn, checked the bathrooms, closets, and dark corners, always with their laser sights on and tactical flashlights ready to illuminate, ready for any threat. They barricaded the doors with heavy furniture, creating a barrier against any intruder.
By the end of the first floor, fatigue was beginning to set in, but the sense of accomplishment was palpable. They had cleared an entire floor, securing a safe perimeter below them. The bags of crystals were heavier, and the women's backpacks were fuller.
"Next floor," Thiago said, his voice steady but with a hint of exhaustion. "The 48th. With each floor, the situation can get more complicated. Keep your guard up."
The descent to the 48th floor was more tense. The city's growl seemed closer, more intense. The smell of decay was stronger, and the silence of the corridors was more oppressive. Thiago could feel the energy of the environment, the presence of more infected. He knew that with each floor, the resistance would increase.
The first room they opened on the 48th floor revealed a more brutal scene. Not just one zombie, but two Pale Green Level 1s, and a Moss Green Level 2, with a more intense glow in its crystal. The Level 2 was faster, its movements more coordinated, and a more guttural growl escaped its throat. Thiago acted with lightning speed, his two pistols firing in sync, the laser dots fixed on the zombies' foreheads. Three shots, three falls. Thiago's efficiency was frightening, almost inhuman.
With each room, the scene repeated itself, but with increasing intensity. They found more zombies, some in groups, others hiding in bathrooms or closets. Thiago's team, though still fearful, began to move with more coordination, their movements more fluid, their shots more accurate. Lucas and Gabriel were honing their shooting skills, and Sofia moved with surprising agility, her SIG Sauer P320 pistol firing quickly and accurately, always aiming for the head.
In one of the rooms, they found a disturbing scene. A man and a woman, in their early thirties, lay on the floor, their bodies torn apart, their throats ripped open. Dried blood stained the carpet, and the empty eyes of the undead, who had once been their attackers, stared at the ceiling. It was a scene of horror, a brutal reminder of the fragility of life in a world collapsing. The women cowered, and the men clutched their weapons, the reality of death hanging heavy in the air.
"There's nothing we can do for them," Thiago said, his voice cold but tinged with melancholy. He'd seen scenes like this hundreds of times. "Just move on. And learn from their mistakes. Don't hesitate. Don't trust."
They continued their cleanup, with each zombie killed, each crystal mined, each supply collected, the feeling that they were fighting for their lives became more real. The exhaustion was immense, but the adrenaline kept them going.
The incident occurred in one of the last rooms on the 48th floor. The room was a luxury suite with a spacious living room and panoramic views of the burning city. The curtains were open, revealing the red sky and smoldering buildings. The smell of smoke and decay was strongest here, almost unbearable.
Thiago led the group, his two pistols drawn, the laser dots dancing in the darkness. Lucas and Gabriel stood beside him, their weapons ready. Sofia was a little behind, her SIG Sauer P320 pistol pointed at the door. The women and other adults were in the rear, ready to gather supplies.
As they entered the living room, the dim early morning light revealed a figure huddled in a corner, behind an overturned sofa. It was a man in his early forties, wearing dirty and torn designer clothes, his face pale and covered in sweat. His eyes were wide with fear, and he was shaking uncontrollably. He wasn't a zombie. He was a survivor.
Thiago stopped, his pistols pointed at the man. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice cold, emotionless.
The man threw up his hands, trembling. "Please! Don't hurt me! I... I'm just a guest. I was hiding here. I... I'm not one of them!" His voice was a squeak, filled with panic.
Thiago assessed him, his eyes scanning every detail. The man didn't appear to be armed, but twenty years of experience had taught him never to trust appearances. "What are you doing here?"
"I... I was trying to hide. The world... the world has gone crazy! I heard the screams. I saw... I saw the things out there. I just want to survive! Please, help me!" The man begged, his eyes filling with tears.
Sofia, who was standing a little behind Thiago, felt a pang of pity. She was young, and compassion was still a luxury she could afford. She lowered her SIG Sauer P320 pistol slightly, a gesture almost imperceptible.
It was then that the man acted. In a quick, desperate movement, he lunged forward, not to attack Thiago, but to snatch the SIG Sauer P320 pistol from Sofia's hands. His eyes, once filled with fear, now shone with savage determination, a desperate hunger for power, for a fighting chance. He wasn't a zombie, but he was just as dangerous.
Sofia, taken by surprise, let out a muffled scream. The SIG Sauer P320 pistol slipped from her hands, and the man grabbed it, trying to pull it toward him.
But Thiago was faster. Much faster. Before the man could even tighten his grip on the gun, before Sofia could even react, Thiago moved. It wasn't a thought, it wasn't a decision. It was a reflex, an instinct forged over twenty years of relentless survival. His right pistol, the Wilson Combat SFX9, spun in his hand with dizzying speed. In a single, fluid motion, the laser sight, previously aimed at the man, locked onto his forehead.projecting an accurate red dot onto the target. The tactical flashlight built into the gun burst forth,casting an intense beam of light that cut through the darknessThe blue-white beam of light and the red laser dot instantly locked onto Sofia's forehead. Adrenaline flooded her body, her heart pounding, her mind on high alert.
A single shot, muffled by the silencer, and the sound of the body hitting the carpet. The man fell to the floor, his head crushed, his body limp. The SIG Sauer P320 pistol, still in his hands, fell with a dull thud beside him. Thiago's movement was so quick, so precise, so devoid of emotion, it seemed almost supernatural. He had killed the man as if he were crushing an ant, without hesitation, without remorse, without a second of doubt. The man's life had been ended in the blink of an eye, an insignificant footnote in the vast and brutal history of the apocalypse.
A deafening silence fell over the room, broken only by the distant growl of the city and the heavy breathing of the group. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia's faces were pale, their eyes wide with horror. Thiago's parents, his friends' parents, and Hiroshi's family were in shock, their mouths open, their expressions of disbelief and terror. They had witnessed the brutality of the world outside, but the coldness and speed with which Thiago had taken a human life, a life that wasn't that of a monster, struck them with overwhelming force.
Sofia, still trembling, looked at Thiago, her eyes filled with tears and confusion. "Thiago... what... what did you do?" Her voice was a whisper, barely audible.
Thiago didn't take his gaze from the fallen body. His eyes, cold and unwavering, swept over each of their faces, conveying a brutal and undeniable truth. He holstered the pistol, the soft click of metal echoing in the silence.
"It's necessary," Thiago said, his voice calm but filled with icy authority. He wasn't apologizing. He was teaching a lesson. "Not everyone is good at heart. Not everyone wants the best for us. This man... he tried to take Sofia's gun. He would have killed us. He would have killed you to survive. He was a threat. And in a world like this, we can't afford threats in our midst. We can't afford compassion for those who don't deserve it."
He paused, letting the words sink in, watching each person's reactions. "The only ones I trust, the only ones who matter to me, are those with me in this top-floor suite. You. My family. My friends. The rest... the rest, I don't give a damn about their lives. They're a risk. And risks... risks are eliminated. It doesn't matter if they're zombies or humans. The rule is the same. Your survival is my only priority. And to achieve that, I will do whatever it takes. Without hesitation. Without remorse. You need to understand that. You need to accept that. Because if you don't, you won't survive."
The silence returned, heavier now, filled with the brutal truth of Thiago's words. The group's faces were pale, their minds struggling to reconcile the image of the Thiago they knew with the ruthless predator he had become. The innocence had drained from the room, replaced by the harsh reality of the apocalypse. They had seen hell outside, but now, hell had invaded their sanctuary, and the darkest face of humanity had revealed itself before their eyes. Thiago, the leader, the protector, had also become the executioner, and they knew that from that moment on, the line between good and evil would be blurred, and survival would be their only moral compass.