Boyd gave a small nod and stepped closer, like he was officially making the introductions. "Dean," he said, voice steady, "this is Kenny, my deputy. He's the guy who keeps things from falling apart when I can't."
Kenny stuck out his hand, looking friendly even though he had tired circles under his eyes. "How you holding up?"
Dean gripped his hand firmly and shrugged. "Better than I should be."
Kenny tilted his head, studying him like he was trying to figure him out. "You know… out of all the people who've wound up stuck here, you're the one who's adjusted the quickest. Most people freak out. Some don't handle it at all." He pointed down the roadside, where wrecked cars sat like trophies of disaster—one flipped on its roof and another another wrapped around a tree. "Some folks just… lose their shit."
Dean followed his finger, then pointed to his own car parked behind him which was wrecked by the monsters in the dark.
He snorted. "Yeah, well, when you watch a guy rip through your car with his bare hand, reality stops arguing back. Everything else becomes a whole lot easier to believe."
Kenny blinked, then let out a short laugh, shaking his head. "Fair enough. You're lucky to be alive after something like that."
Dean smiled faintly, jerking his thumb toward Boyd. "All thanks to him here."
Boyd gave the smallest nod and went back to scanning the road.
Kenny shoved his hands into his pockets and let out a sharp breath. "Let's head to the diner, grab some food before the day kicks off."
Dean raised a brow. "Food, huh? That's the first thing I've heard here that doesn't sound like a nightmare."
"Don't get used to it," Kenny muttered. "It's about the only normal thing left."
They started walking, boots crunching over the gravel. Dean still feeling a bit surreal, looked at Boyd. "So," he said casually, "you got a job for me? Full honesty—I majored in accounting." He made a face. "Pretty useless out here, I'm guessing."
Kenny spoke with a smile on his face. "Yeah. Nobody here cares about taxes."
Boyd shook his head as he answered Dean's question. "That gets decided after the choosing ceremony."
Dean groaned. "A ceremony? Really? Can't I just skip it and stick with you guys? Colony House doesn't sound like my thing. Communal living? I'd last five minutes before someone tried to strangle me."
Kenny's mouth twitched. "Rules are rules. Every newcomer has to see both sides. It keeps balance. If one group kept all the new people, there'd be trouble. Big trouble."
Dean frowned, then shrugged. "Fair enough. So who's giving me the Colony House tour?"
"Donna," Boyd said flatly. "She runs the place. She'll come this afternoon. Until then, you can stay at my house or with Kenny. It's up to you."
Dean just nodded his head and didn't speak any further as they continued towards the Diner.
It didn't take them long to get there. Once inside, Dean saw that only a few tables were occupied.
The diner smelled like butter, coffee, and something frying in the back—a sharp contrast to the damp, metallic scent of the mist outside. Dean stepped in behind Kenny and Boyd, looking around. The place looked like a postcard version of small-town America: checkered tiles, vinyl booths, a row of stools at the counter. The handful of people inside kept their heads low, eating quick, quiet breakfasts like they were on a timer.
Behind the counter stood a woman in her late fifties, hair pulled neatly into a bun, her apron already dusted with flour. She looked up and her eyes softened when they landed on Kenny, but the curiosity in them lingered when she noticed Dean trailing behind.
"Morning, Ma," Kenny said, stepping closer.
He then turned towards Dean and introduced, "This is my mom, Tian Chen."
Dean nodded respectfully, offering a small smile. "Dean Ross. Pleased to meet you"
A small simile appeared on her face as he nodded in greeting to Dean," Welcome."
She then turned to her son and muttered, "你带了一个新的人来啊? 他看起来很累."
Dean blinked, catching only the tone, not the meaning. Kenny nodded and replied just as smoothly, "他还活着已经是奇迹了, 妈. 他说他什么都能吃. 但你要做点特别的给他."
Dean looked between them, brows raised. "Okay… what are we saying here? You telling her I'm a serial killer or something?"
Kenny smiler faintly, shaking his head. "Relax. My mom likes to make something special for new guests. It's kind of her thing." He paused, tilting his head. "Anything you'd prefer?"
Dean gave a polite shake of his head. "Honestly? Anything would be good. I'm really not a picky eater. Pretty sure I lost that privilege the second I drove into this place."
Kenny still pressed, his voice dry. "C'mon. Everyone's got a favorite."
Dean huffed out a short laugh. "Alright, fine. I wouldn't say no to scrambled eggs."
Kenny turned back to his mother and spoke in their language again, his tone lighter this time, "妈, 他要炒蛋. 简单的就好, 但要特别一点."
Tian's eyes brightened, her face breaking into a wide, enthusiastic smile. "好! 炒蛋!" She bustled toward the back kitchen, already calling instructions to someone unseen.
Dean leaned slightly toward Kenny. "I gotta admit, that sounded way more exciting than just eggs."
Kenny shrugged, deadpan. "That's because you don't know how seriously she takes her little ritual. Trust me, you'll eat it and never look at diner eggs the same way again."
Dean smiled. "Well, good to know I've got at least one thing to look forward to here that doesn't involve monsters ripping cars apart."
From the corner, Sara stepped closer, a stack of plates in her hands. She set them down on a nearby table, then glanced at Dean.
"Welcome," she said, her voice uneasy, like she didn't quite want to open the conversation but felt obligated.
Dean gave her a small nod. "Thanks. Just rolled in the morning. Didn't exactly get the welcome brochure, but I'm piecing it together."
Sara didn't smile. She just gave another quick look at Boyd, then Kenny, before muttering, "It's… not easy here." And with that, she moved off again, busily wiping down another table.
Dean watched her go, then leaned back against the counter, muttering under his breath, "Friendly bunch you've got here."
Kenny's eyes shifted toward her, lingering a moment before he spoke. "Don't take it to heart. This place wears people down. Sara's been stuck here longer than most… it leaves marks you can't always see. So, if she comes off sharp, just… try to understand."
Dean remembered what Sara was going through during the first few episodes and what she was about to do.
He gave Kenny a small nod but stayed quiet. His thoughts shifted to the passive true awareness ability of his. It was always active, like a second sense. Without looking, he could feel everyone within ten meters—the people coming in, Kenny's mom moving around, Sara clearing tables, even the townsfolk sitting in their booths—all of them appearing like points of light in his mind.
What surprised him most was how easy it was and how it didn't tire him out. No weakness, no strain, no ache in his body or mind. It didn't drain his energy or break his focus. It was just there, steady and constant. That thought made him feel relieved—this was something he could rely on all the time without worrying about wearing himself out. In a place like this, it gave him a real edge.
The thought made him smile faintly. For the first time since he arrived, he felt like he had something working in his favor.
He went back to talking with Kenny while the diner carried on around them—oil sizzling, dishes clattering, soft voices filling the room. For a moment, Dean felt a small taste of normal life.
Meanwhile Sara moved from table to table, stacking dirty dishes in her arms. As she passed the counter, her eyes flicked toward Dean—quick and sharp, one narrowing as if she was trying to figure him out. The look only lasted a second, but it made the back of Dean's neck tingle. Then she turned away and slipped into the back.
In the kitchen, Sara dropped the dishes into the sink with a loud clatter. Her hands moved fast and unsteady, almost like she was panicking. She stopped for a moment, listening to the muffled voices coming from the front of the diner, then quickly pushed through another door into the storage room. Inside, shelves of cans and bags of flour filled the dim, shadowy space.
She pressed her back against the door, her chest rising and falling fast. Her eyes darted to the small window high above, as if someone might suddenly look in. For a few seconds, she held her breath. Then her legs gave out, and she slid down the door to the floor.
Her hands trembled as she pulled back her sleeve of the left arm. Her skin was hot, and it felt like something was moving under it. She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming.
Letters slowly appeared on her arm, rough lines glowing faintly as if burned into her skin. The pain grew worse. Her breathing became uneven, her eyes filled with tears, and she bit back a scream as the words finished carving themselves into her flesh.
She forced herself to look down through the pain and read the words cut into her arm:
KILL DEAN.
***
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