A faint light tainted the scene. Morning came in uninvited, rays of sunlight invading through the thin curtains.
The room was the same as always, but an alien figure rested there, lying on the bed—a stranger who did not belong.
Ângelo opened his eyes slowly, pushing himself up to sit. Reality took its sweet time to settle in, but when it did… he could only sigh.
"Of course it's not a nightmare." He thought bitterly, looking at the picture facing the wall.
Getting up from the bed, his fingers grasped the knife that lay bluntly on top of the sheets. His eyes ran over the stained blade. It felt heavier now, after taking a life. Lowering it, he walked to the door.
After nearly dying from an unnatural turn of events, some unknown power had pulled him back from the brink, and now he found himself in someone else's house.
Thinking about it all made Ângelo's head throb. In truth, this was the first time he'd had a moment to breathe and assess the situation.
"This is just too much at once, isn't it?..." Ângelo clicked his tongue.
He needed to evaluate everything slowly. After checking the rooms again, he took note of useful resources like food and water. Even more urgent was making sure he was truly alone.
Ângelo moved through each room carefully, inspecting every detail before moving on to the next. Now, he was being extra cautious, avoiding even the faintest noise.
In the end, he returned to the last room. Checking under the bed, he found only a box of photos and some toys. Sitting on top of it with his arms crossed, he pondered. There were decent resources in the house; the food should last at least two weeks, but he still had to check the water supply—or things could get tricky.
The kitchen offered a fair number of tools. The bathroom had some medicine he could use in a pinch. And lastly, the bedroom had clothes close enough to his size.
All in all, this house could make a good base of operations, at least for now.
"I don't know how long I'll be here, but… it'll do. For now. I'm on my own."
Ângelo was lost in thought, but the growl in his stomach broke his focus, pulling a small laugh from his lips.
"I guess food is more important than brainstorming." He mumbled, standing up again.
It actually surprised him how long it had taken for hunger to hit.
In the kitchen, he opened a drawer and grabbed some canned corn. Picking up a can opener, he tore it open. The contents didn't smell great.
Sitting on the floor, Ângelo started eating the cold food. It wasn't good at all, but beggars can't be choosers. He ate directly from the can, gulping it down. Maybe it was just the hunger, but the bad taste didn't bother him.
Soon, the can was empty. Ângelo even let out a deep sigh of contempt as he set it aside.
Resting a hand on his stomach, he looked up at the ceiling. The morning was silent, but he knew it wouldn't stay that way for long. And even though the thought was dreadful… Ângelo knew he had to explore the neighboring buildings.
Yes, the resources here would last for a while, but he couldn't slack off. If he wasted too much time, finding new supplies would only get harder.
So, there was no time to waste.
Getting up, Ângelo started moving. He needed to get a better grasp of his surroundings, and for that, organization was key.
In the parents'—well, "his"—room, he began. First, he opened the cabinet, grabbed a black shirt, and slipped it on. It was still summer, so just the shirt would be enough. He also picked up a dress and ripped it into shreds.
He stuffed the strands of cloth deep into a backpack lying on the floor. Opening a drawer, he noticed a key shining faintly. No time to test it now, but it was probably the house key.
Pocketing it, he moved on to the bathroom. There, he collected some medicine—painkillers and antibiotics. Next stop: the kitchen. He grabbed new knives; the old one had dulled after the last use.
The little bag was nearly full, but one thing was still missing. Looking around, his eyes landed on it.
An unassuming broom.
It was nothing special, just a cleaning tool—but Ângelo saw potential. Grabbing it, he removed its "head" leaving behind a solid pole.
Even unsharpened, it felt more reliable than a knife. In the future, he could turn it into a spear. Not now, without proper tools—but the potential was there.
At first, he tried spinning it, nearly dropping it. He could handle it, but it would take some practice.
With the backpack on and the staff resting on his shoulder, Ângelo walked slowly to the living room, taking a deep breath. The door he had forced open was right there. His first step into a world he no longer knew.
Ângelo didn't feel ready at all.
Making up his mind wasn't the same as being ready. Too many "ifs" hung over the risk he was taking.
A monster could rip him apart. A stray bullet could split his skull.
Taking another deep breath, Ângelo calmed himself. It wasn't like he had a choice. Going out was a necessity. Backing down now would only create more problems later.
"You can do it. It's no big deal. Just face the end of the world head-on. Yeah, what's the worst that can happen?" Ângelo muttered under his breath, laughing at his own grim joke.
Placing his hand on the doorknob, there was no going back. With a click, the door opened, letting him see the outside world for the first time in daylight.
It was hot. The air seemed heavier than usual. Looking up, the sky was clear, as if all pollution had vanished without a trace. Far in the distance, columns of smoke rose—marks of the destruction that had unfolded while he hid away.
Quite a dreadful sight.
Turning back, he closed the door and headed for the front gate. The only thing separating him from the outside world now was the residence's gate.
Taking a deep breath, he gripped it tightly. No turning back now.
The key clicked into place, unlocking the gate. With a heavy push, it opened, revealing the street. Burned-out cars, some torn open, others flipped upside down.
There were only a few bodies, but bloodstains painted the ground.
Letting out the air in his lungs, Ângelo shook his head and forced himself forward. Silence followed every step. It was eerily quiet. He guessed most monsters were more active at night, judging from the noises he'd heard before sleeping.
Now, there was only the faint sound of his shoes against the ground and the distant wind. Nothing else dared to speak.
Ângelo's eyes darted around, taking in what he could. It looked like the start of a residential area—apartments and houses lined the streets, with only sparse bits of commerce in between.
Closing the gate behind him, the lock clicked. At least his "base" would stay somewhat safe.
For now, it seemed calm. But God knew when danger would rise.
His steps quickened as he weaved between cars, taking his time to check inside them. Not too hard, considering most had already been split open like cans of sardines.
Even so, he didn't find much. A lighter, a bottle of water, and two boxes of cigars. Nothing else useful.
Stuffing them into the bag, Ângelo kept moving forward. His eyes locked onto a specific target: a small market between two larger buildings.
It looked humble, yes—but one detail froze him.
The door was wide open.
That made Ângelo anxious. It could mean someone else was around, and he wasn't ready for that. Sure, anything could have opened it, but people were the hardest to deal with.
They were unpredictable—especially when survival was at stake. Worse still, he might encounter another Awakened like himself.
If it was a monster, he could run or fight. If it was empty, he'd just grab whatever was left and leave.
But if it was someone? He wasn't sure.
Approaching the market, he crouched low, shoulder against the wall, makeshift staff in hand.
No sound came from inside. Even focusing his senses, he felt nothing. A good first sign—but not enough.
Peeking around the corner, he scanned carefully. The shelves were almost bare, the place looking thoroughly looted.
Moving inside, Ângelo kept his guard up. The wide-open door made sense now—the lock had been broken clean.
Not taking chances, he searched the market slowly, corridor by corridor. The last place was the staff room, but it too was empty.
Letting out a sigh of relief, Ângelo finally breathed freely. It felt as though a great weight had lifted off his shoulders.
Safe, for now.
He took everything he could carry, though most of it was gone. After all, days had already passed since it began. That was to be expected.
Some food, toilet paper, more bottled water. His backpack was now stuffed full—but luck was on his side. On one of the shelves sat a large camping bag, untouched, like a hidden treasure.
Grateful, Ângelo strapped it on. At least something had been left behind.
Now, he had no reason to stop. He could keep looting the other buildings—for better or worse.