CHAPTER 2 — FIRST NIGHT RULES (UNOFFICIAL, PROBABLY WRONG)
Noctis locked the door.
Then he locked it again.
Then he dragged the couch in front of it, because if horror movies had taught him anything, it was that doors were a suggestion, not a rule.
He stood there in the dim apartment, listening.
Breathing.
Counting his heartbeats like some half-remembered meditation technique he'd once learned from a documentary he never finished.
One…
Two…
Three…
A scream echoed from somewhere below.
It ended abruptly.
"…Okay," Noctis whispered. "We're doing this calm. Calm is good. Calm people don't die in the first five minutes."
He moved slowly, deliberately, like the tutorial hadn't ended yet and the game was still judging his inputs.
Kitchen first.
He grabbed everything remotely useful:
– Bottled water
– Canned food
– Matches
– A lighter that barely worked
– A kitchen knife that felt insultingly small
He weighed the knife in his hand.
"This is not a legendary drop," he muttered. "This is a starter weapon with trash scaling."
The screams outside multiplied.
Something heavy hit a car.
Metal screamed.
Noctis flinched.
He forced himself not to look out the window again.
Rule one: information is good, panic is bad.
Rule two: don't stare at the enemy before you're ready.
He checked his phone again.
Dead.
Of course.
"Great," he said. "No minimap. Hardcore realism mode. Whoever designed this is a sadist."
His gamer instincts kept trying to overlay UI where there was none.
No health bar.
No stamina meter.
No quest marker telling him where the fuck to go.
Just his breath, his pulse, and the smell of iron drifting in through the cracks of the windows.
Blood.
The rain had stopped, but it left its mark.
Red streaks clung to glass like dried paint.
He swallowed hard.
"…This is not how The Walking Dead started," he said quietly. "This is how something worse starts."
A crash echoed from the hallway outside his apartment.
Footsteps.
Dragging.
Then a wet, gurgling sound.
Noctis froze.
He crouched behind the couch, knife clenched so tight his hand ached.
A shadow slid under the door.
Something sniffed.
Actually sniffed.
"…Nope," he mouthed.
The handle rattled.
Once.
Twice.
The couch shuddered as something slammed into the door from the outside.
Noctis bit his lip to keep from making a sound.
His mind raced.
Zombies don't usually do that.
That thought scared him more than the noise.
The impact stopped.
Silence.
Five seconds.
Ten.
Then the dragging footsteps moved away.
Noctis stayed still for a full minute before daring to breathe normally again.
"…Okay," he whispered. "New rule. Assume they're not idiots."
He glanced at the notebook sticking out of his bag.
He hesitated.
Then pulled it out.
Blank pages.
He stared at them.
"…This is stupid," he muttered.
Still, he picked up a pen.
DAY 0 — OBSERVATIONS (UNVERIFIED, DO NOT TRUST)
– Hostile entities resemble humans
– Movement patterns are irregular
– Demonstrate problem-solving behavior (door testing)
– Possible heightened senses
He paused.
"…Wow," he said softly. "I'm actually doing this."
He closed the notebook quickly, like it might judge him.
A distant explosion rocked the building.
Lights flickered briefly—then died completely.
The city fell into darkness.
Noctis swore.
"Of course," he said. "The apocalypse waits exactly long enough for dramatic lighting."
Hours passed.
He didn't sleep.
Every sound felt amplified: distant sirens, crashes, screams fading into nothing.
Once, he thought he heard laughter.
He told himself that was impossible.
At some point—maybe midnight, maybe later—he heard a familiar voice through the silence.
"…Noctis?"
His blood turned to ice.
It was coming from the hallway.
It sounded like—
Mael.
"…Noctis, you there, man?"
Noctis stood slowly.
His heart hammered.
His mouth went dry.
"…Mael?" he whispered back before he could stop himself.
The voice brightened instantly.
"Yeah! Dude, thank God. My phone died and I—"
Noctis's grip tightened on the knife.
Something was wrong.
Mael always swore more.
"—I think something's happening outside," the voice continued. "You should open the door. We need to stick together."
Noctis took a step back.
His mind replayed the earlier sniffing.
The testing of the door.
"…Say it," Noctis said quietly.
"Huh?"
"Say the thing," Noctis whispered. "The stupid thing you always say when I die first."
There was a pause.
Too long.
"…Come on, man," the voice said. "Now's not the time for jokes."
Noctis's stomach dropped.
Mael would have said it instantly.
The voice outside shifted.
It tried again, softer this time.
"Please," it said. "I'm scared."
The tone was perfect.
Too perfect.
Noctis backed away from the door slowly.
"…That's a hell no," he breathed. "That's a never again."
The voice outside changed.
Its pitch warped.
"Open," it said.
Then it screamed.
The sound wasn't human.
It scraped against his skull like nails on glass.
Noctis clamped his hands over his ears and sank to the floor, breathing hard.
When the noise stopped, he didn't move.
He didn't cry.
He didn't scream.
He just stared at the wall, shaking.
"…Okay," he said hoarsely after a long time. "New rule."
He opened the notebook again with trembling hands.
RULE #1 (ABSOLUTE)
Do not trust voices. Ever.
He underlined it twice.
The night dragged on.
Eventually, exhaustion won.
He dozed sitting up, knife still in hand.
When he woke, the room felt… different.
Not lighter.
Just… still.
He checked the time.
His phone flickered on for half a second before dying again.
Sunrise.
Day 1.
He exhaled shakily.
"…I survived the first night," he murmured. "Achievement unlocked."
That was when the shadows moved.
The room darkened—not naturally, but deliberately.
A shape peeled itself away from the corner of the room.
Tall.
Featureless.
Watching.
Noctis's breath caught.
The shadow raised two hands.
In one palm lay something blue.
In the other—red.
The shadow spoke, its voice calm, neutral, almost bored.
"Choose."
Noctis stared.
"…Oh," he said faintly. "You have got to be shitting me."