The stairwell landing on the fourth floor was shrouded in oppressive silence, broken only by Yoo-jin's faint, ragged breaths echoing in the emptiness. The thick stench of congealed blood and the foul, musky reek of the giant mutant rat from the night before still clung to their clothes, a nauseating reminder of the horrors they'd endured. The pleas and curses from the professor's family behind the barricade on the sixth floor lingered in the air like toxic dust, irritating the lungs with every inhale. The rift between her and Si-hun had widened, all because of a single loaf of bread.
This building was still theirs... at least for now.
Si-hun ignored her skeptical gaze piercing his back. He scanned the dim surroundings with cold, unblinking eyes. The main stairs leading up to the sixth floor were sealed off from the inside by the professors—heavy furniture piled high, leaving no gaps to squeeze through. To reach Room 612 and claim the pistol they'd traded for, they needed a detour.
"The stairs are blocked," he said, his voice flat, devoid of any emotional ripple, slicing through the heavy silence. "Alternate route."
He led the way to the large glass window at the end of the hallway, prying open the rusted latch with a grating screech that clawed at the ears. Wind rushed in immediately, carrying the scent of rain, faint smoke, and the rotting decay from the corpses littering the city below. Outside was the fire escape—a skeletal iron structure clinging to the wall, swaying lightly in the breeze like a fragile bridge over a chasm of death.
Si-hun tested it first—stepping onto the step, the framework creaking under his weight. Flakes of orange rust peeled off, turning to dust that dusted his hands and his tattered gray hoodie. He climbed out, the drop below plunging four floors to cracked concrete and abandoned cars. Gusts of wind howled through the metal, tugging at his clothes with icy fingers, whistling low and mournful, vibrating through his bones.
Yoo-jin followed, her face ashen as her hands gripped the frame, nails digging into wood until splinters pierced her skin. Climbing up two more floors in her condition—foam brace wrapped around cracked ribs, remnants of her kendo chest protector hanging in tatters—would be pure hell. She hauled herself onto the first rung, pain lancing through her side like a red-hot blade twisting in flesh. Her breath stuttered, catching in her throat. The ladder shook with her weight, as if ready to tear free from the wall at any moment. She glanced down through the grates—vertigo hit like a hammer, her stomach churning at the abyss below.
"Keep calm and don't look down," Si-hun called from above, his voice nearly lost in the wind.
She climbed rung by rung, each movement a war against her body. Her ribs ground together with every reach, the brace squeezing like a vice until breathing felt impossible. Rough rust bit into her palms, drawing blood that mixed with sweat, making her hold slippery and treacherous. A fierce gust slammed into her—the ladder swayed violently, her body smashed against it as the wind tried to rip her loose, roaring in her ears like a beast hungry for flesh. Her heart pounded, drowning out everything but the metal's creak and her gasps. Halfway up, rain began—acidic droplets from polluted clouds, burning her skin like tiny needles, making the iron slicker with a hissing patter. Drops sizzled on rust, releasing a metallic tang that choked her.
Then—movement. From a window on floor 5: A half-zombie protruded, torso decayed to sinew and bone, arms flailing like ragged banners in the storm. It spotted her—groaned a guttural rasp cutting through the gale, hand shooting out with unnatural speed. Claws grazed her ankle—cold, rotten flesh brushing skin, nails scraping boot leather with a scratch that sent shivers up her leg.
"Argh!" she screamed in shock. Kendo instinct kicked in—she kicked back wildly, heel smashing into its jaw with a snap that echoed. But the violent motion twisted her ribs—agony exploded, vision whitening as the world shattered into pain. Her rain-slicked foot slipped from the rung—her body plummeted, one hand losing grip. She dangled, swinging like a pendulum over the void, wind pulling mercilessly.
"Si-hun!" she cried, voice swallowed by the storm.
Si-hun above saw it unfold. No superhuman strength to pull her up one-handed—he was Level 2, just a man with limits. Both falling would end them. No time for hesitation. He yanked a strand of his hair, the sharp tug grounding him amid the chaos.
[Initiate Clone? Cost: 5 Days. Y/N.]
He confirmed. [Pool: 191 Days.]
The clone formed mid-air below Yoo-jin—particles swirling in the rain, flesh knitting fast despite the downpour, materializing in a blur of blue light piercing the drizzle. It grabbed the cable with one hand, metal slick but held firm, and with the other, pushed upward—palm against her boot, shoving her back toward the rung with desperate force. The push was enough—she grabbed hold, fingers slipping but catching, pulling herself secure with a gasp of relief, rain streaming down her face like tears.
But the clone—no footing, hanging precariously in the storm—hands slipped on the slick cable as rain intensified. Rung gave under the unbalanced weight with a metallic snap. It plummeted—scream echoing up the shaft, wind whipping its clothes as it fell, body twisting in freefall like a broken doll. Impact below—a wet crunch that reverberated like thunder in the narrow space, bones shattering on concrete, organs bursting in a spray invisible in the dark, blood pooling in the rain-washed shadows.
Si-hun felt it all—the wind rush during fall, the terror spike in his gut, then the obliteration. Pain tsunami crashed—bones pulverizing in his mind, viscera exploding in hot waves, every nerve firing in agony that made his vision tunnel black. He staggered on his rung, vomiting over the side, bile mixing with rain as it fell into the abyss. The ladder vibrated with his tremors, but he held on, face contorted for a moment before smoothing back to impassive, rain masking the blood trickling from his nose.
Yoo-jin d pulled herself onto the landing, sitting and gasping, rain pounding her. She stared down at the smashed clone—identical to the man above her, now a mangled corpse. Horror widened her eyes. "What... was that? You... you made another you? And it just... died? Fell to save me?"
"Cost," he gasped, wiping his mouth with a sleeve, voice strained but steady as he climbed down to join her. Blood from his nose smeared his face, but he ignored it. "To keep you alive. Move. Before more come."
They reached the sixth-floor ledge. Yoo-jin collapsed against the wall, ribs on fire, breaths shallow. The save—his sacrifice—deepened her fear, a cold knot mixing with reluctant gratitude. Creating life to throw away? Enduring that pain? He was a monster, but one that had just saved her—again.
***
They climbed over the window into the sixth floor's interior. The atmosphere here differed from the lower levels—the hallway to Room 612 teemed with the undead. Dozens of zombies in tattered student uniforms and staff attire shuffled through the dimness, their groans a low, constant hum that vibrated through the floors like a distant earthquake. The air was thick with the musty stench of dust and decay, shadows clinging to corners where light from cracked windows barely penetrated.
Direct charge would be suicide. Yoo-jin was injured; one bad hit, and her ribs would shatter like brittle glass. Si-hun assessed coldly and pulled another strand of his hair. [Initiate Clone? Cost: 5 Days. Y/N.]
The drain hit—chill sweeping through him, vitality siphoned like blood from a vein. Breath hitched for a moment. [Pool: 186 Days.]
The clone formed in the shadows—hair dissolving into particles, flesh knitting silent and swift. Identical down to the blood on his sleeve and the rain-soaked clothes. Obedient, eyes meeting his with blank understanding, a mirror of his own resolve.
Go to the far end of the hall. Break the fire glass. Lure them all. Lock yourself in the bathroom.
The clone nodded. Bolted down the hall in the opposite direction from 612. Zombies turned slowly at first, heads cocking like confused animals, then surged as the clone smashed the alarm case—glass shattering with a sharp crack that pierced the air like a scream. Siren wailed, a high-pitched shriek that grated on nerves, red light flashing in strobes that illuminated the horde's milky eyes and decaying faces in bursts of hellish crimson.
The horde shifted—feet dragging on tile with scraping shuffles, bodies colliding in the rush toward the noise, groans rising to a fever pitch like a chorus of the damned. The mass flowed like a tide pulled by the siren's call, leaving the path to 612 relatively clear.
Split-screen activated in Si-hun's mind: The clone's view overlapped his own, a dual reality that made his head throb faintly with the strain of divided perception. From the clone: Heart pounding in sync with his own, legs pumping as zombies closed in with outstretched arms, claws raking air inches behind. The clone dodged a swipe—cold claws grazing its arm, tearing fabric and skin. Si-hun felt the sting distantly, like a memory of pain surfacing from the depths, a sharp twinge that made his real arm twitch. The clone wove through doorways, leading the pack deeper into the labyrinth of offices, footsteps echoing like thunder in the confined space.
Main view: The corridor emptying, stragglers shambling after the noise with confused moans. They moved stealthily now, Yoo-jin wincing with each step, her pipe ready in case of leftovers. One straggler lingered near a side room—former janitor, mop handle still clutched in rigor mortis fingers, eyes fixed on nothing. She swung her pipe to its knee—metal connecting with a thud, joint buckling like rotten wood. It dropped, groaning in a pitiful rasp. Si-hun stepped in, desk leg crushing the skull with a wet splat, brains oozing black. [Kill Confirmed: +1 Day. Pool: 187 Days.]
Another pair shuffled from a darkened office—former clerks, papers still clutched in decayed hands as if mid-task. Yoo-jin cracked one's arm with her pipe—bone snapping like dry twigs underfoot. Si-hun ended both efficiently, desk leg swinging in precise arcs that splattered ichor on walls in dark patterns. [+1. Pool: 188 Days.][+1. Pool: 189 Days.] The farms were steady ticks, each kill a small victory in the ledger of survival, but the dual vision made it harder—clone's panic bleeding into his calm.
Clone's view intruded more intensely: Door to the bathroom slammed shut, barred with a sink ripped from the wall—porcelain cracking under force, shards scattering like teeth on the tile floor. Thuds against the door—wood buckling under the horde's weight, splintering with cracks that echoed like gunfire in the small space. Zombies poured in through the gaps—first one latched on the clone's leg, teeth sinking into calf muscle with a hot tear. Si-hun felt the bite—sharp, burning rip that made his real leg buckle slightly in the hall, forcing him to lean against a wall for support. The clone fought back—grabbed a toilet lid, bashed heads with ceramic cracks. [+1.][+1.] Guts clawed by another—viscera yanked out in wet ropes, spilling warm and slippery on the floor. Si-hun clutched his stomach in reality, nausea rising like bile from the depths, his face paling but expression blank to hide the torment from Yoo-jin.
"What was that?" Yoo-jin whispered, noticing his stagger. "You okay?"
"Nothing... keep moving," he gritted, swallowing the copper taste in his mouth. The pain was a storm he weathered alone.
The corridor was nearly clear now, the siren's wail fading as batteries died, leaving only distant thuds from the bathroom siege. They reached Room 612: Door unlocked, swinging open with a creak that seemed loud in the sudden quiet, hinges groaning like old bones. Inside: Desks cluttered with papers yellowed from age and exposure, whiteboards smeared with frantic notes in faded marker: "Evacuate immediately." "Stay inside—help coming." "Day 3: No signal from admin." The room told its own story—abandoned in haste, coffee mugs tipped over with stains long dried into rings, chairs knocked aside as if in a rush to flee. A folder on the desk caught his eye: "Project Pandora." He flipped it open—notes on virus origins, lab-induced mutations for "enhanced resilience." Diagrams of serums, failed trials with subjects showing "rapid adaptation—agility increased, but aggression uncontrollable." Lore drops that made his pulse quicken: The university wasn't just a victim; it was ground zero, experiments gone wrong unleashing the apocalypse on a controlled scale that spiraled out of hand. He pocketed the folder—potential for system synergies later, perhaps recipes or insights to exploit weaknesses in mutants.
The left desk as promised. Si-hun lifted the coaster—key underneath, tarnished but functional, cold metal biting his fingers. Bottom right drawer. Click. Opened with a soft scrape that echoed in the tense room.
Inside: Glock 19—compact, heavy in his palm. Cold steel chilled his fingers, matte finish dull under the dim light from the window. He inhaled—faint scent of gun oil, metallic and sharp, like the promise of power waiting to be unleashed. Racked the slide—smooth 'ka-chak' echoed in the room, crisp and final, chambering a round with mechanical precision. Two spare magazines—fifteen rounds each, brass glinting faintly in the low light, plus the one loaded. Thirty total. He felt the weight in his hand, balance perfect, trigger pull smooth under his finger as he tested it dry. Power. Game changer. No more relying on blunt force and close quarters; this was precision death at a distance, a tool that could turn the tide in the horrors below, piercing through flesh where pipes bounced off.
Yoo-jin watched from the door, her pipe lowered. "That's it? The pistol?"
He tucked it into his waistband, the cold metal pressing against his skin like a new ally. Nodded. "And more. The folder—university secrets. Mutations started here. This place was the origin."
As they turned to leave, the file cabinet rattled violently—door burst open with a bang that echoed like a gunshot in the confined space. Zombie lunged from within—security guard, riot gear vest bulky and intact, helmet askew with visor cracked like spiderwebs. Baton dangling from belt, swinging like a pendulum in the chaos. It tackled Yoo-jin from behind with surprising speed for its bulk, the armored body slamming into her like a freight train.
She hit the floor hard—ribs screaming in protest, the impact sending shockwaves through her brace, vision blurring from the sudden, white-hot pain that made stars explode behind her eyes. Pipe clattered away, rolling under a desk with a metallic ring. The zombie pinned her—gear making it heavier, armored vest like a weight press that crushed the air from her lungs. Her earlier swing had bounced off the vest—useless against the reinforced padding, the metal deflecting with a clang that vibrated up her arms. Pain from her side paralyzed her, freezing her response; mind fogged from the morning's moral weight. The child's hand, the pleas—distracting echoes that slowed her instincts just a fraction too long, her body hesitating as if weighed by guilt.
Jaws snapped at her neck—hot breath reeking of rot and decay, foul enough to make her gag, saliva dripping onto her skin like acid.
Si-hun moved fast. Knife thrust—blade bounced off the vest with a clang, skittering from his hand across the floor, lost under furniture. The guard thrashed—arm swinging back, baton clipping Si-hun's shoulder with a thud that sent numbness down his arm. Pain bloomed, but he ignored it. Knife lost. Guard's weight shifted—opening, but brief.
He focused—duplicated the knife. [Duplicate? Target: Kitchen Knife. Cost: 1 Day. Y/N.] Light pulsed briefly in his empty hand, new blade materializing identical, sharp and ready, the blue glow cutting through the room's dimness like a spectral flash. [Pool: 185 Days.] He lunged again—thrust under the chin gap in the helmet, blade finding soft flesh at the unprotected joint. Steel pierced, grated against jawbone with a grinding vibration that traveled up his arm, plunged upward into the brain. Twist—hot blood gushed like a fountain, splattering Yoo-jin's face in warm, coppery sprays that blinded her momentarily, the thick liquid running into her mouth and eyes, tasting of iron and death.
The guard slumped, dead weight collapsing like a sack of wet sand. She shoved it off, gasping, blood in her eyes and mouth, the metallic taste mixing with her own fear and bile.
Si-hun pulled her up. No gentle touch. Grip firm on her arm, steadying her.
She wiped her face with a sleeve, her breaths coming in short, ragged gasps. The adrenaline crashed hard, leaving her trembling like a leaf in the wind.
He didn't console. Voice cold, cutting through the ringing in her ears: "This morning, you were angry I was heartless to that family. But your kindness—your hesitation—just almost killed you."
As he spoke, the link from the clone flared one last time—phantom agony from the bathroom. The clone, trapped, being torn apart in the confined space. Claws raking walls, then flesh. Si-hun's jaw clenched, suppressing the wave—ribs grinding anew in his mind, guts spilling hot and wet. He bit down the pain, face impassive, no flinch visible. But inside, the tsunami hit—bones shattering, organs bursting in vivid detail. A trickle of blood from his nose—side effect of the link's severance—he wiped it away casually with the back of his hand, as if it were sweat.
She met his eyes. Silent, but the horror in her gaze spoke volumes—the blood on his face, the pain he hid. What was he enduring? The clone's scream from the fall still echoed in her ears, a dark symphony of sacrifice.
He tucked the Glock 19 away. [Pool: 198 Days.] The clone's distant kills ticked in as the link severed fully—[Transferred: +1 from trapped zombie bash.][+1.][+1.][+10 total from the massacre, pushing through the door's remains in a final, desperate stand.] Echoed harvests, even in death, rewarding the sacrifice with a grim tally.
"Gun's for necessity only," he said, voice steady despite the internal storm raging like a tempest. "Noise calls death. Get your head straight. We still need the underground armory."
She nodded. But the crack widened, her trust fracturing like the ribs she clutched, the darkness in his eyes reflecting the abyss they'd just escaped.