Thiago's group, now joined by John, Sarah, and little Lily, continued their descent through the hotel floors, a journey that grew increasingly dark and perilous. The dawn of the second day of cleanup brought with it an even denser layer of desolation and danger. The sky, now an oppressive gray, seemed to weep ash over the city, and the smell of smoke and decay was almost unbearable, seeping through even the tiniest cracks. The distant growl of the city outside was a constant chorus of terror, a relentless reminder of the reigning anarchy. Thiago, his two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols drawn, the laser dots dancing in the darkness of the corridors, led the group to the 47th floor. With each step, the once-luxurious carpet seemed dirtier, stickier, stained with a dark mixture of dried blood and debris.
The descent to the lower floors was a descent into hell. The 47th floor was a maze of broken doors, ransacked rooms, and bodies. Not just zombies, but human bodies as well, many of them bearing signs of a struggle, their throats ripped open, their limbs mangled, their expressions frozen in a silent scream of terror. The smell of death was overpowering, a sweet, putrid aroma that clung to skin and clothing. Natural light was almost nonexistent, forcing the group to rely on the tactical flashlights on their weapons, beams of light dancing in the darkness, revealing scenes of horror.
They encountered more zombies, and the evolution was evident. Not just the White Level 0s and Pale Green Level 1s, but an alarming number of Moss Green Level 2s, faster, more aggressive, their crystals pulsing with a more intense glow. And, to the group's surprise and horror, the first Greenish Yellow Level 3s began to appear. These were more than mere shambling creatures; they were agile creatures, with a more guttural growl and a ferocity that made them true predators. Their crystals pulsed with a greenish-yellow glow, a warning of their growing power.
For the Level 0 and Level 1 zombies, Thiago used his pistols with brutal efficiency, his shots silent and precise, the laser dots fixed on the undead's foreheads. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia, though still with a hint of fear in their eyes, were honing their skills, their movements more coordinated, their shots more accurate, focusing their attention on the lower-level zombies. However, when the Moss Green Level 2s and the Greenish Yellow Level 3s appeared, Thiago quickly switched to his M4A1 rifle, the weapon with the largest caliber and firepower, knowing that pistols would be ineffective against the resistance of these more evolved enemies. With a fluid, practiced movement, he swapped the 5.56mm ammunition drum for a 7.62mm one, the dry click of metal echoing in the tense silence, a sign of his readiness to face the growing threat. He picked them off with the same brutal efficiency, his shots silent and precise, the laser dots fixed on the undead's foreheads, but with each kill, he felt the energy of combat, the need to always be one step ahead.
Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia, though still with a hint of fear in their eyes, were honing their skills, their movements more coordinated, their shots more accurate. They were becoming killing machines, shaped by necessity and Thiago's relentless philosophy. With each zombie killed, each crystal extracted, they felt the transformation, the adaptation to a world that did not forgive weakness.
But the zombies were only part of the threat. With each floor they descended, the presence of other survivors became more evident, and more dangerous. Distant screams, sounds of fighting, and occasionally, the sight of human figures moving stealthily through the corridors, their eyes wild, hungry not for flesh, but for power, for a chance to survive. Humanity, in its desperation, was showing its darkest side.
On the 46th floor, Thiago's team encountered a scene of carnage even more brutal than the previous one. The corridor was littered with zombie and human bodies, mixed together in a grotesque pile. The smell of fresh blood was strong, and the sound of growls and distant gunshots echoed off the walls. Amidst the chaos, a group of approximately fifteen people, men and women, were fighting a horde of Level 2 Moss Green zombies and some Level 3 Yellow-Green zombies. They were armed with improvised knives, iron bars, and some even small-caliber firearms, their movements uncoordinated, their panic evident.
When they saw Thiago's group, with their modern firearms and tactical vests, their eyes widened. Not with fear of the zombies, but with greed. In the blink of an eye, hesitation turned to aggression. One of the men, a large, muscular man with a rusty hunting rifle in his hands, shouted, his voice hoarse with desperation and rage: "Guns! They have guns! Take their guns! They won't need them for long!"
The group of survivors surged forward, a pack of ravenous wolves, their eyes fixed on the pistols held by Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia, and on Thiago's two pistols. This wasn't a zombie attack, but a human one. And it was just as dangerous.
Thiago acted with lightning speed. His two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols rose in sync, their laser sights dancing across the attackers' faces. He didn't hesitate. There was no room for compassion. There was no time for negotiation. The lesson he had taught Sofia resonated in his mind:Shoot first.
The shots, muffled by silencers, were rapid and accurate. Thiago aimed for heads, for center of mass, for any point that could quickly neutralize the threat. One man fell, then another, and another. When the bullet struck a human, blood gushed, and the brain matter, with its familiar color and texture, exploded, a visceral spectacle of death. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia, though still trembling, followed Thiago's example, their SIG Sauer P320 pistols firing with newfound determination. Sofia, with her pistol, aimed with surprising precision, her eyes fixed on the targets, Thiago's lesson etched in her mind.
The scene was brutal. Within seconds, the hallway was littered with bodies—not zombies, but humans. Nearly ten people, who had been alive moments before, now lay on the ground, their lives ended by silent bullets. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the heavy breathing of Thiago's group and the distant growl of the city.
Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia's faces were pale, but this time, it wasn't just horror. There was a somber acceptance, an understanding of the harsh reality of Thiago's words. They had seen it with their own eyes. Not everyone was good at heart. Not everyone had their best interests at heart. And compassion, in a world like this, was a luxury they couldn't afford.
Thiago looked at the group, his eyes cold and unwavering. "I warned you," he said, his voice low but carrying an authority that was now unquestionable. "In a world like this, it's kill or be killed. And I choose to kill so that you may live." He gestured to the bodies. "Take their weapons. And their supplies. Don't waste anything."
The women, who had returned with empty backpacks, watched the scene with shocked expressions, but quickly composed themselves. Harumi, with her usual calm, began collecting useful items from the bodies, while Akemi and Yumi helped her, their movements tense but efficient. Thiago's group was becoming a survival machine, forged in the fires of the apocalypse.
The cleanup continued, floor by floor. The 45th floor was even darker. The electricity had failed in some sections, and the darkness was almost total, forcing them to constantly use their tactical flashlights. The smell of decay was suffocating, and the silence, broken only by their own footsteps and the distant growl of the city, was oppressive. They encountered more zombies, including a growing number of Level 3 Greenish Yellows and, to the group's horror, the first Level 4 Burnt Yellows. These were relentless predators, their movements swift and coordinated, their growls guttural, their crystals pulsing with a burnt yellow light, a warning of their growing power. Thiago, always with his rifle ready for these more resilient enemies, picked them off with the same brutal efficiency, his shots silent and precise, the laser dots fixed on the foreheads of the undead. But with each kill, he felt the energy of combat, the need to always be one step ahead.
Thiago's team, though exhausted, continued to advance. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia were becoming proficient marksmen against the lower-level zombies, their movements fluid, their shots accurate, always ready to cover Thiago when the more dangerous enemies appeared. John and Sarah, though not directly involved in the combat, helped gather supplies and barricade the rooms, their eyes fixed on Thiago, a mixture of fear and gratitude. Little Lily, in Sarah's arms, slept most of the time, oblivious to the hell that surrounded her.
It was in one of the most distant rooms on the 45th floor, a room that seemed untouched by the chaos, that they encountered something unexpected. The door was ajar, and a soft, almost murmuring sound came from inside. Thiago, with both pistols drawn, the laser dots dancing in the darkness, slowly opened the door. The light from the tactical flashlight on his pistol cut through the gloom, revealing a scene that seemed to belong to another world.
The room was a family suite, with a living room and a separate bedroom. In the center of the room, huddled behind an overturned sofa, were a man and a woman in their early thirties, their faces pale and covered in sweat, their eyes wide with fear. In the woman's arms, a baby, wrapped in a blanket, slept soundly, oblivious to the inferno surrounding him. They were not armed. There was no sign of aggression in their eyes, only despair and exhaustion.
Thiago stopped, his pistols still pointed at them, but the laser sights were off. A tense silence hung in the air, broken only by the couple's heavy breathing and the distant growl of the city. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia took their positions, their weapons ready, but their eyes, for the first time in a long time, showed a hint of compassion.
"Who are you?" Thiago asked, his voice low, lacking its usual coldness, but still with a hint of caution.
The man raised his hands, shaking. "Please! Don't hurt us! I... I'm John. And this is my wife, Sarah. And this is our daughter, Lily. We... we've been hiding here from the beginning. We have no weapons. We're not a threat. We just want to survive." His voice was a whisper, thick with desperation and exhaustion.
Thiago assessed them, his eyes scrutinizing every detail. They looked exhausted, but not malnourished. They had probably fed on supplies from the room's minibar. The baby slept peacefully, his innocent face a stark contrast to the brutality of the world. Thiago felt a flicker of something he hadn't felt in a long time. A twinge of his former humanity.
He slowly lowered his pistols, holstering them. "Are you alone?"
"Yes," Sarah replied, her voice shaking. "We... we tried to call the family, but the lines went down. We don't know what's happening outside. We only hear the screams. And the sounds... the terrible sounds."
Thiago looked at Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia. They nodded, a silent understanding passing between them. This was a different kind of survivor. Not a threat, but a victim.
"Do you have food? Water?" Thiago asked.
John shook his head. "Almost nothing. Just a few bottles of water from the minibar. And a few packets of cookies. It lasted until now. But we're out of everything."
Thiago turned to Sofia. "Sofia, get a bottle of water and some energy bars. And a pack of cookies."
Sofia nodded, her movements quick and efficient. She grabbed the items from her supply backpack and handed them to Thiago. He approached the couple, holding out the water and food.
"Here," Thiago said, his voice softer now. "Drink and eat. Slowly. Not all at once."
John and Sarah stared at the water and food with wide eyes, as if it were treasure. They took the items with trembling hands, the gratitude on their faces almost palpable. John opened the water bottle and took a small sip, his eyes filling with tears. Sarah carefully gave the baby some water, who woke up and began drinking greedily.
"Thank you," John murmured, his voice breaking. "God, thank you so much. You... you're angels."
Thiago felt uncomfortable with the word "angels." He was anything but an angel. But the sight of the family, the baby's vulnerability, did something to his hardened heart. He couldn't save them all, but he could save some. And maybe, just maybe, this small action could bring a little light into the darkness surrounding them.
"Don't worry," Thiago said, his voice firm. "You're safe now. For now. We're clearing this hotel. We'll take you upstairs to our floor. It's safe there. But you need to follow our rules. Don't make noise. Don't draw attention. And don't hesitate if the threat appears."
John and Sarah nodded, their eyes filled with hope. Thiago felt the weight of responsibility, but also an unwavering determination. The night had been long, and the dawn had brought hell. But this time, they would be ready. And they wouldn't be alone. The race against time had reached its climax, and the next few hours would determine their fate. The hotel, once a refuge, was now a training camp, and the family, once just a group of loved ones, was about to become a survival unit, forged in the fires of the apocalypse. The clearing of the floors would continue; with each zombie killed, each crystal mined, each supply gathered, each confrontation with other survivors, Thiago's team became more efficient, more brutal, more adapted to the new reality. And now, with the addition of a new family, hope, once a flickering flame, was gaining strength.
With each floor cleared, the pile of supplies in the top-floor suites grew, a silent testament to the group's determination. Food, water, medicine, ammunition—everything was carefully organized, each item a promise of survival. The fatigue was immense, but adrenaline kept them going. Thiago knew that time was a relentless enemy, and that every second counted. Cleaning the hotel was more than a search for resources; it was training, a way to mold his family and friends into warriors, to prepare them for what was to come.
By the end of the day, the group had successfully cleared and barricaded three more floors, from the 47th to the 45th. The total number of safe floors was now five (49th, 48th, 47th, 46th, and 45th). The zombie count was in the hundreds, and the bags of crystals were heavy with collected energy. The human deaths, though shocking, had served as a brutal lesson, seared into the minds of every member of the group. Night was falling over New York, but inside the hotel, a new order was being established, one forged in chaos and the determination of a man who had lived through hell and returned to rewrite the future. They would be ready.