The room on the 45th floor where John, Sarah, and little Lily had hidden became a transition point, a brief respite of humanity amidst the inferno. Thiago, bottle of water and cookies in hand, watched the relief in the couple's eyes, little Lily drinking greedily, her innocent face a stark contrast to the brutal world. A twinge of his former humanity, a nearly forgotten flicker, rekindled in his hardened heart. He couldn't save everyone, but he could save some.
"Don't worry," Thiago said, his voice softer but still 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 a fragile but real hope. Thiago turned to Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia, who were watching the scene with a mixture of relief and silent understanding. "Lucas, Gabriel, Sofia, go upstairs with them," Thiago instructed, his voice returning to a commanding tone. "Take John, Sarah, and little Lily to our floor. Make sure they're comfortable and safe. Harumi and Yumi can help get them settled. Explain the basic rules of our perimeter. And come back to meet us here. We need to continue cleaning."
Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia nodded, their movements quick and efficient. Lucas, with his protective stance, extended his hand to John, who shook it gratefully. Gabriel, with his practical mind, was already analyzing the best route to climb, ensuring the family's safety. Sofia, nimbly, led the way, her eyes scanning the hallway. John, with little Lily in his arms, and Sarah at his side, followed Thiago's three friends, their steps hurried but filled with new hope. The sight of the little family walking away, Lily's innocence contrasting with the darkness of the hallway, was a vivid reminder of what they were up against.
John, Sarah, and Lily's ascent to the 49th floor was a tense relief. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia guided them cautiously, their eyes and ears alert for any sound, any movement. The silence of the now-cleared floors was a comfort, but their minds were still on high alert. When they reached the presidential suite, the atmosphere was relatively calm, a welcome contrast to the chaos outside. Harumi and Yumi, seeing the new family, approached with welcoming expressions. Little Lily, upon being handed to Harumi, let out a small sigh of contentment, her sleeping face a balm to their weary souls.
"Welcome," Harumi said softly, her voice calm and comforting, as Sarah sat down, exhausted but relieved. "You're safe here. For now. Rest. We'll take care of the little one." Yumi brought water and more food to John and Sarah, who ate slowly, their eyes fixed on their daughter, a silent gratitude on their faces. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia explained the perimeter rules, the importance of silence, the need to remain within the suites. With each word, the reality of the situation became clearer to John and Sarah, but the safety of the environment and the presence of the other families were a comfort.
Meanwhile, on the 45th floor, Thiago awaited his friends' return. He took the time to check his arsenal, cleaning his M4A1 rifle, his two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols, and his katana. The smell of lubricating oil and polished metal filled the air, a familiar aroma that calmed him. He knew the next phase of the cleanup would be even more challenging. The zombies would be more evolved, and encounters with other survivors would be more frequent and dangerous.
When Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia returned, their faces showed weariness, but also a new determination. They had accomplished their mission. Thiago nodded, a silent acknowledgment of their effort. "Okay," he said, his voice firm. "Now it's the adults' turn to learn."
He gathered Lucas's parents, Gabriel and Sofia, and Hiroshi and Kenji. Harumi and Yumi, though they wouldn't be directly participating in the fight, were attentive, understanding the importance of training. The men were tense, but the urgency in Thiago's eyes was contagious.
"You've already had a basic introduction," Thiago began, his voice serious. "But now, let's take it to the next level. There's no more time for hesitation. No more time for fear. From now on, each of you is a fighter. The lives of all of us depend on your ability to fight."
Thiago picked up the M4A1 rifle, its weight familiar in his hands. "For Level 0 and Level 1 zombies, pistols are effective," he explained, gesturing to the SIG Sauer P320 pistols the men carried. "But as they evolve, their flesh becomes denser, their bones tougher. Level 2 Moss Green and Level 3 Yellow-Green zombies won't be stopped by regular pistol bullets. For those, we need firepower. We need the rifle." He paused, looking at Thiago's MP5s. "However, the MP5, even using pistol ammunition, has a longer barrel and a firing mechanism that gives the bullet greater velocity and range. This makes it more effective against Level 2 zombies, allowing it to penetrate the density of flesh and bone that regular pistols cannot. But for Level 3 and above, the rifle is essential." He held the M4A1 firmly, his voice serious. "This weapon is a powerful weapon, and with 5.56mm ammunition, it can kill even Level 3 zombies. For Level 4 zombies and above, 7.62mm ammunition is essential. Be careful, it has a strong recoil, so hold it firmly and brace for impact." He then demonstrated the quick exchange of the 5.56mm ammunition drum for a 7.62mm ammunition drum in the M4A1 rifle. "In combat, every second counts. There's no time to hesitate. Changing drums needs to be fluid, instinctive." He inserted the new drum with a sharp click, the sound echoing in the tense silence of the suite. "And for reloading pistol clips, practice makes perfect. Insert the rounds one by one, pushing them down and back until they fit firmly. Do this in the heat of the moment, under pressure. Your lives will depend on it."
Thiago then spoke about zombie anatomy. "The head is the only weak point. But zombie brain matter... it's different. When you hit a zombie in the head, you'll see that the brain matter is dark, almost black, with a gelatinous consistency. It's a clear sign that the creature is dead. But if it's a human... the blood will be bright red, and the brain matter will have the color and texture you know. There's no room for error. There's no room for pity. It's kill or be killed."
The adults' faces were pale, but the seriousness in Thiago's eyes was unwavering. They knew this wasn't a theoretical lesson. It was a matter of life and death. Thiago led them to a more secluded area of the suite, where they could practice reloading and aiming without attracting attention. He made them repeat the gripping, aiming, and clip-changing movements dozens of times, until the movements began to become more fluid, more instinctive. Sweat dripped down their faces, but their determination was palpable.
"We're going up to the 25th floor today," Thiago declared, his voice firm as the sun began to tilt westward, tinting the sky a murky red. "We need to clear as many floors as possible. Every floor secured is another step toward our survival."
The descent through the lower floors was an ordeal. From the 44th floor, where the electricity was already failing in many sections, to the 25th, the darkness was almost total, and the smell of decay was suffocating. The distant growl of the city, a constant chorus of terror, seemed to intensify with each step, a relentless reminder of the anarchy that reigned outside. Thiago led the formation, his two Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols drawn, the laser dots dancing in the darkness, his predatory stance unwavering. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia followed closely, their SIG Sauer P320 pistols ready, their eyes scanning the shadows, each more accustomed to the brutality of this new world. The parents, Hiroshi and Kenji, now with their own weapons, followed in a tight formation, their movements more confident, their eyes alert.
Thiago's father and Lucas's father were already wielding theirEternal Attacker FX-3 Shotguns, 12GA, 24" - Pro Hunters, with silencers, their hands firm around the forend and grip, feeling the familiar weight of the weapon. Gabriel's father and Sofia's father held theirHatsan Escort DF12 TS Semi-Automatic Shotguns Cal. 12GA 24" - 10 Shots, also with silencers, their postures more erect, the readiness evident in their eyes. Thiago watched them, satisfied to see them with the weapons he had provided, ready for combat.
With each door they opened, the scene repeated itself, but with increasing intensity. They encountered more zombies, and the evolution was evident. Not just the White Level 0 and Pale Green Level 1, 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 horror, the Greenish Yellow Level 3 and the first Burnt Yellow Level 4 began to appear more frequently. 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.
For the Level 0 and Level 1 zombies, Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia used their pistols with brutal efficiency, their shots silent and precise, the laser dots fixed on the undead's foreheads. When the bullet hit, the dark, almost black brain matter exploded, an unmistakable sign of death. The parents, with their shotguns, also focused on the lower-level zombies, the muffled sound of 12GA rounds echoing through the hallways, the force of the recoil absorbed by their shoulders, the black brain matter splattering against the walls. Thiago, however, was the only one to face the Level 2, Level 3, and Level 4. With a fluid, practiced movement, he switched from a 5.56mm round to a 7.62mm round in his M4A1 rifle, the dry click of metal echoing in the tense silence. 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.
Thiago's team, though exhausted, continued to advance. His fathers, Hiroshi and Kenji, were becoming proficient marksmen, their movements fluid, their shots accurate against the lower-level zombies, always ready to cover Thiago when the more dangerous enemies appeared. They learned to change clips quickly, to aim accurately, to not hesitate. With each zombie killed, with each crystal extracted, they felt the transformation, the adaptation to a world that did not forgive weakness.
But zombies weren't the only 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 40th floor, Thiago's team encountered a group of about ten people. They were men and women, some armed with makeshift knives, others with iron bars, and some even with antique revolvers. Their eyes were wild, hungry, not for meat, but for power, for a chance to survive. They were ransacking rooms, their movements hurried and uncoordinated, but their intent was clear.
When they saw Thiago's group, with their modern firearms and tactical vests, their eyes widened. Not from fear of the zombies, but from greed. In the blink of an eye, hesitation turned to aggression. One of the men, a large, muscular man with a rusty revolver 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 cleanup continued, floor by floor. The 35th floor was a maze of darkness and danger. The electricity had completely failed, and the smell of decay was suffocating. 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, slaughtered them 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. His fathers, Hiroshi and Kenji, were becoming proficient marksmen, their movements fluid, their shots accurate against the lower-level zombies, always ready to cover Thiago when the more dangerous enemies appeared. They learned to change clips quickly, to aim accurately, to not hesitate. With each zombie killed, with each crystal extracted, they felt the transformation, the adaptation to a world that did not forgive weakness.
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 twenty-two more floors, from the 44th to the 25th. The total number of safe floors now stood at twenty-five. 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.