The glass was cold against Ethan's forehead. He didn't even realize how long he'd been leaning there until his neck started to ache.
Outside his apartment window, the city was a living nightmare. Smoke smeared the skyline in jagged black strokes. Sirens wailed somewhere far off, their sound rising and falling like the cries of wounded animals.
Below, the streets were chaos.
Someone was firing a gun from the roof of a nearby store, the muzzle flash flaring in the dark. A man in torn business clothes sprinted past, one shoe missing, his arms pumping wildly as if speed alone could keep the horrors behind him at bay.
It had only been a day. Just twenty-four hours since the news first mentioned strange behavior in certain people. Back then it had sounded like isolated incidents, maybe some new drug, maybe rabies. By evening, the streets were full of attackers people, animals, things in between all moving with the same erratic hunger.
And the parasites. God, the parasites.
Ethan closed his eyes, but it didn't help. The image was burned into his mind: things like giant leeches, slick and pulsing, squirming toward any living thing. They didn't just latch on they pushed inside, disappearing under skin like worms in soil.
The military had rolled in fast. Armored trucks. Soldiers shouting orders. Gunfire rattling in bursts. The police tried to hold intersections. But Ethan could see the truth from his tenth-floor apartment the defense lines were folding. The enemy wasn't just outside. It was inside people.
The lights had gone out twelve hours ago. No electricity. No elevators. Even the tap water was starting to cough out in weak, rust-colored spurts. His phone showed one bar of signal, but no calls went through. The internet was dead.
He pressed his palms to the window ledge and exhaled slowly.
"Okay," he muttered to himself, voice rough from hours of silence. "Think, Ethan. You're safe for now. Food for maybe three days. Don't open the door. Don't---"
That was when the voice came.
Not from outside. Not from his phone. Not from anywhere he could place.
> "Shelter them for twenty-four hours. Earn your draw."
Ethan froze.
"What?" He turned away from the window, scanning the room like someone might be standing there. "Who said that?"
Silence.
He swallowed and rubbed his eyes. "Jesus, I'm going crazy already."
Then the voice returned calm, measured, as if reciting terms of a contract:
> "For every person who willingly spends twenty-four hours under your roof, you will receive a draw. Seventy percent chance: basic food necessities. twenty-one percent: serum boost. four percent: armor boost. four percent: weapon. one percent: loyal unit"
Ethan's mouth went dry.
"...Right," he said slowly, half to himself. "Because random brain voices in the middle of an alien parasite apocalypse are totally normal."
The voice didn't answer this time.
He stood there for a long moment, staring at the chipped paint on his front door. Beyond it, the hallway was dark. Quiet. For now.
"Shelter them," he repeated under his breath. "As in… let people in? Strangers? Into my apartment? For a whole day?"
His laugh came out short and humorless. "Yeah, sure. In case you missed it, mysterious brain voice, people out there are trying to eat each other. And you want me to play hotel?"
Still no reply.
He sat heavily on the edge of his bed, running both hands through his hair.
It had to be stress. Sleep deprivation. He'd barely eaten since yesterday morning. Hell, maybe he'd hit his head and didn't remember it. But part of him—the small, desperate part—couldn't stop thinking about the words food, serum boost, unique weapon, loyal unit.
Food. His stomach twisted.
Weapon. He had a kitchen knife. That was it.
Loyal unit. He didn't know what that even meant, but right now, the idea of not being alone made something deep in his chest ache.
Ethan froze mid-thought when the faint sound came wood scraping against tile.
At first, he assumed it was nothing unusual. People barricading themselves in had become the soundtrack of the apocalypse desperate thuds of chairs and tables slammed against doors, nails hammered into frames, the occasional sob or whispered prayer seeping through the walls.
But this sounded… different.
It was slower, deliberate. A drag, a pause, then another drag. Not the frantic shove of furniture being stacked, but the careful scrape of something being pulled away.
Ethan's brow furrowed. His mind automatically supplied the image: someone removing their barricade.
His stomach tightened.
He tried to ignore it, but the system's words pressed at the back of his mind like a hand between his shoulder blades, urging him forward. Shelter them for twenty-four hours. Earn your draw.
He muttered a curse under his breath. This was insane. Walking into someone else's business now was the fastest way to end up dead or worse. But the temptation hooked deep, pulling harder than his survival instinct wanted to admit.
"...Fuck it," he whispered, the word tasting bitter.
He stood and reached for the kitchen counter. The knife lay there where he'd left it, its wooden handle warm from the afternoon heat trapped in the room. He gripped it tight, knuckles whitening.
The hallway beyond his door was still and dark when he eased the chain free and cracked it open. The building's emergency lights had long since gone out, leaving only the faint spill of dying daylight from the far end of the corridor.
Movement caught his eye.
The door to the apartment next to his was open just a sliver, and a man was slipping through carefully, quietly. In one hand, he held a knife. The other rested lightly against the doorframe, like he was ready to slam it shut at the first sign of trouble.
Ethan's brain registered his face before anything else.
Robert.
They weren't friends. They weren't enemies. Just… neighbors. A few polite nods in the elevator over the years, a couple of awkward conversations about package deliveries, the kind of surface-level acquaintance that meant nothing until the world went to hell.
Robert saw him immediately. His body stilled, his gaze flicking to the knife in Ethan's grip before climbing back to his face. The air between them felt taut, a silent weighing of threat versus desperation.
"…Do you have any food?" Robert asked finally, his voice low, as if even sound might draw the monsters upstairs. "Even… even just a little?"
Ethan's mind raced. The system's words felt suddenly louder, as if the voice was standing right behind him. For every person who willingly spends twenty-four hours under your roof…
This was it. A chance.
"I have some," Ethan said carefully. "But…" He let the pause hang, forcing Robert to meet his eyes. "You and your family stay in my apartment."
Robert's brows pinched together. "Me and my family?"
"Yes."
Robert hesitated. "Why?"
Ethan could've told him the truth, about the voice, the rewards, the percentages. But it would've sounded insane, and insanity was the last thing you wanted to project right now. So he kept it simple.
"There's safety in numbers," he said flatly. "And you'll get food."
Robert's lips pressed into a thin line. His gaze darted briefly to the shadows at the far end of the hall, then back to Ethan. A long moment passed where neither spoke. Finally, Robert gave a small, reluctant nod.
"…I'll talk to them," he said. "See if they'll come."
"You should," Ethan replied quietly. "Soon."
Robert lingered for half a breath longer, as if trying to read something in Ethan's face. Then he slipped back inside, the door clicking softly shut.
Ethan remained in the doorway for several seconds, the weight of what he'd just set in motion pressing down on him.
Ethan thought this was risky insanely risky but the image of the system's reward wheel kept flashing behind his eyes like a slot machine he couldn't stop pulling. If this worked… if it was real… it might be the difference between starving in three days or lasting through whatever this apocalypse became.
And maybe just maybe it wasn't only about the rewards. Maybe it was about not being alone when the city outside was turning into a feeding ground.
Robert slipped inside his own apartment, closing the door behind him. His wife, Maria, looked up immediately from where she was sitting on the couch, her arms wrapped tightly around their son. Jason's eyes were wide, glassy, tracking his father like a shadow. Talia sat on the floor near the window, her knees drawn up, her face pale in the half-light.
---
"That was fast," Maria said, her voice taut. "Where'd you go?"
Robert set the knife on the counter. "Next door. Ethan's still in his place."
Maria blinked. "Ethan?"
"Our neighbor," Robert reminded her. "Tall guy, quiet. We've talked a few times."
Maria's brow furrowed. "And?"
Robert exhaled. "He has food. Enough for us to eat. But…" He paused, knowing how this would sound. "We have to stay in his apartment. All of us. For at least a day."
Jason tilted his head, confused. Talia's eyes narrowed slightly.
Maria's voice hardened. "Stay there? With him? Why?"
"He says there's safety in numbers," Robert replied, trying to keep his tone even. "And in exchange, we eat."
Maria shook her head. "Can we even trust him? I mean, we barely know him. This this is exactly when people take advantage of each other."
Robert's jaw tightened. "I know. We'll be cautious. But we need the food, Maria. You know we do. We can't live off half a bag of crackers and two cans of beans."
She looked away, lips pressed thin, weighing the unspoken risks. "And you think he's safe?"
"I think he's as safe as anyone left in this building," Robert said. "Besides…" He glanced at Jason. "We can't go outside for food. Not anymore."
Maria's eyes softened just enough for the fight to drain from her shoulders. "Fine," she muttered. "But we stay together. Always."
Robert nodded. "Start packing what we need. Blankets, clothes, whatever's small enough to carry. We don't know how long we'll be there."
As Maria began gathering their things, Robert stepped back into the hallway and knocked gently on Ethan's door.
It opened after a few seconds, and Ethan's wary eyes met his.
"They agreed," Robert said simply.
A flicker of something relief, maybe crossed Ethan's face. "Good. Let's try to get along. Also…" His voice dropped slightly. "No one goes into my room. I sleep there. You can use the living room."
Robert gave a short nod. "Sure."
---
The move was quick but quiet, the four of them slipping into Ethan's apartment like refugees sneaking over a border. The air inside felt warmer, heavier somehow. The blinds were half-closed, keeping the world out but also making the room feel smaller.
Ethan tried for casual conversation as they unpacked. "Maria, right? And Jason. And Talia."
Maria gave a polite nod. Jason clung to her side, barely glancing at him. Talia's gaze was sharper, evaluating him the way a cat sizes up a stranger.
"Yeah," Robert said, breaking the awkward pause. "You've been here a while?"
"Since it started," Ethan replied. "Haven't stepped outside since yesterday morning."
They spoke in low tones, the tension thick enough to feel. No one mentioned the parasites. No one needed to.
By nightfall, the five of them sat in a loose circle around the coffee table. Ethan divided the food evenly two small packets of crackers each, a can of soup split into mugs, and a single bottle of water shared between two.
They ate quietly. No one complained.
---
Morning brought a strange calm. Robert's family lingered near the window, whispering to each other in hushed voices. Ethan's bedroom door stayed closed.
By midday, Maria's curiosity had shifted into suspicion. She glanced at Robert, lowering her voice so Jason wouldn't hear.
"Do you think… the reason he wanted us here… was to get close to Talia?"
Robert looked at her sharply. "What?"
"I'm just saying it's weird, isn't it? Inviting strangers in during all this? Maybe he..."
"I don't know," Robert interrupted, his voice firm but quiet. "But if he tries anything, I'll handle it. We're here for the food. That's it."
Maria's eyes lingered on the closed bedroom door. "I hope you're right."
---
Ethan sat cross-legged on his bed, staring through the narrow gap in the blinds. Outside, the city had gone from chaos to something worse movement without sound. He could see shapes between the buildings, too big to be human, slipping in and out of shadow.
He'd barely moved in hours, barely breathed.
Then the voice came, sudden and steady in his skull:
> "Four participants have completed twenty-four hours under your roof. You have received four draws."
For half a heartbeat, he thought he'd imagined it. Then the meaning hit, and a rush of satisfaction surged through him so strong he had to grip the bedframe to stay still. Four. Not one. Not two. Four.
His chest tightened with the urge to laugh, to shout—but the sound of Maria and Robert talking in the living room kept him silent. They couldn't know. Not yet.
He exhaled through his nose, slow and steady. "Use all draws," he whispered.