The infected froze — hesitant, intimidated by the terrifying sight before them. For a brief instant, it was as if they recognized something more dangerous than themselves. But the hesitation didn't last. Hunger always won. The entire horde lunged toward Bruno, their frenzy drowning out fear.
At that moment, the black veins across Bruno's skin began to fade, and the crimson glow in his eyes dimmed, as if whatever had taken hold of him was retreating. He gasped for air, his body trembling, his mind trying to make sense of what had just happened.
The danger was only seconds away. His heart hammered violently, and his breath came in sharp bursts. The thunderous sound of dozens of feet pounding the asphalt snapped him back to reality. His eyes widened — the horde was coming for him, fast, a wave of rage and rot.
Without thinking, Bruno spun on his heels and sprinted, his legs barely keeping pace with the desperate surge of adrenaline. He turned sharply at the next corner — only to come face-to-face with more of them, spilling from the shadows like demons from hell.
From the rooftop, João Paulo watched, the echo of Bruno's monstrous roar still ringing in his ears. The sound had been horrific, almost inhuman — but it had also stirred something inside him. It was a call to action.
He could see it now: the horde's full attention was on Bruno, every creature chasing him like a pack of rabid beasts. That was the moment — their only chance. The market entrance was suddenly clear.
João Paulo forced himself to breathe, steadying the shaking in his hands. He knew they had seconds before the chaos turned again.
— We move now. — he whispered to the others, his voice low but firm.
The moment the area looked empty, João Paulo climbed out of the vehicle. The others followed, quiet but trembling with tension.
— Bro, he's insane! Did you see how many of those freaks went after him, PH?! — Guilherme muttered, half in awe, half in fear.
— For real, man… he completely lost it. — Pedro replied, his eyes fixed in the direction Bruno had vanished, the terror still clinging to his expression.
Alicia stayed silent. Her face was pale, her eyes wide — she couldn't hide the fear. Bruno was out there alone, surrounded, and deep down she knew there was a chance he might never come back.
— Let's check the market. Quietly, alright? — João Paulo finally said, trying to sound composed, but his trembling voice betrayed him.
He stepped forward first, his legs weak and unsteady. Each movement was careful, each breath controlled. His eyes darted around, scanning every shadow, every flicker of movement.
The silence that followed was heavy — the kind of silence that came before something terrible.
***
Running desperately through the streets, Bruno struggled to keep even the slightest distance between himself and the infected chasing him. His breath was growing ragged, the air burning in his lungs, and sweat streamed down his face, mixing with the adrenaline surging through his veins. He turned a corner sharply—and froze.
A dead end.
His heart pounded wildly, like an erratic drum. The realization hit him like a punch to the chest. If his body gave out now, it would be over.
As he resumed running, one bitter truth weighed heavy on his mind: he had acted purely on instinct—no plan, no strategy, and worse of all, no weapon to defend himself.
— Ah, holy fucking shit, what the hell did I just do?! — he shouted to himself, the words breaking through his panting, his voice hoarse with panic.
Minutes stretched into hours. Every step felt heavier, his legs aching, his body screaming for rest after two sleepless days. The infected showed no sign of slowing, their snarls growing louder, closer—an unstoppable tide on his heels.
His eyes darted around, scanning every house, every alley, searching for a chance—any chance. He had to choose: break into one of the houses and risk being trapped inside, or keep running until his body gave out.
Amid the chaos, a thought clicked in his head like a survival instinct snapping into place.
He stopped for a brief moment, then began slamming on doors as he ran—kicking, shouting, even hurling rocks—making as much noise as he could.
— If I draw out any infected still hiding inside these houses, I might be able to throw this whole pack off my trail, — he reasoned, trying to keep his thoughts straight despite the pounding in his skull. — Then, once I circle back, I can hole up in one of these places… maybe even find out if anyone survived that massacre at the market.
He kept at it—kicking doors open, yelling, and sprinting off again—watching as, from nearly every house, two or three infected would burst out, joining the pursuit.
— Goddammit! Now I've got even more of these bastards on my ass! — he roared, voice cracking, his strength fading fast.
His pace faltered. His lungs burned. Every heartbeat felt like an explosion inside his chest.
Damn it… I'm at my limit. What the hell do I do now?
Without realizing it, he turned another corner—and nearly stumbled into a dead end again. A narrow alley. On both sides, tall walls lined with shards of glass and barbed wire. Ahead, an overgrown lot filled with debris, dirt, and tangled weeds.
He froze for a second, panting, eyes darting wildly. He knew right then—he didn't have many choices left.
— Shit. The walls were too high, and the field ahead—maybe it led into a forest further down. Bruno muttered to himself, trying to plan his next move as the sounds of footsteps and guttural growls grew louder and closer.
He looked back, heart pounding so hard it hurt. The infected were barely ten meters away, charging like starving beasts.
— Screw it, I'll play Rambo in the damn woods if I have to! — he shouted between gasps, sprinting straight toward the piles of debris.
He dove between heaps of rubble and crouched low at the end of them, gasping for air. Looking ahead, he saw the supposed "forest" — much farther than he'd thought. Frustration surged through him.
— Ah, I'm so screwed, — he muttered through clenched teeth.
The infected began spilling into the maze of debris. Bruno had no choice—he grabbed rocks, chunks of concrete, and broken bricks, hurling them at their heads. Some fell; others turned on each other in the confusion caused by his attacks. He kept throwing, hoping to make them fight among themselves, but his barrage only drew more attention. Now, every hungry, twisted face was locked on him.
The situation was collapsing fast. Still, Bruno noticed something—the uneven terrain was slowing them down. The infected stumbled and fell constantly, tripping over the rubble. And some of them… they didn't seem to see clearly through the chaos. That was his opening.
Before being completely surrounded, Bruno came up with a desperate plan—to lose them in the confusion and circle back to one of the houses he'd left open. It was risky, but it was all he had.
— Holy shit, I'm a goddamn genius! — he whispered with a tired grin as his breath steadied. — Just gotta ditch these bastards, and I'm golden.
He bolted again, slipping between the piles of debris, moving closer to the overgrown field. Finding a patch of tall grass, he dove in, crouching low to hide. His whole body tensed as he listened—the heavy footsteps, the snarls, the frantic scraping of hands and feet against the rubble.
When a brief silence fell, Bruno began to move. Slowly. Quietly. Sliding through the grass and shadow, weaving between the wreckage like a ghost.
Then the worst happened.
His stomach, empty since the previous morning, let out a loud, guttural growl — a raw, animal sound that cut through the silence like an alarm.
Several of the infected froze — then turned their heads sharply toward him.
— You've got to be kidding me! — Bruno shouted, grabbing rocks and hurling them desperately to slow the pack down. He took off again, sprinting toward the street, the horde right behind him.
Why does this shit only happen to me? he thought bitterly, each stride burning through what little strength he had left.
Using every ounce of energy, Bruno pushed himself to the limit, running for three full blocks. The growls and screams followed close, always just a few steps behind. Finally, when he'd gained just enough distance, he threw himself through the open doorway of one of the houses he'd cleared earlier — slamming the door shut behind him and collapsing to the floor, gasping for air.
Bruno rushed into a two-story house, his eyes scanning every corner while his heart pounded violently in his chest. The place seemed empty, but he couldn't take any chances. Before even thinking about resting, he darted from room to room, locking doors, shutting windows, and covering anything that might give away his presence. Improvised curtains, furniture barricading entrances, and total silence — he wanted to vanish.
As he worked, his body began to protest. Sweat dripped down his face, his hands trembled, and every breath burned in his lungs. When he finally finished, Bruno leaned his back against the wall, the muffled sound of his own breathing filling the air around him. Slowly, he slid down until he hit the floor, collapsing under his own weight.
His chest heaved uncontrollably; his muscles screamed for mercy. He let out a long, hoarse sigh, as if trying to exhale the weight of everything that had just happened.
— Never… been this tired… in my life, — he muttered to himself, his voice barely audible as his body pulsed on the edge of collapse.
Even lying there on the cold floor, he knew he couldn't afford to relax completely. Something could appear at any moment, and he needed to be ready. But for now, his body refused to obey.
As his head began to spin, Bruno started to lose track of where he was. The pounding in his chest turned into a storm of voices echoing inside him — each one more vicious than the last.
— What the hell are you doing? You're an idiot. You really think anyone would lift a finger for you?
He tried to argue, but the words caught in his throat.
— They're my friends! — he protested weakly, but the voice inside wouldn't stop.
— Friends? Screw that! What have they done for you so far? Nothing! You think anyone cares if you're dead or alive?
— They do care…
— Then why isn't anyone here with you, huh?
— Because I told them to stay—
— Wrong! It's because they're weak. Useless. Selfish.
The words cut deep. He tried to ignore them, but the intensity grew — as if the darkness itself was turning against him.
— You sacrifice yourself for them… and for what? They don't even see you as a leader. They laugh at you, you idiot!
Then, a louder, fiercer voice erupted in his head, roaring like thunder:
— YOU'RE WEAK! WEAK! WEAK!
The words echoed violently, crushing what little sanity he had left. Desperate, Bruno grabbed his head with trembling hands, his fingers digging into his scalp as rage and confusion consumed him.
— SHUT THE FUCK UP! — he screamed, slamming his head against the wall.
The impact was brutal. He did it again. And again. Until blood streaked the rough surface. Finally, his body gave out, collapsing to the cold, dirty floor.
Outside, the sound of his fall didn't go unnoticed. Three infected, drawn by the noise, turned their heads toward the house. Like starving beasts, they began pounding on the door — each blow echoing through the confined space like a death knell.
***
When Bruno had lured the infected away from the supermarket, the silence that followed was shattered by a monstrous, blood-curdling scream. The sound seemed to rise straight from the depths of hell — raw, guttural, and charged with a supernatural force that made everyone's blood run cold.
— What… what was that? What kind of monster makes a sound like that? — whispered Gislaine, her voice trembling as she crouched behind a pallet stacked with rice bags. Beside her, Samira, pale and shaking, couldn't handle the terror — she fainted, her body collapsing limply to the floor.
João Paulo and the others cautiously entered the supermarket, their footsteps echoing through the oppressive emptiness. Alicia, still trying to process what they had just heard, began to hope — maybe they were safe after all. There were no corpses in sight.
— There's no one here, man… — muttered Guilherme nervously, lighting a cigarette with trembling hands, seeking some fleeting comfort from the fear gnawing at him.
Pedro, restless and on edge, couldn't contain himself.— ANYONE HERE?! — he shouted, hoping the survivors might be hiding somewhere inside.
João Paulo, ever alert, moved carefully toward the storage room at the back of the market. The rusty lock was still in place, but he sensed something — or someone — on the other side.
— Is anyone there? — he asked, knocking firmly against the wood, his voice a mix of hope and urgency.
Inside, Arthur froze when he recognized the voice. He stepped out from his hiding spot, sweat trickling down his face, eyes fixed on the small group gathered beyond the door.
— That's João's voice… — he whispered, glancing at the others.
They exchanged wary looks, but after a tense pause, Arthur made up his mind.— I think it's safe on the other side, — he murmured, his hand trembling as he reached for the latch.
He opened the door cautiously, but as it creaked, he found himself face-to-face with João Paulo — knife raised, ready to strike at whatever came through. When he saw Arthur, João's shoulders relaxed slightly, though he didn't lower the blade completely.— Is everyone okay? Did anyone die in the attack? — he asked bluntly, his tone sharp and focused.
One by one, the others emerged from their makeshift hiding spots. Though still tense and breathless, relief washed over them as they recognized familiar faces. Gislaine, however, was kneeling beside Samira, who remained unconscious.— Can someone give me a hand here? She passed out the moment you busted the door down, João, — she snapped, irritation in her tone, though her worry was clear as she tried to lift her friend.
Arthur hurried over to help. João Paulo stepped into the storage room behind him, followed by Alicia and Pedro, who scanned the aisles nervously, ready for anything. Guilherme, hanging back, muttered something about needing to use the bathroom and disappeared down the corridor, leaving the door ajar.
Camille leaned against a stack of pallets in the corner, a tightness gripping her chest she couldn't quite explain. Bruno's face flashed in her mind.Had he already turned? Like the man from the video they'd watched earlier?Or worse… if it came to that, how would they ever convince João Paulo to cast out his best friend?
She tried to push the thoughts away, but something about Bruno's absence made her heart race.— Where's Mohammad? — she asked softly, barely above a whisper, though the tremor in her voice didn't go unnoticed.
Edvaldo, sweating and visibly shaking, let out a nervous laugh.— Screw Mohammad. I just wanna know what the hell that monster was out there. I nearly shit myself — only didn't because the crap wasn't ready yet!
João Paulo looked away, his expression thoughtful.— I guess you guys who were behind the car didn't see it… but that was Bruno.
The silence that followed was deafening. Camille's stomach churned.— So it's really happening to him too, — murmured Reidner, eyes fixed on João, searching for any hint of denial.
João Paulo nodded slowly.— Seems like it, yeah.
Pedro frowned, lost.— What are you guys talking about? What's "it"?
Alicia crossed her arms, suspicion written all over her face.— Did something happen while we were coming in?
Camille sighed, exhausted.— It's easier to show you than to explain.
She pulled out her phone, her hand trembling slightly as she brought up the video.
João watched it with a heavy expression, but to everyone's surprise, he stayed calm. After a few tense seconds, he finally spoke:— This… makes sense with what I've been noticing. — His voice was steady, though there was an unmistakable weight in it. — As much as I wanted to deny it, I can't anymore.
He took a deep breath, looking away from the screen.— Here's what we'll do: once Samira wakes up, we'll talk more about it. After all, we're talking about her brother… alright? — he said, turning toward the car without waiting for an answer.
Edvaldo, still jittery and on edge, followed him.— And what about the stuff you guys went out to get? Where is it?
João kept walking, not looking back.— I'm going to grab it now. You coming?
— Hell yeah, — Edvaldo replied, quickening his pace to keep up.
The walk to the car was thick with an uneasy silence, broken only by the dull thuds of their footsteps on the pavement. Finally, Edvaldo tried to break the tension.— So… you guys took care of the infected that were here?
João scratched his elbow and let out a heavy sigh.— As you can see… this was Bruno's doing. He's probably still running for his life right now.
When they reached the car, Edvaldo hopped in first and started the engine.— You even know how to drive? — João asked, hesitating before getting in.
Edvaldo chuckled, full of confidence.— What do you think? Get in, man.
João sighed again, climbed into the car, and Edvaldo drove them up to the front of the shattered market gate. Just as they stopped, Reidner appeared.— Let's split what you guys brought, alright? — he said, walking up with his hands on his hips.
João didn't answer. He just grabbed what was his and walked away in silence. On the way back, he pulled his phone from his pocket and checked the time: 5:15 p.m.
The thought hit him like a punch to the gut: If Bruno survived that horde, he's not showing up tonight — not with nightfall coming. And if he doesn't show up by morning… he's probably dead.
Three hours had already passed since Bruno vanished with the infected. And in that moment, João realized that with every minute ticking by, the chances of ever seeing his friend again were fading away.
***
Inside the house where Bruno had collapsed after slamming into the wall, silence ruled — broken only by the relentless pounding of the infected outside. The banging grew louder and louder until, with a deafening crash, the door finally gave way. Yet Bruno lay motionless on the floor, unconscious, completely vulnerable.
A faint glow from the kitchen light spilled across the room, cutting through the heavy shadows. Thick curtains kept the interior hidden from the outside, where the street lay cloaked in near-total darkness. Only the silhouettes of infected lingered out there, standing unnaturally still like grotesque mannequins. The old wall clock in the kitchen read 7:20 p.m.
Three infected stumbled inside, drawn by sound and light. They moved like moths toward a flame, shambling through empty rooms until they reached the kitchen — where Bruno's body lay sprawled on the cold tile. His skin was slick with sweat, his head bleeding from a gash that had dried into a dark crust. Flies buzzed lazily over him.
The first infected crouched beside him, drool mixed with thick black slime dripping from its mouth. Its eyes were completely black, a strange moss-like film coating the corneas. It grabbed Bruno's right arm and sank its teeth in, tearing the flesh near his wrist. Blood spilled freely, mingling with the dark ooze that dripped from the creature's jaws.
Then — Bruno's eyes snapped open.They glowed red, burning like live embers.
He didn't flinch, didn't gasp, didn't even seem human. With a violent jerk, he wrenched his arm free. The nails on his left hand lengthened into sharp black claws, and before the infected could react, he slashed across its face, tearing through flesh and bone. In one brutal motion, he drove his other hand into its chest, piercing straight through the heart. The body went limp instantly.
The other two infected lunged, but Bruno turned his gaze toward them — his eyes blazing with an unholy intensity. He let out a deep, guttural roar, the kind that vibrated through the air and froze the creatures in place. They stood trembling, paralyzed by some instinctive terror.
Bruno grabbed one by the head, gripping so tightly that bones cracked beneath his fingers. Then, with feral hunger, he yanked its neck to the side and bit down. He drank deeply, the rotten taste ignored as black blood ran down his chin. As he drank, the wound on his arm began to close — veins pulsing darkly under his skin until the flesh knit itself back together. He dropped the corpse, stood, and with effortless strength twisted the necks of the other two, snapping them like twigs.
Now alone, Bruno looked down at his hands.Black veins coiled beneath the skin; his claws gleamed under the weak kitchen light. Something monstrous was awakening inside him — something alive and growing.
He walked to the bathroom, flicked on the light, and stared into the mirror.The reflection staring back wasn't the same man anymore.
— I'm getting stronger… every time I wake up. — he murmured, a grim smile twisting his lips. He brushed his filthy hair back, eyes burning with quiet madness. — Soon, we'll be the same. But for now… — he paused, watching the pulsing veins on his neck and arms. — It's time I gave you a little more action… you idiot.
Bruno rinsed his face but didn't bother washing the blood off his hands. When he stepped out of the bathroom, his movements were calm, deliberate — the walk of a predator who had just remembered what he was built to do.
He stepped out of the bathroom with an eerie calm, his footsteps crushing the bodies of the infected he had slain moments before. The metallic scent of blood lingered in the air, emanating even from his mouth, yet he seemed oblivious, ignoring the stains dripping down his clothes and skin. Still, something stirred within him — a deep, invisible unease, growing steadily, insistent.
Crossing the kitchen, a sudden dizziness struck him. His body felt twice as heavy, a feverish heat coursing through his veins. He stumbled, collapsing beside one of the lifeless infected. His eyes closed as his breath faltered.
In the ensuing silence, the body of the infected who had bitten him twitched. A spasm, another, and then its eyes opened. They were no longer the same — the irises glowed a deep, bloody red, while the whites had blackened completely, creating a grotesque, hypnotic contrast, like the demonic eyes of some nightmare creature.
The infected pushed off the corpse that had covered him and struggled to rise. His movements were awkward, as if battling to control a body that no longer belonged to him. His head tilted unnaturally, bones cracking as he attempted to steady his steps. His lips trembled, and a barely audible whisper escaped:
— Blood…
He shuffled out of the house, leaning against walls for support, dragging his feet as if walking itself required monumental effort. Outside, a horde of infected remained frozen, bodies swaying slightly, eyes locked on the ground, black saliva dripping from open mouths.
— Blood… I need blood… — His voice was now guttural, raw, driven by a primal hunger. He staggered toward the nearest infected and, with a savage roar, attacked it from behind. — I WANT TO FEED!
Teeth tore through flesh and veins, sucking with unrelenting hunger. The transformation was brutal and rapid. Muscles bulged, dark veins snaking across his pale skin. His hair darkened briefly before turning snow-white. His face took on a bestial shape, veins swollen, eyes insane and wild.
Long, pointed bones burst through the skin of his forearms, one hollowed out and black as pitch. He lifted the lifeless infected and hurled it away. His hands grew, nails extending into deadly claws. The monster he had become scanned the surroundings, panting, eyes locking onto another infected.
Slashing the palm of his own hand with one claw, he let the blood flow. When he grabbed the next infected, he hesitated for only a moment before shoving his bloodied hand into the creature's mouth. As the infected swallowed, its eyes began to change — the same red and black spreading like a living curse, transmitted through his blood, one by one.
Half the horde was now infected, undergoing grotesque, simultaneous mutations, each more horrifying than the last.
— Follow me… — he commanded, his voice reverberating like thunder. The horde obeyed, bodies swaying in unison as he led them toward the horizon, in search of something greater. Something more bloody.
***
Bruno slowly opened his eyes, the blurred ceiling coming into focus as his mind still felt foggy. A strange heaviness lingered around his body, as if he had just awoken from a nightmare he couldn't remember. When he tried to sit up, he felt his wet hair clinging to the back of his neck. Running his hand through it, he noticed some dried blood between his fingers.
— What the hell… — he muttered, feeling a throbbing bump at the back of his head.
He struggled to stand, legs weak, and his gaze fell on the two bodies on the floor. Two infected, grotesquely different from the usual. One had a dislocated jaw, jagged teeth jutting out like spikes. The other was twisted unnaturally, as if its bones had bent at impossible angles.
Bruno didn't remember anything. Neither killing them nor what had happened before he blacked out.
— Did I pass out? For how long? — He pressed the bump again, trying to force his memory, but everything was a blur.
He walked to the sink and noticed a nearly dead cellphone abandoned there. The screen flickered on with difficulty, revealing the time: 2:20 a.m.
— Shit… I have to get out of here. They must be looking for me. — He thought aloud, his eyes scanning the kitchen.
His stomach growled loudly, bending him slightly over. He felt an absurd hunger, a hollow ache that almost hurt, but it was strange. It wasn't like he was hungry for just anything; there was a specific craving he tried to ignore.
"Rice, beans, and a steak. Just that." He thought, trying to cling to something normal.
Before heading to the fridge, he decided to check the house. He grabbed a dull knife he found on the counter and started on the ground floor. The silence of the house unnerved him, but when he climbed the stairs, his stomach churned. The door to the upper floor was wide open, the handle destroyed, deep scratch marks etched into the wood.
— What the hell went through here? — he whispered, quickly locking the door leading to the living room.
After ensuring he was alone, he returned to the kitchen. Hunger gnawed at him more fiercely now, the knife still in his hand as he rummaged through the fridge in search of something to eat.