Date: April 20th, 2027
Place: New York City – Lower East Side
---
The fight at the intersection left its mark.
Not just in the ichor soaking our clothes, or the bodies littering cracked asphalt. But in the way we breathed afterward — deeper, sharper, like every inhale was stolen from something that wanted it back.
We'd killed them. Fifteen corpses, fifteen reminders that the world was not ours anymore.
And yet, we still stood.
---
We pushed on.
The block ahead opened into a row of corner shops — a laundromat, a hardware store, a diner with its windows blackened. Signs hung crooked, some still flickering faintly with power that hadn't fully died yet.
Miguel broke the silence first, swinging his wrench lazily. "So. What's the plan, jefe? We strip these places clean, or just grab food and get the hell back?"
Henry grunted, his crowbar resting across his shoulder. "Depends if you want to carry laundry soap while you starve."
Miguel smirked. "I've eaten worse."
Claire gave a weak laugh despite herself. Her hazel eyes flicked nervously to me. "We should… check. At least for medicine. Food. Maybe weapons."
She said it like a question.
I tightened my grip on the hammer, gaze sweeping the broken street. The wind pushed ash and scraps of paper past our feet.
"We check," I said finally. "Quick. Quiet. Nothing we can't carry."
Miguel grinned. "Now you're speaking my language."
---
The laundromat was empty. Machines stood with doors hanging open, clothes still inside some, reeking faintly of mildew. Claire lingered, her fingers brushing a shirt that looked freshly folded before the end.
Henry's jaw tightened. "Leave it. Dead weight."
We moved on.
The hardware store was better. The front was shattered, but shelves still lined with tools, nails, duct tape. Henry muttered approvingly as he stuffed screws and nails into his Inventory.
"Finally. Something useful."
Miguel grabbed a roll of duct tape, grinning. "Now this is treasure."
I found a crowbar wedged beneath a fallen shelf. The HUD shimmered faintly.
[Crowbar – Common Weapon]
Damage: +5 | Durability: 50/50 | Weight: 5.0
I glanced at Henry. "Need a spare?"
He snorted. "Always."
I slid it across the counter. He caught it one-handed, and for a flicker of a moment, his lips twitched into something almost like gratitude.
---
The diner was different.
The door creaked as we entered. Tables were overturned, plates shattered. The air stank of burned meat.
Miguel gagged. "Christ. Smells like my uncle's grill after he forgot to clean it."
Henry muttered, "That ain't beef, kid."
Behind the counter, I saw it — a hand, blackened and curled, sticking out from the kitchen door.
Claire's breath caught. "Oh… oh no."
"Stay back," I said softly, moving ahead.
I pushed the door open with the hammer.
Inside, the kitchen was a slaughterhouse. Half-burned bodies sprawled across the floor, their clothes melted into skin. Pots bubbled over with black sludge long since dried. Someone had tried to barricade the back door, but the hinges were ripped clean off.
Miguel swore under his breath.
Henry shook his head. "They tried to hole up. Fire must've taken them before the rotters did."
Claire pressed her sleeve over her mouth, her eyes wide with horror. "They… they burned alive."
I put a hand on her shoulder gently. "Don't look too long. Let's move."
We left with nothing.
---
It wasn't until the next street that we saw it.
Graffiti scrawled in thick red paint across the wall of a pharmacy.
"HELP US – 4TH FLOOR."
The letters dripped, crude, desperate.
Claire froze, staring. "There are survivors."
Henry snorted. "There were."
Miguel frowned. "C'mon, viejo. Could still be someone."
"Or it's bait," Henry shot back.
I studied the letters for a long moment. The paint was faded, cracked at the edges, but not fully washed away by rain or time. Recent enough.
"We check," I said.
Miguel smirked. "Knew you'd say that."
Henry muttered, "And when we're the ones needing paint, you'll wish you hadn't."
But he didn't stop moving.
---
The pharmacy door was barricaded, shelves shoved against it from the inside. The glass was spiderwebbed with cracks, but not broken through.
Miguel kicked it once. "Solid."
Henry shook his head. "Means whatever's inside didn't get out."
Claire whispered, "What if they're still there?"
The silence stretched heavy.
Finally, I said, "Then we'll see."
---
We circled back to the alley. A fire escape hung half-broken against the side of the building.
Miguel tested it with a grunt. "Holds."
I gestured to Claire. "Stay behind me. Miguel, you next. Henry, rear."
We climbed. Metal groaned beneath our boots. The city stretched below us, broken and endless.
On the fourth floor, the window was already shattered inward.
I pulled myself in first, hammer raised.
The room was a mess — blood smeared across the walls, shelves overturned, pill bottles scattered. A corpse slumped against the wall, head caved in, dried blood crusted thick.
Claire gasped softly behind me.
Henry muttered, "Told you."
But then I saw it — scrawled on the wall above the body.
"WE WENT EAST. SAFE ZONE."
Miguel leaned over my shoulder, whistling. "Well damn."
Claire's eyes widened. "Safe Zone?"
Henry's jaw clenched. "So it's real."
The words burned in my mind.
Safe Zone.
Not just survivors. A place the System itself kept alive.
My hand tightened on the hammer.
For the first time, there was a direction beyond just staying alive.
---
That night, we sheltered in an abandoned office two blocks from the pharmacy. Windows barricaded, lantern burning low, we sat in the dim silence.
Miguel leaned back, stretching. "So. System's got Safe Zones, huh? Bet they're like a goddamn mall, stocked with all kinds of shit."
Henry snorted. "More likely they're cages. Draw the desperate in, then bleed 'em dry."
Claire hugged her knees, her voice soft but steady. "Even if that's true… it's better than nothing. Better than this."
Her hazel eyes lifted to me. "Right, Elias?"
I hesitated, staring at the hammer across my knees, at the faint glow of the HUD in my vision.
"Maybe," I said slowly. "But better doesn't always mean safer."
The silence pressed in.
And in that silence, the word repeated in my head, burning bright.
Safe Zone.
---