The music stopped.
Not gradually. All at once.
As if someone had ripped the needle away with violence.
Armand and Lara stood against the far wall of the rooftop.
Fingers still intertwined. Bodies exhausted, sinking into the cold concrete.
For a moment — brief, precious — the world felt safe.
Then silence hit.
Not peace. Absence.
No wind. No distant groans. No crackle of fire.
As if the favela itself was holding its breath.
Armand opened his eyes. Something was wrong.
Lara felt it too. Her body tensed.
"Did you hear that?"
He turned his head. The rooftop door — three meters behind them.
Creak.
Slow. Deliberate.
Not wind.
Something pushing from the other side.
---
He tightened his grip on the iron bar. Leg throbbing in protest.
"Get up."
Lara was already standing. Pipe in hand. Blue eyes locked on the door.
Creak again.
Louder.
Wood groaning. Metal scraping.
And then—
The first zombie burst through the rooftop door before the wind stopped howling.
It didn't shamble. **It ran.**
Blue-tinted skin stretched over twisted bones like melted plastic, purple veins bulging on its neck like exposed electrical cables. Face contorted in an animal grimace—cracked lips stretched in a permanent snarl, rotten teeth gleaming in distant firelight. Milky white eyes, no pupils, no soul. Just **hunger**.
Armand stepped back, spine hitting the rusty chimney. Iron bar still in hand, but dead weight now—arms burning with fatigue, shoulder throbbing where robot grime had splattered. *Variables locked. Stamina: 15%. Creature: 60% human speed, erratic movement pattern. Solution:*
He didn't have time to finish the calculation.
The creature jumped.
Broken nails clawing air, guttural snarl exploding from its rotten throat. Smell of spoiled milk and hot iron hitting like a punch to the nose.
Armand raised the bar. Pure instinct, zero theory.
**Wet crack.**
Metal hit skull. Bone shattering like old scrap, gray slime spattering on concrete. The body continued—blind inertia, shoulder colliding with his chest.
He stumbled backward. Feet lost ground.
**His back hit.**
Not the chimney. Worse.
A rusted metal sheet in the corner of the roof, edge sharp as an old knife. Cut deep. Right above the knee. Skin opening like wet paper.
Blood gushed. Hot. Soaking torn pants.
"**Aahhh—fuck!**"
The bar slipped from his hand. Metallic *clatter* on concrete. World blurred—lancing pain, white and blinding, ash dancing in peripheral vision. Taste of salty blood filling his mouth.
But something **else** happened.
Heat ran up his arm. Not pain from the wound. Another kind: gentle, insistent, like embers settling into bones. Light tingling pulsing quiet in his palm, echoing where zombie slime had splattered.
*What the—*
No time to process.
---
Lara blinked.
The scene froze in her mind for one eternal nanosecond: Armand fallen, leg bleeding, zombie dead but another already climbing the stairs behind. The world became fragments—not clear vision, but **flashes**.
*Hands grabbing. Tearing. Laughter echoing in darkness.*
Not the rooftop. The hospital corridor. Night shift. Drunk heir. *"Cleaning lady? Clean this."*
Body locking. Legs turning to lead. Breath caught in throat like air had turned to glass.
*Not now. Not this.*
"**LOOK OUT!**"
Armand's voice cut through the flashback like a knife.
Lara blinked back—focus returning in a snap. Rage burning the ice in her stomach. *He threw himself in for me. I don't freeze. Not today.*
The second zombie climbed now. Blue skin, veins bulging. Guttural moan escaping open mouth, rotten teeth chewing air.
The pipe fallen beside her. She grabbed it. Hands steady despite tremor.
The creature advanced. Arms dangling. Legs dragging but fast, as if body remembered how to run but forgot **why**.
Lara spun the pipe.
**Crack.**
Hit the shoulder. Bone yielding like rotten wood, wet sound echoing on empty rooftop.
The thing staggered. But kept coming, blind hunger replacing logic.
She kicked the knee. Pure force. Muscular leg from years climbing hills with buckets.
Body toppled sideways. Like an empty sack falling.
Pipe to skull.
**Crack.**
Slime spurting. Hot. Disgusting. On her face, sticking like rotten glue.
But she didn't stop.
Something happened then—tingling rising up her leg, not pain but **presence**, as if air had loosened and flowed inward. Pulsing low, echoing in her sole, rising to knee like invisible root sprouting.
She wiped her face with forearm. Bitter taste in mouth.
"Stay down—I got this!"
---
The third came fast.
On all fours. Body twisted. Back arched at wrong angle, like broken doll forced to move.
Nails scraping ground. Sound of claws on dry stone, echoing on cracked concrete.
Advanced toward Armand.
He dragged himself backward, hand pressing the wound. Blood leaking between fingers, hot and sticky. Everything blurred—pain rising like smoke, world spinning in orange and black fragments.
*Get up. Not here. Not like this.*
Lara jumped.
The pipe deflected the blow. Quick spin, body moving in muscle memory from years fleeing thugs and drones.
The monster turned to her. Animal snarl exploding from rotten throat.
Armand rolled. Pain screaming in leg like twisting knife, but hand found the fallen bar.
Hit the thing's leg.
**Crack.**
Bone breaking like dry branch. Sound that made stomach turn.
The monster fell to knees. But kept crawling. Blind stubbornness, hunger that didn't understand death.
Lara finished it. Pipe to neck.
Head hanging limp. Body collapsed. Wet sound. Entrails leaking in fetid puddle steaming on cold concrete.
Heat came to both. Shared. Tingling pulsing—not on skin but **inside**, as if something in air touched bones and left warm trail, echoing softly like distant heartbeat.
---
They gasped heavily. Vapor escaping mouths in cold night air.
Armand pressed the leg. Low groan escaped, teeth grinding.
"What now?" Hoarse voice. Practical despite pain. "They don't stop."
Lara looked at the rooftop door. Darkness of the stairwell pulsed. More shadows rising—dragging steps multiplying, moans overlapping like empty bellies complaining.
Ten. Twenty. A tide of rotten flesh.
"Shit." She crouched beside him. "Barricade. Now."
She tore a strip from her own shirt. Torn medical uniform fabric stained with slime and sweat, loose threads sticking to fingers.
Tied it tight on his thigh. Above the cut. Hands trembling slightly. But precise—as if years of observation in surgeries took control, fingers moving in pattern she'd never practiced but always **seen**.
"Get up." She extended her hand.
He gripped it. Her fingers cold against his hot, calloused palm from grease and iron.
---
They rose together.
His arm around her shoulders. Sharing weight, structures grinding like worn gears.
Pain climbed the leg like poison. Burning veins. But he ground his teeth. And moved.
They dragged themselves to the rooftop door. An old crate table in corner—rotten wood but solid enough.
Pushed together. Armand using good shoulder. Leg throbbing like living ember.
Lara guiding angle with foot, blue eyes calculating distances as if **seeing** invisible threads connecting table, door, escape.
**Heavy thud.**
Table hit door. No words. Just gasping breath. Synchronized in chaos.
Hands brushed on rough wood. Brief touch. Electric. Like sparks from live short-circuit, heat rising up arms and disappearing in chest like echo of something greater.
---
Rusty chair next. Then a metal sheet. Heavy. Dragging with screech that echoed like nails on chalkboard.
The door trembled.
Shoves from below. Moans approaching, wet sound of flesh hitting wood.
Dull thuds. Insistent. One, two, three—rhythm that wouldn't stop.
A rotten arm squeezed through the crack. Blue skin, chipped nails scratching air, fingers twisting seeking living flesh.
Lara kicked. Retreating fast.
Armand hit with bar.
**Dry crack.**
Arm retracted. Slime dripping on floor, stench of rot filling air.
---
Barricade done.
Fragile as bad dream. But holding. For now.
Door groaned under pressure. Moans from other side like wind in dead throat, constant echo making teeth vibrate.
But it held.
---
They collapsed against opposite wall. Backs hitting cold concrete biting through torn fabric.
Above, open roof. Stars dirty from smoke, sky tinged orange-rot from distant fires.
Fire illuminating horizon. Shadows dancing on crooked antennas. Like metal ghosts watching the end.
Screams echoed from favela. Human now. Raw. Desperate. Voices still remembering words but forgetting meaning.
Explosions punctuated air. Like macabre carnival fireworks, echoes rumbling between toppled towers.
---
Adrenaline ebbed. Slowly. Like receding wave, leaving body heavy, exhausted.
Pain blooming in every muscle. Scrapes burning, cuts throbbing, lungs burning as if they'd breathed glass.
Armand slid down wall until sitting. Leg extended. Bandage already darkening with fresh blood, stain spreading slowly.
Pressed with free hand. Low groan escaped, hoarse voice breaking in silence.
Lara sat beside. Legs folded against chest. Back against concrete stealing heat, cold air biting sweaty skin.
Wiped face with back of hand. Dried slime cracking under fingers, rotten smell sticking in hair.
Medical uniform—once clean blue—now torn. Stained gray and brown. Slime. Blood. Sweat. Mixed in sticky layer clinging to skin like second rotten skin.
---
Silence stretched between them. Heavy but not uncomfortable.
Wind howling soft. Carrying ash dancing like dying fireflies, orange dots vanishing in darkness.
Then, below, melody returned.
Faint. Distorted by distance and wind. But unmistakable.
*"Where is my mind? Where is my mind?"*
Record player still stubborn. Deep notes whispering in air like musical ghost, echo of world that no longer existed.
---
Armand broke silence first.
"Hurts like hell." Hoarse voice. Low. Honey eyes fixed on darkening bandage. "But... worth the scratch."
She snorted. Light laugh escaped. Sharp as broken glass, but first genuine since chaos.
"Scratch? You're bleeding like a pig."
Pause. Smile vanished. Voice lowering.
"If it wasn't for you..."
"Saw you freeze." He shrugged—costly movement, pain rising. But casual. "Didn't think. Just stepped in front."
---
Lara pulled knees closer to chest. Blue eyes lost in void, blonde strands sticking to nape with cold sweat.
*Beautiful*, he thought. And looked away toward burning horizon.
Silence stretched more. Wind carrying ash in lazy spirals, distant music weaving melody between muffled moans.
Barricade creaked. Dull thud from other side. Insistent flesh. But contained.
"I froze." Her voice came low. But firm. As if confessing cost more than body let show.
Armand turned his head. Honey eyes meeting her blue in darkness, distant firelight reflecting in irises.
Didn't speak. Just waited.
"Body knew how to fight," she continued. Fingers tracing cut on own forearm, as if physical pain easier to process. "Years of corridors. Double shifts. Carrying weight. But fear... is new."
Silence.
"Never felt this before."
Wind carried ash between them. Dancing slowly, orange dots vanishing like dying stars.
"They laughed." Voice got even lower. Almost whisper. "Like I was a toy. And for a second... I forgot I was human. Became thing."
---
Armand felt something tighten in chest. Not leg pain. Something else. Deeper. Older.
"I know that freeze," he murmured. Eyes returning to burning horizon, Vorath tower spitting black smoke into orange sky. "Grew up digging through scrap to survive. Always hid behind a wrench. Or engine."
Pause.
"Chaotic world... I fixed what I could. Stopped acting to survive. Always stepping back. Always calculating risk."
He looked at her again.
"Until today. When I saw you fighting alone... everything I swallowed exploded."
---
Lara nodded slowly. Weak smile curved lips. Bitter as bile. But real.
"You moved. Like I was worth it."
Voice failed midway. She swallowed hard.
"When was last time anyone...?"
Question hung in air. No answer. Because both knew: **never**.
---
Silence returned. But different now. More comfortable. Shared.
Armand adjusted position. Leg throbbing, bandage soaked. But something **else** pulsed there—not just pain.
Strange heat. Insistent. As if flesh wanted to close itself, faint golden veins moving under skin like invisible roots.
*What was that? The slime? Heat after killing?*
No answer. Just more variables without solution.
---
"In hospital," Lara said suddenly. Voice gaining strength, pulling him from mental loop. "I saw families waiting in cold corridors. Rich buying vaccines with credit blink. Poor cleaning floor with hands."
She closed eyes.
"Dreamed of being one who stitched wounds. Watched doctors from corner of eye. How to close cut. How to stop bleeding."
Opened eyes again. Looking at dirty sky, stars erased by smoke.
"Learned all that. But for me? Cleaning. Wiping rich people's blood. Never healing them."
Hand clenched in fist.
"If I ever held scalpel... wouldn't be for any rich. Would be for ours."
---
Armand felt crooked smile pull corner of mouth.
"You fought like demon after. Pipe to skull. No hesitation."
"Learned by watching." She leaned slightly. Touching his bandage carefully, fingers tracing soaked edge. "I saw how you did it."
Adjusted loose knot. Pull that made him grind teeth, jaw clenching.
But bleeding decreased.
"But this..." She looked at nearest fallen body, blue skin gleaming in distant light. "Rotten slime. Not normal. It's wrong."
---
Armand gripped bar beside. Cold metal against warm palm, anchor on unstable concrete.
"I swore similar things," he murmured. Voice low, almost to himself. "Suppressed everything to survive day to day. World breaks all time. Patch with what you got."
Looked at her.
"Grease. Pipe. Iron bar."
Pause.
"Or hands that know how to stitch."
---
She squeezed his hand. Brief. But warm. Heat echoing beyond touch, rising up arm like gentle current.
Gesture lasting enough to be reminder. Not promise. Just... recognition.
"Maybe we patch together. For now."
---
Exhaustion came like wave. Slow. Inevitable.
Eyes weighing. Body yielding to void adrenaline left behind, muscles relaxing in subtle spasms.
Lara leaned more. Head finding his shoulder. Wasn't accident. Was choice.
Armand felt weight. Light. But present. Anchor in chaos, shared warmth on cold concrete.
Scent of her hair—sweat, ash, something indefinable that was only hers—filling space between rooftop and burning sky.
Her hand still holding his. Fingers intertwined without thinking. Breath synchronizing. Involuntary rhythm saying more than words could.
---
Leg pain pulsed distant now. Almost abstract. Replaced by something else.
Shared warmth. Stolen comfort on burning rooftop, impossible moment in impossible world.
He let head fall. Resting on top of hers, blonde hair tickling chin.
For one moment—just one—world stopped burning.
Music below still stubborn. Faint. Distant. But present.
Armand closed eyes.
*Where's my mind? Here. Now. With her.*
And slept.
---
They woke to false sun.
Orange light from eternal fire filtering through smoke, tinging vines copper-alive. Ash falling like dirty snow on cracked concrete.
Hot air. Loaded with smell of burned flesh. Melted metal. Suffocating like wet heavy blanket sticking to skin.
---
Armand moved first. Legs stiff. Protesting like rusted gears.
Pain in wound like knife thrust. Twisted slowly. Bandage rigid with dried blood, sticking to skin like dead shell.
Pressed with hand. Low groan escaped.
"Thirsty as hell."
Lara opened eyes slowly. Sitting with painful neck stretch, vertebrae popping like breaking twigs.
Realized still holding his hand. Released. Quick. As if burning.
But gaze didn't shift. Weak smile. Stubborn.
"Me too. But we'll find water."
Pause. Looked at horizon—Vorath tower spitting black smoke, favela stretching like open wound.
"And answers."
Looked at fallen bodies. Blue skin gleaming in dirty light, dried slime cracking on concrete.
"This pulse changed everything. Those things. Entire world."
Armand nodded. Heavy bar in hand, cold metal comforting.
"Patch one step at time."
---
Barricade creaked again. Stronger now.
Moans from other side. Insistent. Like animal hitting cage, wet sounds multiplying.
Hunt hadn't ended. Just changed skin.
Lara stood. Extending hand to him.
"Come. We don't have much time."
He gripped. Calloused hot fingers, heat echoing in grip.
And rose. Leg protesting but supporting.
Together.
Moans growing behind. But ahead, favela waited.
Broken. Alive. Waiting to be patched.
---
**END OF CHAPTER 3**
---