The neon grid dissolved beneath their feet.
Color collapsed inward, folding like a closing arcade cabinet, and the victory jingle cut off mid-note.
Zeke stumbled forward and nearly tripped over a curb.
Concrete. Asphalt. Grass.
They were back.
The air was cooler here—thick with the smell of cut lawns and charcoal smoke gone cold. Porch lights glowed in uneven halos up and down the street, casting long shadows across familiar driveways. Somewhere, a sprinkler ticked uselessly, hissing into empty darkness.
Julie straightened slowly, turning in a slow circle. "This is… my block."
Zeke swallowed. "Yeah. Mine too."
Their HUDs flickered to life, dimmer than before—night-mode. A new header scrolled across both their lenses in muted orange text.
LEVEL TWO: EVENING OF THE UNDEAD
No countdown. No announcer. Just a quiet confirmation.
The First Toy didn't speak.
That, more than anything, made Zeke uneasy.
A low moan drifted from somewhere beyond the hedges.
Then another.
Then many.
Figures shuffled into view at the far end of the street—neighbors Zeke recognized even before the green glow in their eyes gave them away. Mr. Hanley from three houses down. The woman who always jogged at dawn. Someone still wearing an apron with a burned-out grill logo on it.
Zombies.
Not charging. Not swarming.
Just… everywhere.
Julie exhaled slowly, tightening her grip on her Super Soaker. "Okay. So. Not the mall."
"Nope," Zeke said. "Which means… victims."
Right on cue, his HUD pinged—soft, insistent.
VITAL SIGNAL DETECTED.
An icon pulsed east of their position.
They moved.
They jogged past trimmed hedges and mailboxes, shoes scuffing softly on the pavement. Zombies wandered between yards, drawn by sound but slow to react. Zeke blasted one that drifted too close; it collapsed quietly, dissolving into faint green motes that faded before hitting the ground.
The first victim stood near the curb, rigid as a statue.
A soldier.
Helmet on. Rifle slung uselessly over one shoulder. He stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, knuckles white around the strap of his pack. Two long green tubes—bazookas—lay propped against a fence beside him.
Julie slowed. "He hasn't moved."
Zeke stepped closer. "Sir?"
The soldier flinched, eyes snapping into focus. He looked at them, really looked—at the glowing weapons, the glasses, the impossible calm with which they stood in the middle of a dead street.
"About time," he muttered. "Thought I was gonna have to make a break for it."
Zeke blinked. "You… you're not freaking out?"
The soldier shook his head once. "Already did that part. Didn't help."
A soft chime sounded in Zeke's ear. The soldier's vitals stabilized, the icon turning green.
SAVED.
Julie glanced at the bazookas. "Those yours?"
The soldier nudged them with his boot. "Yours now. Zombies don't seem big on recoil discipline."
Zeke hefted one, feeling the weight settle into his arms. Too much power. Too real.
He didn't like how much he liked it.
They moved on.
The neighborhood unfolded into pockets of danger and false calm. A swimming pool glimmered faintly behind a hedge, water rippling gently. A man thrashed waist-deep inside, arms slapping uselessly as zombies gathered on the tiles, unable—or unwilling—to step in.
Julie took the long way around while Zeke drew the dead off with short, controlled bursts. The pool guy bolted the moment he was clear, vanishing down a side street without looking back.
SAVED.
Behind another hedge, a barbecue grill smoked unattended. A man stood beside it, frozen, spatula still in hand. Zombies pressed close, snarling but snagged on lawn furniture and garden lights.
"Go!" Zeke shouted as Julie cleared a path.
The man dropped the spatula and ran.
SAVED.
Each rescue steadied the HUD, but the street never felt safer. Zombies wandered in from alleys, from yards, from behind houses they'd already passed. Not faster. Just… more.
At the far end of a tree-lined lot, a cheerleader screamed.
Julie cursed and sprinted.
The girl darted between trunks, panic driving her straight toward danger. Zeke vaulted a low fence, firing over Julie's shoulder, shots timed and careful. The cheerleader barely slowed, colliding into Julie hard enough to knock the wind out of both of them.
Zeke blasted the last zombie inches from the girl's back.
She shrieked once more—then bolted, disappearing into the night.
SAVED.
Julie stayed crouched for a second longer than necessary, hands on her knees, breathing hard.
"Tell me we're keeping count," she said.
"We are," Zeke replied. "And we're doing good."
A pause.
Then Julie's HUD blinked again. New signal. West.
A house.
Its front door stood open.
Inside, the lights were still on.
Zeke hesitated at the threshold.
The noise of the street dimmed the moment they stepped inside. Carpets muffled their footsteps. Family photos lined the walls—smiling faces, vacations, birthdays.
A soft sound came from deeper within.
Julie moved first.
They found the baby in a back room, lying in a crib beneath a mobile that spun lazily, playing a tune warped by low batteries. Green light pulsed faintly around the edges of the room where zombies pressed against windows and walls, clawing uselessly.
Julie scooped the baby up without hesitation.
The HUD chimed—gentler than before.
SAVED.
For a moment, neither of them moved.
"This one," Julie said quietly, "we don't mess up."
Zeke nodded.
Outside again, the night felt heavier.
They kept moving. Down an alley choked with ivy and trash cans, where hedges lied about where walls really were. Julie pressed through what looked like solid greenery and vanished—then reappeared on the other side, grinning grimly as Zeke followed.
Two explorers were pulled from corners just as zombies closed in. A teacher stood rigid near a sidewalk, eyes glassy with shock, whispering questions neither kid could answer.
Each time: a burst of light, a turn of the icon, a human sprinting away.
SAVED. SAVED. SAVED.
By the time they reached the northern strip of pavement, both were breathing hard. Zeke wiped sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, bazooka slung across his back like a bad idea he couldn't put down.
One last cheerleader stood near the edge of the block, zombies converging from three directions.
They didn't hesitate.
The Super Soakers hissed in tandem. Zombies fell. The girl ran.
SAVED.
The HUD dimmed.
No fanfare. No jingle.
Just a quiet confirmation: all signals clear.
The First Toy spoke.
"Well done," he said softly. "You kept the night from tipping."
Julie looked down the street, where zombies still wandered—but fewer now. Slower. Less certain.
Zeke swallowed. "So this… this matters."
"Yes," the Toy replied. "Tonight matters. Tomorrow will ask more of you."
At the edge of the block, the air shimmered.
A new door began to form—flickering like a reflection on polished glass. Beyond it, fluorescent light buzzed faintly. Shelves. Aisles.
Julie frowned. "Please tell me that's not—"
The First Toy's chuckle returned, thin and amused.
"Hope you're hungry, kiddos," it said. "Level Three stocks everything."
The door finished forming.
And the neighborhood, at last, went quiet.