Chapter Text
The heat of the sun made everything worse.
It made water harder to find. Made long walks that much more difficult, with the sun beating down even the hardiest of survivors.
Especially, it made the bodies stink worse.
You cover your mouth with a grimace, stepping over the half-rotten corpses strewn across what's left of the road. They’d definitely turned before they died, that's for sure. Had to have been out for less than a couple days, given that the pelting rain only a few nights ago would have turned them into a melted mess of bloated flesh.
It’s a necessary evil, though. Better to go along the main road than through the buildings and alleyways, in a completely lost city like this. At least you can see what was coming for you. And attack accordingly. Your bow is a comforting weight across your back, although the measly two arrows tucked into your quiver render the weapon essentially useless. You haven’t found the materials to make more arrowheads yet.
Cursing quietly as your boot went clean through the head of a sun-bleached infected, your eyes are already up- sharp, assessing, wary. Like they have to be. Like everyone’s had to be in a place like this, even though you haven’t seen another Robloxian in months.
Months…
You are used to the isolation. But you’d be lying if you said it didn’t take a toll on you. It can't be helped. Robloxians are social creatures.
That’s not important right now, though. What matters is getting to a safe spot, preferably before noon, to bunker down for the next couple days. These infected were definitely killed by other survivors, and you’d rather not take the risks associated with bumping into another group. Not when you're barely hanging on yourself.
Food, clean water, always having a weapon on hand and an escape route in sight. Those are the four rules you've learned to live with, the first four things you think about when you wake up in a cold sweat and the last 4 things you sorted out before you passed for the night.
And you're running out of food. You only had half a canteen left. You only have two arrows, and you don't know where the hell you are.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
You curse under your breath, picking up the pace. The road is littered with corpses that are already falling apart, grotesque growths bursting from their skin that had grown long before they’d fallen on the bitumen. You have to be careful. Even if they aren’t going to get up and bite you (which had happened before. For being such mindless shambling creatures, they could sure be good at playing dead), all it would take is one flake of blood or strip of flesh to go into your bloodstream and you’d be done for. The virus spread so easily. And yet it's still better to hang around here, among the corpses that rational survivors wouldn’t go within ten feet of, instead of running the risk of bumping into others.
It was just one of many ways you've adapted to survive.
Drumming your fingers on the handle of the blade at your hip, you finally clear the slog of corpses and continue down the road. Stay in plain sight, and run the risk of getting shot at? Or descend into the alleyways and ruined side streets of the fallen city, and potentially have a run-in with the infected.
Decisions. So many decisions. Your head hurts, and if you hadn’t have been at it for years, you might have just given up here. Ducked into one of the crumbling skyscrapers or run-down city buildings that lined the streets and call it a night. But that's a stupid decision, and stupid decisions get people killed.
With a sigh, you keep on moving.
============
…You manage to find shelter.
It isn’t great. There's a patch of greenish-black mold growing in the corner that definitely isn’t healthy to inhale, and the door is made of a flimsy plywood. But the small office you've found is indoors, and high off the ground, with plenty of desks around to barricade the entrances.
Good enough.
Framed by the light of the setting sun, you sink down against a wall and begin to sort through your pack.
A third of a canteen of water. One unopened and one half-empty cans of corn. Your bow. Two arrows. Your seax and pocketknife. Other bits and bobs that all fit into your survival plan in a meticulous way crafted through years of hardship.
As you unpack, your mind can’t help but wonder. Were there still people in this part of the city? Or had they been turned too? Maybe all the survivors were left on the street back there, with the number of bodies….
You don’t like to wish. You aren’t a faithful person. Not to Telamon, or the Admins before your part of Roblox went into quarantine, or even to the 2x2. None of those gods are listening. The quarantine zone was forsakened a long time ago, and if you want something, you have to get up and get it yourself.
Still, you find yourself wishing to everything and nothing at the same time as you stard into the orange sun until your retinas burn. You wish that there was just…. Someone. Anyone. Survivors were cutthroat, and surviving was ruthless. Staying alone is in your best interests. But years of isolation haven’t removed your need for human connection. It's just been tempered, drowned under years of trauma and travel along the road to scavenge for whatever you could.
And so, as the sun dips below the crumbling city skyline, you make your wish. A wish for human connection; for true, genuine connection, someone that you could trust with your life and would protect you in turn.
It's a nice wish. A stupid one, for sure, but still nice to think about.
============
A loud crash wakes you up in the middle of the night.
Loud thumps and footfalls from the offices downstairs. It could be other survivors, or... something else. Either way, you need to get a move on.
You pack your bag in a few minutes, and unbarricade the door in another four. Slipping through the door and down the hallway, you peer around the corner.
...A flashlight beam swings across the end of the hallway.
Shit.
Gripping your seax tighter, you step back from the corner and started inching your way down the other hallway. You have to leave. You have to get out-
"HEY!-"
Time to go.
You give up on stealth entirely, sprinting down the hallway and shoving the figure who had spotted you to the ground with a loud thump. The person -a man, by the sound of it- swears and fumbles for a weapon on his belt. Throwing yourself into the nearest open door, you manage to slam the plywood shut just as a bullet tears through where you were just standing. You quickly drag a chair over, jamming it under the door handle and looking around in a panic.
Through the window? No, you're halfway up a skyscraper. Another room? No other doors visible. Gripping your seax tighter, you back up against the wall and duck under a desk as another shot turns the door to splinters.
…
…
-.. --- / -.-- --- ..- / .-- .. ... .... / ..-. --- .-. / -.-. .... .- -. --. . ..--..
…Your brows furrow.
What? Were you going crazy?
…
-.-- --- ..- .----. .-. . / .. -. - . .-. . ... - .. -. --. .-.-.-
It just sounds like white noise. Heavily distorted, like radio static or the ringing in your ears after a gunshot.
…
- .... . / --. .- -- . / .. ... / --. . - - .. -. --. / -... --- .-. .. -. --. .-.-.- / - .... .- - / -.-. .- -. -. --- - / ... - .- -. -.. .-.-.-
Another bang on the door. More angry voices, smashing their way through the flimsy barrier.
Ḻ̶͐̉e̴̞̩̹̩͔̩̖̫̥̺̬̒͐͒̍̀̃̑̚̚ͅt̸̡̢̧̨̩͔̫̬̜̪̬̹͕̻͗̏͠'̵̨͙̜̰͚̲͓̉͂̌̇ ̶̨̨̼̘̠̥̞̫̍̌̅̈́̈́̔̕͜ͅṁ̴̢̠̱͇̫̹̙͆͝ā̷̧̨̯̗̻̞̤̗͓̂̓̍͜k̸̨̬͈͕̯̙͓͕̀̑̈́̓̏͑̄́̚͜͝͝͠é̴̹̱̠̺͜͜ ̶̛̺̗̜̝͓̬̗̞̬̟͉̦̮̣̰̋̔̈́̐͋̾̌̆̎̄́͝ă̸̧̰̰̭̤̣ ̸̬̱̤̖̠̥͙͎̯̀̍̂͜d̸̖͉̻̗̱̰̠̣͔̖̞̳̋͋͂͜ę̴͖͉͙̥͎̝̥͇͕̞͛̏̀á̷̡̢͈̰̮̩͔͊̄̆͂̚͝͠l̶̞̫̰͗̽̚.̴͓̽̈́͑̓́̍͑̀ͅ ̷̧̯̗͙̲̦̱̟̤̥̞̻͈̠͂̀̍̔̂̽͌́̀͋̀̀͝
...Or was it a voice?
A deal.
Maybe this was a god. Maybe something had finally answered your prayers. More likely you were hallucinating.
But what choice do you have? Something cold and oily seizes your chest as the door finally blew open, cones of light sweeping through the open room.
.. / .-- .. .-.. .-.. / --. .-. .- -. - / -.-- --- ..- .-. / .-- .. ... .... --..-- / .-.. .. - - .-.. . / .- -. .. -- .- .-.. .-.-.-
Your vision goes blurry, and the world tilts sideways as something grabs your soul and yanks.
…
…
…
... . . / -.-- --- ..- / ... --- --- -. .-.-.-
You swear you can hear a distorted laugh ringing in your ears as you fall.
And fall.
And fall.