The World Is Mine For The Taking

We managed to escape the horde by hiding in crumbling structures, but not without losses. One of the survivors was killed by a Demon Zombie Dog that appeared out of nowhere and took him out instantly. Now, only four of us remained. To make matters worse, we were practically surrounded. Our chances of survival had plummeted from slim to none in just a few hours.

"Damnit! How the fuck are we supposed to get out of this mess?!" one of the survivors shouted, pulling at his hair in sheer desperation.

It was already 7 P.M., with only three hours left until our scheduled rescue. But that seemed almost impossible, given how far we were from safety.

"We're going to die..." another survivor murmured, tears streaming down his face. He was sobbing uncontrollably, having just watched his lover be torn apart right before his eyes.

"We have to keep moving if we're going to make it to the building," said one of the survivors, the calmest of the group. His demeanor was unshakable, and his strength was evident. He didn't appear to be from an Asian country—thanks to the Ruination, people from all over had mixed together, and race no longer mattered.

He looked like a battle-hardened veteran, his uniform bearing the marks of countless conflicts. Among us, he was the strongest.

"If you want to just roll over and die, then go ahead!" shouted the survivor who was sobbing uncontrollably. His voice cracked with panic. He primarily used a rifle, which was nearly useless against Demon Zombies unless equipped with explosives. "Did you not see Mia? She was ripped apart! I couldn't do anything to help her!

If we step outside, we'll end up like her! I'm not ready to die yet!"

"Shut up, you fucking piece of shit," snapped another survivor. His blonde hair was streaked with dirt, and his face was covered in piercings. Tattoos sprawled across his body, and although he had a slim, unmuscular frame, it was clear he had a different kind of strength. "Do you have any idea how many people have suffered because of spineless idiots like you?! It's your fucking fault your girl died!

If you want to live, get over it and move on! Or do you want me to put a bullet in your head to shut you up and use you as bait so we can escape? Hell, that's actually a fucking good idea. Sacrificing you might buy us some time to reach the building. You're useless anyway."

As he spoke, he pressed the gun's barrel against the sobbing survivor's forehead.

"W-What?! No... I don't want to die yet...!" the terrified man pleaded, his voice trembling.

"That's not for you to decide," he snarled, his voice dripping with cold menace. "I should have done this earlier to secure my own survival."

"T-This is murder, you know? Do you really think you can just walk away from something like that?" the terrified man stammered.

"Hahaha! Murder? Law? Do you think any fucking laws still matter in this shithole of a world? You're fucking naive!" he laughed, his voice slicing through the tension as he pulled the trigger.

In a swift, decisive move, the military man shoved the gun away from the terrified survivor's forehead.

"What the fuck, old man? Why'd you stop me?" the attacker roared, frustration boiling over.

"Killing someone and using them as bait isn't the answer," the military man replied, his voice steady and commanding. "If we want to survive, we need to maximize our chances and keep every option on the table."

"Fuck that!" the man snapped back, his voice sharp and filled with rage. "Do you think I want to drag around a useless dead weight like him? This guy is a fucking liability. We should just kill him! There's no reason to hesitate—we're talking about our survival here!"

His words reverberated through the room.

"Hey, you. The oriental girl," the man said, his voice slicing through the tension like a knife. "You think it's wise to kill someone and sacrifice them if it boosts your chances of survival, don't you?"

Everyone turned to look at me.

"I can see it in your eyes," he continued, his voice cutting through the dim light. "You've been surviving alone for the past three months, probably teetering on the edge of sanity. That kind of isolation breeds a fierce instinct for self-preservation. Even before the Ruination, you were driven by this extreme need to stay alive. You tell yourself you can't die yet.

Those eyes—those are the eyes of someone determined to cling to life. I'd wager that if you thought killing someone would boost your chances of survival, you'd do it without a second thought."

He was right about one thing. I had an overwhelming sense of self-preservation. I didn't want to die—it was a promise I made to myself. I couldn't waste the life Tsubasa-kun had saved. I had to stay alive. But that didn't mean I was willing to kill someone just to keep breathing.

I turned my gaze away from them, offering no clear response. My silence was as ambiguous as it was telling.

"Tsk. Boring," the man said with a sneer. He finally dropped down, sitting cross-legged on the cold, grimy floor. "So, how the fuck are we getting out of this mess?"

That was the burning question hanging in the air. Outside, the mob of zombies pressed against our sanctuary, a seething mass of rotting flesh and hunger. We were trapped in a dilapidated structure, its crumbling walls barely holding back the relentless tide of monsters. If we didn't make a move soon and head toward the building, there was no telling when the next rescuers might come.

It could be a year, or we might never see another chance. I wasn't sure I could endure this hellhole for much longer.

"I don't think they'll ease up unless we wait here until morning," the military man said, his voice tinged with desperation. "But by then, it'll be too late." His eyes were shadowed with the weight of the situation, reflecting the grim reality that our chances were slipping away.

"With less than three hours until the rescuers arrive, we need to reach the building by exactly 10 P.M. or we'll lose this chance forever. So here's the plan: we sacrifice that useless fucker over there. Shove him out into the horde, and we'll get a brief respite before those monsters tear him apart, his flesh ripped to shreds. It's a fucking brilliant idea."

"Don't do that...! I don't want to end up as zombie chow just so you assholes can survive!"

"That's right. We don't have to sacrifice anyone to survive," the military man said firmly.

"Then what the fuck are we supposed to do? Are we just going to rot here and do nothing?" the tattooed man shouted, his voice cracking with frustration.

I remained silent, a spectator to their heated argument. There was no way I could bust through the swarm of Demon Zombies outside—my strength alone wouldn't cut it.

"Does anyone have any flares or smoke bombs?" the military man asked urgently. "If you do, hand them over. We might be able to use them to create a diversion."

"What the hell would those fucking things do against the zombies outside?" the tattooed man barked back, his tone dripping with skepticism.

The military man stared him down, unwavering. "Flares and smoke bombs can create confusion and buy us time. The zombies are drawn to light and movement. We can use that to our advantage."

The tattooed guy scoffed. "Great, so we throw some fireworks and hope they get distracted long enough for us to slip by? That's your grand plan?"

"It's better than sitting here waiting to die," the military man retorted. "Unless you have a better idea, shut the fuck up and start looking for those flares."

I glanced around at the others. Desperation was etched on their faces. We were running out of time.

"Here," I said, reaching into my backpack and pulling out a couple of flares. "I have these. It's not much, but it might help."

The military man took them with a nod of gratitude. "Good. We'll need everyone to be ready. Once the flares go off, we move fast and stick together. Got it?"

The man with the piercings sneered but didn't argue. He knew as well as we all did that it was our best shot.

The military man turned to me. "You're going to be at the center of this. You seem to know how to handle yourself. Stay close, and if anything happens, we cover each other. Understand?"

I nodded, my grip tightening on my weapon. "Understood."

"Alright, everyone," he said, his voice taking on a commanding tone. "Get ready. We move out in five."

I gripped my gun tightly, feeling its cold weight in my hands. The others did the same, their faces set with grim determination.

"One... two..."

The military man's hand tightened around the door handle, the flare poised and ready.

"Three... four..."

We exchanged glances, our eyes filled with the shared tension and resolve.

Then...

"Five!"

With a sharp jerk, the military man threw open the door. The flare arced through the air, its bright, blinding light cutting through the darkness outside. The sudden illumination made the horde of Demon Zombies turn their attention toward us, their groans and screeches growing louder.

As the flare flared up, the military man led the charge, shouting over the chaos, "Move! Now!"

We surged forward, our hearts pounding in sync with the desperate rush. The zombies, momentarily disoriented by the flare's light, swarmed towards it, creating a small but crucial gap in their ranks.