The three of them bolted up to the seventh floor, taking the stairs two at a ti. But as they neared the rooftop access, the stench hit them like a wall.
The stairwell reeked of rot—thick, sour, and suffocating. The pile of corpses they’d left there days ago had been stewing in the sumr heat, and now the air was practically toxic.
Ethan gagged and clamped a hand over his nose. The stairs were blocked, so he grabbed the railing and hauled himself up, climbing over the ss as fast as he could.
Chris and Henry followed, faces twisted in disgust, trying not to breathe.
They burst onto the rooftop and slamd the door shut behind them, gasping for clean air like they’d just surfaced from underwater.
"Ethan," Chris wheezed, still catching his breath, "why the hell did we co up here?"
"To look at the stars," Ethan said.
Chris blinked. "To what?"
"Look at the stars," Ethan repeated, dead serious.
Henry gave him a look like he’d lost his mind. "You dragged us through a corpse sauna to stargaze?"
Ethan turned to face them. "I used my ability earlier to watch the zombies. When they were staring at the Nine-Star Dipper, I saw mysterious energy flowing into them. I had you two try it too, and the sa thing happened—just less of it. That might be how they’re getting stronger. So we’re going to try it ourselves."
Chris and Henry stared at him, wide-eyed.
"You’re serious?" Chris asked.
Ethan nodded. "Dead serious."
That was enough. The three of them found a relatively clean patch of concrete and lay down, eyes fixed on the sky. The Nine-Star Dipper hung above them, its nine stars glowing faintly in the dark.
Within minutes, Ethan could see it again—wisps of mysterious energy drifting down, seeping into their bodies.
His own energy intake was noticeably higher than the others’. Whether it was because of his Tier 2 status or his eye-based ability—or both—he wasn’t sure. But the difference was clear.
None of them felt anything dramatic. No rush of power, no sudden transformation. If they hadn’t trusted Ethan, Chris and Henry probably would’ve given up.
Staring at a glowing constellation for minutes on end was harder than it sounded. Even with their Tier 1 enhancents, their eyes started to ache after twenty minutes.
Ethan, though, didn’t flinch. He lay there, eyes locked on the stars, completely still.
Chris and Henry took breaks, rubbing their eyes and blinking away the burn. After a few minutes, they’d go back to it, trying to push through another round.
But Ethan never stopped. Not once.
They exchanged a glance, both silently thinking the sa thing—this wasn’t just about strength. Ethan’s endurance was on another level.
At first, they figured it was just because he was a tier higher. But the longer they watched him, the more they realized it had to be his gift. His eyes weren’t just sharp—they were built for this.
And so the night passed.
They lay on the rooftop, staring at the stars, fighting off sleep and eye strain. Chris and Henry lost count of how many tis they had to rest. Ethan only closed his eyes once, and even then, it was just a brief mont—more of a blink than a nap.
By 5 a.m., the Nine-Star Dipper began to fade, its stars dimming one by one.
The mont it vanished, exhaustion hit them like a wave. Their eyes closed, and this ti, they didn’t open again.
Day Four of the Apocalypse.
The food crisis hit full force.
Most households had only stocked up for two or three days, and by now, pantries were bare. Hunger set in like a slow-burning fuse. So people risked venturing outside to scavenge. Others took the easier, darker route—turning on their neighbors. Theft and looting beca routine. In a world without laws, the worst parts of human nature began to surface.
And as if that wasn’t enough, the zombies evolved again.
Teams that had once been able to clear out the infected were now suffering heavy losses. Many were forced into hiding, licking their wounds. The so-called "experts" who’d been posting zombie-fighting tutorials online? Silent now.
The internet, once filled with shaky footage of survivors battling the undead, was now flooded with desperate pleas for help. The tone had shifted—less bravado, more despair. A digital graveyard of hope.
Then, just as the last threads of optimism were fraying, the authorities dropped a bombshell.
A public announcent lit up every screen still connected to the grid.
According to the ssage, certain mutated zombies carried a red crystal core in their skulls. Consuming one of these cores could drastically enhance a person’s physical abilities—enough to take down regular zombies with ease.
The announcent included photos of the crystal cores and a warning: these mutated zombies were far stronger than the average kind. Taking one down would require teamwork.
Still, the ssage was clear—kill zombies, get stronger, survive.
The internet exploded.
In a world teetering on the edge of collapse, this was a beacon in the dark. A chance. A reason to fight.
People started pouring out of their hos, weapons in hand, chasing the promise of power. So ford alliances. Others built gangs. The hunt for crystal cores had begun.
But up on the rooftop, Ethan, Chris, and Henry slept through it all.
They didn’t wake until noon, completely wiped from the night before.
Ethan stirred first, stretching with a groan. As he sat up, he paused—then grinned. He could feel it. His body was different. Stronger.
Just as he’d hoped.
He nudged Chris and Henry awake with his foot. "Hey. Wake up. Check yourselves—see if you feel any stronger."
Chris rubbed his eyes, then clenched his fists and flexed his arms. His face lit up. "Yeah. I think I gained about twenty pounds of strength."
"Sa here," Henry said, eyes wide.
Ethan nodded, though a small frown tugged at his brow. Their gains were decent, but nowhere near his. He’d felt at least a sixty-pound boost. Then again, they’d taken breaks all night while he’d stared at the stars nonstop. It made sense.
"Alright," Ethan said, standing. "We’re doing this every night from now on. If we keep it up, even if the crystal core thing goes public, we’ll stay ahead of the curve."
"Deal," Chris said.
"Definitely," Henry added.
"Let’s grab so food and head out. Today, I want both of you hitting Tier 2."
"What about you?" Chris asked.
"I’ll wait. You two catch up first."
"Fair enough."
They headed downstairs and returned to their dorm, scarfed down a quick al, and took a short break. In a world gone to hell, they were living like kings.
"Ethan," Chris said, wrinkling his nose, "we really need to switch dorms. Getting to the rooftop here is a nightmare, and even with the door shut, the stink still seeps through."
"Yeah, it’s awful," Henry agreed. "I can still sll it."
Ethan nodded. "Alright. Let’s pack up and find a better place."
"What about the grad apartnts?" Chris suggested. "I heard they’ve got better facilities, and they’ve got rooftops too."
"Sounds good. Let’s move."
They packed up everything—clothes, food, supplies—stuffing it all into several backpacks. Each of them carried one on their back and one on their chest, loaded down like traveling rchants.
Once they were ready, they left the dorm behind and set off toward the grad apartnts.
...
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