Everybody has heard of at least one story like it; that of a man who leads an underdog group to victory against 'evil'. They were filled with all kinds of exaggerations, such as enemy armies being able to cover the land, the antagonist being atrocity incarnate, and the worst of all, how a small number of good could conquer a vast number of evil.

It was the typical tale of good versus evil, underdog versus top dog, few against many. Romantic, heroic, and inspiring; these stories were held in the hearts of many as symbols of the human spirit. No matter what the odds are, with enough determination and luck, one can prevail. Truly the pinnacle of aspiration... of bullshit. All he could remark on the matter how absurd it sounded.

Sure there were those antagonists who were characterized as having such narrow-mindedness that they leave fatal openings for the weak to exploit. They were one-dimensional and acted more like an object than an intelligent being. However, more often than not, writers would attempt to create relatable antagonists; those with convictions of their own that drive them to commit the acts that they do. These characters were driven enough to push forward to their goals with all of their might yet human enough to look around them.

And together with the resources granted upon them by necessity, these 'antagonists' should have, by all means and reasons, won at the end. More often than not, their loss could only be attributed to extraordinarily bad luck and in which case cannot be wholly attributed to the protagonist's efforts.

"The protagonist was just lucky. If the bad guy slipped on a banana peel and fell down the stairs to his death in front of the protagonist then it would have been the same."

Though, he had to admit, that wouldn't look good in a movie at all.

Surely enough, ten years nothing but empty mornings and sleepless nights had tempered his belief. Many attempts at reclaiming civilization had been attempted. While some were successful to some point, everything fell apart soon after. The Leak spared nothing. Good cannot simply win against 'evil' of that scale and number. The weak naturally lost to the strong. One cannot defend against the many. As the undead fell from the sky without warning, people who have gathered in large communities to support one another simply turned into new undead hubs. The same thing happened to reclaimed villages, towns, cities — everything. People could only live in fragmented groups; the lucky ones went underground, all the while dreading the next time the sky opened its eyes.

Eventually, even they will be whittled down. Maybe not soon, but probably in the distant future. A decade is enough time for humans to adapt, but with a power much greater in strength and number than their own, it's only a matter of time before humanity as they knew it would cease to be.

It wouldn't even make for a decent movie.

That was why it was imperative that each group seek power to survive on their own, for as long as they are able to. Weapons, food, luxuries, shelter, among other things constituted what amounted to power in the new, mid-apocalyptic world. And the most important component to strength is what those mentioned were to be used for—

"Won't you join us? It will be much easier to survive in numbers."

—personnel.

They were at an abandoned apartment building, three blocks away from where they had retrieved Julyette's rifle. The entrance was blockaded by several layers of furniture, so they had to enter from a backdoor. As they had to run into part of the undead encirclement, a few fights had been inevitable. Thankfully, they both had luck and initiative so the Zs they had encountered were managed relatively easily. In addition, the mysterious woman demonstrated outstanding skill with her curved blade; apparently called a 'khopesh' according to Violet, who had seen such swords from TV documentaries. As a side note, she also mentioned that it was actually an axe, despite being a sword... Anyway, faced with the whirlwind of death from their two front liners, Frank never even had the opportunity or the need to take aim. Evan, meanwhile, had been delegated purely to lookout duty.

It would be their little "resistance base" for a while.

It was a pleasant surprise for the three to find that the apartment had no undead anywhere inside, despite being located in a region with dense mobs of them. Many signs of battle could be found near tens of rotting corpses, however, which told them why that was so. The only problem was that the situation was likely to only be temporary. Worst case scenario, if enough undead gathered to where they previously were, then it will overflow into the surrounding facilities, which included where they were hiding. They hadn't gone far from where they were, after all. So they fled to the highest floor in the apartment, a temporary safe house made by the stranger.

Upon entering, Evan was relieved to find that the smell inside the room was tolerable enough that he could remove his respirator without retching. Frank stayed out of the room to block the fire exit and guard the staircase. If in case the undead started to occupy the apartment then they would have no choice but to seal themselves in and weather it out — or make the jump to the adjacent buildings.

As the blood-curdling groans of the hordes began to fill the background, Violet immediately went down to business. She wanted to get one thing out of the way before everything else, as it will decide the direction her team will take afterwards. And that was to try to add that stranger to their ranks.

It was typically a poor move to do so without first learning about the other party. But the decision to hire fresh faces to their group was and has always been left to Violet's discretion and hers alone. In fact, it was the one thing she had authority over in the group that exceeded even that of the group's leader. As to why, Evan didn't know. He just went with the flow and didn't ask. Well, quite frankly, he didn't care all that much. She hadn't made any mistakes over the years he's been with them at least, and he didn't even realize her influence until much later.

Those who had talent to survive lived, more often than not. Thus, it was plain to see for all three of them that the stranger had martial ability far beyond what an average survivor had.

However, there was a limit to what pure strength of arms could do. The most obvious indicator would be the state of the sword — or rather, the axe she possessed.

Evan stared at the weapon on her hands. She was busy sharpening the edge using a knife sharpening stone. He had to consciously stop himself from commenting. It was like trying to clean a mansion floor using a toothbrush. The stone had been worn down to the point where bits of it had already broken off. The sword itself seemed like it was threatening the surrounding people that it would snap in half soon.

If one were to consider the kind of abuse melee weapons were subjected to in that world, then it wasn't a surprise that months of constant use with nothing but a stone to maintain it with would cause to be in such a state. In fact Evan had to praise the woman for managing to keep the sword usable up to that point.

Due to the nature of the enemy, burning them was the only way to completely and immediately deal with them. Otherwise, dismembering or maiming their limbs did the trick, too, but they expired over the course of a couple of days instead. To perform the latter, in terms of gaming lingo, slashing damage worked the best, with blunt damage being next. However, blades wore down very quickly from repeated impact with bone. That was the reason why Violet preferred the latter. It saved up on valuable resources, and with an arm strength and dynamic vision like hers, demolishing limbs and heads with one accurate blow wasn't an issue.

That being the case, it could not go on for any longer. He was sure about it. A look at her told him everything he needed to know.

Just like Nathan said, her garments resembled the form of a nun. However, it was only in form. Her chest was completely covered with what looked like black composite armor. Instead of a tunic, she wore a long-sleeved top and black pants. A waist cape made of leather that reached all the way to her ankles was what gave her the outline of a nun. It was fastened to her hips with a thick belt with a mysteriously-shaped buckle. Underneath that cape he saw leather shin guards and boots strapped on top of her pants. Her hands were covered by thick leather gloves which looked no worse than her weapon. Emblazoned on her garments were images of what looked like crosses with a sun at their center. Several jewelry such as necklaces and bracelets, though bloodied, could also be seen under her attire. Finally, a canopy of long, black, straight hair that reached her waist completed her nun-like outline.

Her appearance was striking, to say the least. She was indeed a nun, but at the same time wasn't. Probably. It wasn't wrong to say that religious symbols simply littered a nun-like outfit. The damage spread across her clothes and armor spoke volumes of the amount of time she'd spent battling in it. There were scratches, both light and deep, chipped leather, torn fabric, bloodstains, and many more. But all that really did in the midst of all the ruin was to endow her with some divine air. Evan imagined that her visage had an impression of a knight back during the crusade.

Additionally, he counted nine sheaths strapped at various places on her body. Only three of those actually had weapons in them, though. And on the floor, he could barely see a knife that looked like it had already broken in half.

Thus, there was one bargaining point.

"We have the means to maintain your weapons and more of them you can use. We also have food, and other supplies. If you have family with you, we're willing to take them in as well."

Once again, in that new world, resources dictated power. It was the new politics of the land, the new convention, influence and currency. And the ability to defend those were wealth in talent. The more veterans and gifted people they had to make use of and acquire those resources, the better their lives would become. Although, that last part of Violet's offer seemed slightly strange. If their enigmatic nun was part of a much larger group, then it would be very difficult to pull her out of it. Since they could not take in too many people at once, Violet implied that she would only take in family.

Of course, that had many implications, such as the leisure to take them hostage.

However, a thick, red scarf and a pair of military goggles completely blocked their view of her face. They could not determine whether they needed to reel the line in or to tempt her with more bait. She didn't even respond. It was then that Violet dropped another offer to her; firearms.

It was a fact that America possessed the most firearms owned by the civilian populace a decade ago. In addition, there was probably enough ammunition in the country to kill the world's population, before the apocalypse, several times over. But why and how were guns so rare already after just over ten years? Well, that was quite a story. Regardless, there was a problem:

Most of them were inconvenient to use against the undead.

Besides .50 caliber weapons, explosives tank shells, grenades, and other similar weapons, the undead simply ignored the damage they took from them. Headshots did not work as they had expected it to from movies. Plus, the noise only served to attract more of them. Although they could still stagger the zombies somewhat with well-placed shots and large bullets, they were still mostly useless.

Firearms were prized for a different reason.

Sad as it was, the biggest threat in the wasteland that was once the mostly-peaceful Earth was themselves. When the world fell to ruin, the complete disintegration of the world's ruling bodies meant everything had become free to take. Laws no longer guaranteed one's property. Everybody had to defend — or take what they thought was theirs or wanted through violence. Not being able to claim your property meant death.

Silly how instead of uniting to rebuild civilization, people started stabbing — shooting each other on the back instead.

Violet only mentioned that they had firearms, and not that they would allow her use of it. But if she proved to be talented, then why not?

Still, no response was given, Violet pushed once again, determined to make up for the loss of Julyette with this stranger. And after a couple of minutes of insistent coercion, the woman finally raised her head. Violet and Evan braced themselves for her answer.

—And she still gave none.

The girl turned her head back to her chore, caring not for the mixed expression of bewilderment that twisted their faces.

People often said that silence implied consent. Those who thought that it applied to every situation should have a twig shoved up their throats, Evan thought. More often than not, silence meant silence. In other words, she wasn't interested. And that was no different from complete rejection.

If she was in any way interested in being with a group of people, she would have tailed Nathan all the way to their camp and at the very least made contact, Evan thought. It might be that she was a bandit and did follow them, but moving alone, with no companions around, and opening hostilities against a group was suicidal.

That did not mean they — she was just going to give up. After all, personal reasons be damned, Violet looked like she really wanted her.

"Haahh, well fine," Violet surrendered. She scratched her scalp hard in frustration but managed to stop herself with just that. Evan's face contorted in shock. It was an utterly baffling sight to see the stubborn Violet give up without resorting to more unruly means. Andy, for example, was beaten half to death by her to get him to join. Frankly speaking, Violet was very impatient. Evan almost wanted to give a standing ovation.

The team leader walked away from the window to sit with them at the table. Since they were safe for the time being, Violet removed her jacket and vest along with her mask and goggles to cool herself down. Though her healthy tanned skin glistening with sweat and only covered by a crop top was a sight for sore eyes, Evan's mind was thoroughly preoccupied with something else to waste time ogling at her, namely, several boxes stacked messily on one corner of the room.

There was absolutely nothing wrong with stashing supplies in safe rooms. People who decided to settle down often made several of such rooms a good distance apart from each other and stored supplies in each. The pros of doing so vastly outweigh the cons. For example, if one of those safe rooms were compromised either by the undead or by other humans, then there would be several more the owner could use. Otherwise, it would have been better to stock supplies only at the main camp. Evan was certain that the latter wasn't the case, though, as the safe room they were currently at sorely lacked the necessary preparations and conditions to be their primary base. For one, it was located right in the middle of no-man's-land. Second, while there were two ways to exit the building without jumping out of it, both means were through narrow paths with blind corners.

Of course, it was possible that the woman who was sharpening her battered sword had other companions — but Evan felt it extremely unlikely, still, as the apartment did not have any sentries posted… nor did the place have anything resembling a sentry post.

So why did those supplies catch his eye? They were marked by fluorescent paint in Nathan's signature. Did she trail Nathan's group back and pick up the supplies they marked?

Evan contemplated asking her. But when he realized that Violet was sitting down with her feet up with a full view of those boxes, he paused. She was looking at him with an annoyed expression on her face. She was gesturing to the boxes with her chin, out of view of the stranger. There should be a reason why she did not approach the subject. Maybe she was planning on using it as a leverage?

Oh. It was then that he understood. She wanted to leave the more complicated stuff to him. Evan shook his head, wishing that he didn't pick up on her intent, but ultimately resigning to his fate.

"Excuse me, Miss? I'm sorry for asking so late, but what's your name?" he asked, embarrassed for not asking much earlier. Basic manners was one of the few things that had remained even after ten years of the menace, so he wouldn't be surprised if they had already given a bad first impression. People who didn't know Violet would misunderstand her lack of these 'manners'. It wasn't as if she didn't have them; she just didn't care. "This is our team leader, Violet Cleveland. I'm Evan Stanton, and the guy outside's Frank Greene. And you are?"

… He, too, didn't get a reply.

Moment upon agonizing and awkward moments passed with no words being exchanged between any of them. The only sound that rang through the air was that of a blade being rubbed against a piece of broken, rough stone. It stretched to the point where the corners of Violet's eye started to twitch; a sign of an annoying tantrum to come. Maybe he was approaching the whole conversation thing in the wrong direction for someone like her?

How do you talk to someone who didn't like to talk, anyway?

"... Io."

"—Huh?"

What a surprise. But it wasn't because she finally talked, no. Her voice sounded… distorted, even if one considered the scarf over her mouth. Pleasant though it was to the ears, it didn't sound natural. Did something happen to her throat? Before they could come to terms with what they heard, her hands stopped its repetitive pushing action against the broken stone and held her sword on her right hand. She reached behind her and unfurled the scarf that covered half of her face. She spoke again—

"My name, Io."

—and removed her goggles.

"There, that should do it."

Frank gazed proudly at his handiwork; a barricade of furniture that was near impossible to remove from the outside thanks to the principle of leverage, while being easy to disassemble from the other side. "Thank god", he thought, that most of the furniture inside the empty rooms were still intact. There were even beds that probably hadn't been touched since the apocalypse started. Given, they were moldy, dusty and stuff, but still… beds! He hadn't slept in one for literal years.

The only problem was that for them to be able to use it, they would have to stay the night. It was highly unlikely given their current circumstances, much to his chagrin. The zombies continued to pour in from everywhere and it was only a matter of time before they would have to at least consider jumping from building to building.

With that out of the way, Frank walked back to his post at the staircase. Purely out of habit, he checked if his rifle's safety was on. Though he had a gun, his role there was mainly for lookout duty. Since guns were extremely inefficient against the undead, then opening fire was out of the question. It would only attract more of those things to their location.

Well, it was another story if it were humans.

With nothing else to do, he set about tidying himself somewhat. He started with his head, the most uncomfortable part of his body at that moment. He'd been wearing a balaclava for over twelve hours already. Though it was still winter, there was no avoiding the sweat that came from all the exertion they had done. He could only imagine how it was for their leader, Violet, who also took care of practically all of the zombies along the way. Besides, at the very least his ski mask was designed to be breathable, despite the heavy padding he sew on it. Violet wore a respirator with a pair of sand goggles instead, which was stuffy to say the least. Evan also used a respirator, but due to the nature of his role, he forewent any eye protection to better do his job.

What were the masks for? Simple.

It took two years for the remaining survivors to learn that it didn't actually matter if you were bit. If their blood got on your eyes or if you swallowed any part of their body, even a drop of that blood, it was game over. Any part that entered any orifice worked. Once bitten or otherwise, turning into one of them only took minutes. That was why they everyone wore some measure of protection on their faces.

Coincidentally, there were some curious folks who asked if they could get infected through their genitalia, but as far as Frank knew no daring citizen was adventurous or daring enough had ever tried it yet. Or... maybe it was just nobody lived to tell about it?

He removed his goggles and mask, then ruffled his hair to let it 'breathe'. Immediately a wave of relief washed over his body from his head. Though he would have liked to remove his jacket as well, he needed to keep himself in a state where it was easy to react to things.

There was an ungodly amount of background noise made by the horde as they passed through the back alleys in alarming numbers. From the lifeless groans that escaped their throats, the sound of them dragging their limbs along the asphalt, to the occasional sound of colliding flesh, all these in numbers too staggering to count made up the abominable orchestra of the living dead. And it was all in plain view to Frank, who had a less-than ideal vantage point of their parade through the glass set on the staircase.

"There's just no getting used to it. Just kidding."

He stared at the sky and judged the time with a wild guess. It should be around 8:00PM, he reckoned. Not much time had passed since they had that emergency meeting. Though Violet said Evan owed him an explanation, Frank wasn't even sure what they were talking about. Loathe as he was to admit, he didn't have Violet's shark-like senses or Evan's wit. But that was fine. They all had their roles to fill.

What he was sure of, however, was that it pertained to that woman they met recently.

"She was quite strong, wasn't she?"

He had never seen Violet be on guard against someone else in the middle of a zombie-infested city; a place where one mistake meant walking among the dead. The woman's weird attire that screamed religious fiction only added to her enigmatic first impression.

If everything was going as 'planned', then both Violet and Evan should currently be busy trying to recruit her to the group. While it may not be very wise to do given the lack of information they had on her, the group apparently haven't had many problems with people ever since they decided to leave it completely up to Violet. As for why they left everything to her, Frank didn't know. He'd only joined them two years ago, and by that time Violet was essentially the sole employee of the HR department. But it must be due to her infamous senses.

Besides, it wasn't as if they just accepted everything she said. In a way, one could say that their group was bound together by two things: Violet's discretion, and the metaphorical guns every one of them had on each other's backs.

"Frank."

"—!"

Something touched his shoulders at the same time as a voice slightly higher in range than usual reached his ears. Due to his momentary lapse in attention, the touch made him jump a bit and made him react in alarm. Despite that, in one swift motion, trained through years of experience, he brought his rifle to point towards the 'enemy'. The charging handle's two-stage sound effect echoed crisply above the horrifying groans from hell.

It took him a long time to process who the person in front of him is through the darkness of the corridor. There was practically no light, and the only thing he could work with was what scarce illumination the moon provided, which wasn't much given the current season. But thanks to his brain working double time he eventually managed to connect the voice with the silhouette he was aiming at.

"Calmed down? I think it's time to change shifts... Go inside and take some rest, alright? I'll take care of things here…"

It was Violet, their ever-confident team leader, speaking in a panicked voice completely uncharacteristic of her. A pair of goggles and a respirator with a dark backdrop gave her the appearance of a criminal. Frank quickly thought back; how long was he out there? It wasn't as if he had been so out of it that his thoughts would drag him to a wonderland for four hours. That being said, he should still have at least three more hours before someone needed to take over for him. However, since she said nothing concerning the matter, Frank decided not to ask. It must be fine if he considered it as a peculiar occasion. Obedient to orders, he nodded.

But as he walked towards the safe room, though the entire floor was safe, to take a well-deserved breather, Violet's voice called his attention once again.

"Hey, Frank? Get a good rest. You'll need it," she said, her voice filled with hidden meanings he couldn't interpret. He couldn't help but look back, only to see her stare absentmindedly at the procession of living corpses outside. Her profile looked beautiful, despite being covered by her usual facial protection. What quickly caught Frank's attention was something else, though, something he failed to notice when Violet had been standing under the shadows. It was still difficult to see given the limited lighting conditions, but Frank could swear he wasn't mistaken.

Her hand was pressing down on her neck, nurturing a bloody piece of cloth. It appeared unnaturally dark even with the lack of light.

"Are you—?"

"It was just an accident," she laughed off, the urgency in her voice completely gone. Instead it even sounded like she was happy about something, despite obviously being wounded. He could only look dumbfoundedly at the contrast until she egged him to go, prompting him to walk through the dark corridor still baffled.

When he got back inside the room, still wondering about Violet's state, the first thing he saw was Evan covering his mouth, deep in thought. The woman who had guided them there sat calmly at the head of the table, scarf off but goggles on, wiping her blade with a somewhat clean rag.

None of them responded to his arrival. There was only the relative silence inside, which was an overstatement given the background noise. Even when Frank took a seat across Evan, the latter didn't even budge. His gaze was set dead on the table as if he just found the most fascinating splinter of wood in the world. What was he supposed to say at that point?

And then suddenly, Evan's face shot up.

"Ah, Frank. You're here…?"

He sounded more surprised than anything. Weird, didn't Violet take over for him?

According to his peers, Violet and Evan had been working together in a team for over five years. They were the only team who had a perfect record of zero fatalities, which made every gunner hope that they would be the lucky ones to be assigned to them for every round of operations. Frank remembered how, earlier in the day, Violet and Evan moved with such an understanding between them that more often than not they needed nothing more than two hand gestures to deliver instructions to each other. Heck, there were even times when they only needed to look at each other to communicate.

They had incredible teamwork and trusted the other deeply. So, why would Evan be unaware of such a routine thing as a shift change? And-

"Yeah. Hey, Violet's bleeding on her neck? What happened?" he concernedly asked. But what he got a response was Evan awkwardly averting his gaze as he rubbed his neck.

"Oh, that? She was playing with a knife and it snapped and cut her neck. Lucky she only got a cut, huh?" Evan replied, pointing towards the floor. Sure enough, when Frank looked down he saw a boning knife - at least half of it. The tip was missing, presumably somewhere in the room, bloodied by the wound it inflicted on the neck of a maiden.

Like Frank could believe that. If Violet had been that careless then she wouldn't have survived past the first few days of the apocalypse. There was definitely something going on and it likely had to something to do with the woman cleaning her worn out blade. There was a sharpening stone set in front of her, partly dried from the oil it's been used with. That struck Frank as strange, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Did she–?

Evan stood, a wry look on his face, and walked until his head was out of the woman's sight. He then gestured towards Frank and shook his head. Apparently he was aware of Frank's troubles. That confirmed two things to him; first, both Evan and Violet weren't willing to talk about it, and second, they decided to let whatever happened go.

"Anyway, Frank, let me introduce you. This girl's name is Io," Evan said. This snapped Frank back to the situation immediately in front of him. The woman looked up to him — through her tinted goggles, and nodded. He nodded back. "And Io, this is Frank. He's our gunner; excellent with firearms."

It was such a simple introduction, but it was good enough for most situations. Not everybody could maintain hobbies when they were trying their worst to survive at every waking moment. They didn't have a home anymore either, nor did they have any other work other than being a survivor. It was also a way to say "this guy's good with a gun, so you better behave."

"Anyway, Miss Io?"

Evan followed up with no regards to Frank's inner turmoil. Finished with her maintenance work, Io pushed her curved sword on a peculiar-looking sheathe Frank could only think was custom-made for such a weirdly-shaped sword. Only then did she look up from her work and acknowledge Evan.

"You ran into our companions last night and saved them, right? Thank you for that."

She looked up to him and tilted her head quizzically. It took a moment for her to remember what he meant, and she opened her mouth slightly in realization.

"Ah— Mm. Be more careful."

That was the first time Frank had heard her voice. It was a pleasant-sounding tune that didn't fit the battered state of her attire. Although he had to note, it was quite strange; it was like her voice was audio from an old CRT TV, with a background noise of static. The peculiarity was almost inaudible, and likely he wouldn't have noticed it if he wasn't paying close attention. Did she have a cold...?

"Yeah, we will. I'll give that guy a knock on the head when I see him," Evan replied half-jokingly. But then his face straightened and he adopted a more serious tone. "Did you see what they did? So I can tell him where he messed up."

Frank knew exactly what Evan was doing. He wasn't just engaging in small-talk. He was asking to compare her answer with what Nathan had reported the night before. If it turned out that there was some bad shit that happened, perhaps even some sort of betrayal, then punishment must be dealt quickly.

Io touched her chin with her index finger and paused. After a few moments, it seemed like she remembered something as her mouth opened ever so slightly.

"... The girl. Surprised by enemy, she screamed... And shot that weapon. Undead came."

""Oh,"" both Evan and Frank murmured. Nathan and Andy get to live longer, it seems. And while Violet had also done the same, they unconsciously agreed that they would just forget it happened.

"I knew that girl would bring trouble one day." Evan, completely nonplussed, shook his head dejectedly. It was a shame, since Julyette was a newcomer. However, since she possessed no other talent than her excellent dynamic vision, the only role they could really give her was that of a gunner. She couldn't even be exempted from the rotation, since if Frank were to run every operation then he'd just wear himself out to death.

… And she fucked it up on her first operation, too.

Two sighs escaped Evan. Frank couldn't help but sigh too, but due to a different reason. Since they lost their gunner, then the runner teams would have to get by without firearm support until they manage to fill the spot. The camp was more important than the detachment teams, as it was more vulnerable to attacks by humans than those running into the middle of zombie-infested cities. If they lost their supplies, then it was 'gg' as they liked to say. Plus, there were women, skilled and young ones at that in their group, and that made them better, more appealing targets.

"... Anyway, it's getting late. Frank, you get some sleep first. I'll cover for Violet after her shift, then it'll be your turn. I still have some things to talk to Io about."

You don't need to hear this, was what he was implying.

It was then that he noticed that Violet probably meant the same thing when she told him to "go inside and take some rest" earlier. He was supposed to go directly to the bedroom.

He was aware that there were some things he didn't need to see or hear as a regular member, but he did hope that someday he would be trusted enough to stand together with them. Why would they entrust the gun to him if they didn't trust him, anyway?

Was Violet confident she could take on an armed individual by herself, with just a taser baton?

The displeasure that roiled in his chest was by no means a small amount, but he managed to push it down by telling himself that "he's used to it". He was. And that annoyed him even more.

Regardless, orders were orders - they were probably orders, anyway. He nodded to both of them and retired to the adjacent room; the room where he found an intact bed. The sight raised his spirits slightly. But the charm of a bed in an apocalypse was how it could almost physically pull you into it just from the sight of it. He was able to resist it earlier due to his workaholic nature, but now that he was given leave there was no reason to tarry any longer. He leapt towards the soft mattress like he was trying to do a belly flop and crashed into the foam with all of his weight. The bed frame creaked under his weight, but fortunately held fast. The smell was pretty bad, but nothing smelled nice during those days. Lastly, he placed his rifle on the nearby bed stand and let the drowsiness slowly take over.

If nothing happened, then he would wake up about eight hours later for his turn on the night watch. It didn't look like Violet and Evan were going to let that girl Io take a shift. It was a move to gain favor with her as well as to deny her the opportunity to do as she pleased while everybody was asleep.

Frank wished nothing would happen. Naturally. If possible he wanted to be back at camp by the following night and enjoy a hot meal. Then it occurred to him that he still had three of those ghastly ration bars Mark made still in his pockets. It was an utterly disgusting treat, and he didn't know why Violet and Evan devoured them like they were cheap candy. As if being around walking, rotting corpses wasn't enough to ruin one's appetite. That was why he preferred being threatened by humans. At least humans went down with one bullet to the head or heart. More importantly, they smelled at least marginally more tolerable. But he had a feeling, a terrible premonition, a horrible foreboding—

As he stared at the ceiling, with no illumination other than what small amount of moonlight that bled through the curtains, Frank thought to himself as the drowsiness slowly claimed him:

"This sucks."

—and he was right.

If Frank were asked what talent he had, then he would proudly declare that it was counting the amount of time he'd slept. After thorough exposure to multiple sleepless nights and irregular sleeping schedules he managed to temper that 'ability' of his to a frightening extent. Yes. Though he couldn't tell the actual time using that same talent, sadly.

"Three hours, twenty-two minutes and seven seconds, huh?"

He was woken up by something being thrown to his face. A cursory feel of it told him that, without having to open his eyes, it was his ski mask and visor. It was soon followed by the words, spoken with the authority meant to deliver an order, 'wake up'.

"We're relocating. They're coming."

He effortlessly stood up from his prone position, low blood pressure be damned, and readied his rifle. Looking forward, he saw Violet's figure heavily distorted by the thick jacket she wore. She already had her face gear on. There was a red cloth wrapped around her neck. All around them were the sounds of hundreds of undead, almost close enough to smell.

But what really caught Frank's attention was Io, who had passed behind Violet while following Evan as she walked across the corridor. In the darkness of the night, what little light that reflected off of her did give her the silhouette of a nun wearing a habit. The difference between that and the first time he saw her, however, was that her goggles were still on top of her head. There, for a fraction of a second, probably shorter than the time it took for one to blink their eyes, their eyes met. That was when Frank realized: Io had bright green eyes.

… He had to slap himself a bit. That was strange. Maybe it was too bright?

It looked like Io's eyes were glowing.