Morning light came through the dusty windows, casting long, sharp shadows on the walls. It was faint and golden, but empty—like a memory of better times.
Ryo woke up, his body tired but his mind already busy.
Supplies were his first priority. Food, water, weapons—anything to help him survive long-term. His immunity gave him an advantage, but it didn't make him invincible.
He sat up, rubbing his eyes, when a new thought came to him—a thought that made him shiver.
If the zombies ignored him, maybe his blood was special.
Maybe he was the cure.
The idea stuck in his mind, heavy and hard to ignore. Could his immunity stop the virus? Could he be the only hope for humanity?
But before he could feel hopeful, another thought hit him—harsher and colder.
Hope was dangerous.
If the government, military, or any survivors found out what he was, they wouldn't see him as a savior. They'd see him as a tool.
A pawn.
A test subject.
Or worse—a threat.
Ryo clenched his jaw. His immunity, the thing that made him different, was both a gift and a curse. If the world found out, he wouldn't just be hunted by the dead. The living would come for him, too.
The weight of it all pressed down on him.
Not just the fact that he was immune, but what it meant.
He wasn't just another survivor trying to live in a world overrun by zombies. He was different. A possible cure. A symbol of hope—or a target.
And that scared him.
Because hope was dangerous. Hope got people killed.
If people found out about him, they wouldn't thank him. They'd lock him up. If the government still existed, they'd take him apart for answers. If survivors found out, they'd sell him or hurt him out of desperation.
Ryo took a deep breath, pushing the thought away.
No one could know.
Not the government.
Not survivors.
Not even people he trusted.
The risk was too big. The stakes were too high.
He clenched his fists. Saving the world? That was a dream. Right now, he had one job—saving himself.
Because in this world, the living were more dangerous than the dead.
Weapons.
He needed better weapons.
A baseball bat wouldn't be enough forever. Not against people.
Zombies ignored him, but humans wouldn't. Sooner or later, someone would come—desperate, armed, and ready to kill for food. When that happened, he needed more than a piece of wood.
He needed a gun.
The thought felt heavy, but he didn't hesitate. This world didn't care about right or wrong. It didn't reward hesitation. He couldn't afford to be weak.
His mind focused on a target—a small gun shop on the edge of town. He had passed it many times before the outbreak, back when guns were just for hobbies or protection.
Now? They were the only law left.
Was it risky? Yes.
Was it necessary? Absolutely.
Ryo clenched his jaw, stood up, and took a deep breath. If he wanted to survive, he had to be ready to fight.
As he put his bag over his shoulder, a familiar feeling settled in his chest—fear.
The world outside wasn't just dangerous. It was cruel. Every step outside meant risking his life, whether from the undead or the living.
But hiding wasn't an option.
He pulled a hoodie low over his face and stepped outside, staying in the shadows. His immunity was a secret he'd keep forever—if anyone found out, he'd be hunted.
With quiet steps and clenched fists, Ryo disappeared into the ruins, heading straight for the one thing that could keep him alive.
Ryo knew he couldn't rely on luck. In this broken world, weakness meant death. He couldn't afford to be powerless—not when survival meant being stronger than the monsters hiding in the shadows.
His immunity had changed everything. Zombies would never hurt him.
But humans?
Humans were a different kind of monster. And they were much worse.
They would do anything to keep their power, no matter the cost.
They lied, they tricked, they sacrificed others without thinking—all to save themselves. In a disaster, they wouldn't hesitate to use someone like him.
Ryo understood this too well. If they found out about his immunity, they wouldn't see him as a person.
He'd be a tool, a weapon, or worse… an experiment.
If they knew about his ability and immunity, they would tear him apart—literally.
He wouldn't be treated as a survivor. He would be a test subject, strapped to a cold metal table, cut open piece by piece in the name of "science." They'd take his blood, cut into his flesh, and take whatever they could, all while he was still alive. An immunity like his was too valuable. They wouldn't care if he screamed, begged, or fought back.
And if it wasn't scientists, it would be warlords, the last bits of the military, or desperate survivors who thought he could save them. They would chain him, use him, and drain him to buy themselves more time.
In a world already destroyed, where right and wrong no longer mattered, people wouldn't see him as human anymore.
They would see him as a cure, a resource, a thing to be controlled.
And Ryo refused to be controlled.
( End of Chapter )