Ali moved with practiced stealth as he ascended the stairs to the ninth floor. The door ahead was already ajar, and just beyond it, a zombie lay dead on the floor, a neat hole punctured through the back of its head. His eyes narrowed as he scanned the scene and glanced further up the stairwell toward the tenth floor, where another zombie lay crumpled on the steps, a similar wound marking its forehead.
'I'll clear this floor first before moving up. No one will hear a thing,' Ali thought with certainty as he entered the ninth floor.
Like the floors before it, this level was a decaying maze of abandoned offices, once home to bustling workers and the hum of business. Now, it was nothing more than a graveyard of shattered desks, overturned furniture, and the smell of rot.
Ali moved like a shadow, gliding silently between the remnants of the office space, his senses alert for any signs of movement. Near the far end of the floor, he spotted two zombies lying motionless on the ground, seemingly lifeless.
But Ali had encountered this behaviour before-zombies that remained dormant, as if sleeping, until noise or motion roused them from their undead slumber.
Reaching a nearby desk, Ali grabbed a pen, feeling its weight in his hand before approaching the prone creatures. In swift, fluid motions, he drove the pen through the skulls of both zombies, killing them instantly without a sound. Their bodies lay still, never having the chance to reanimate.
Ali quickly dragged them out of the main area and into a corner, making sure the floor was clear before exiting. He shut the door behind him and marked it, just as he had done with the others.
'Now, let's see who's up there, Ali thought as he gazed up the stairs to the tenth floor. He had been hearing faint whispers and footsteps for a while now. Whoever was up there, they were still moving. The central room of the tenth floor housed his quarry, the source of the fresh blood and muffled voices.
Ali moved with the precision of a predator, his large frame-six feet eight inches of pure muscle-making no noise as he climbed the stairs. To anyone unaware, he was a silent harbinger of death, closing in on his prey.
He stopped in front of the door to the tenth floor, noticing immediately that it was closed. Ali had no intention of testing the handle; he already suspected it was barricaded.
Whoever was inside was desperate, possibly wounded, and taking every measure to secure themselves. The signs were all there.
'Now then, let's say hello to our friend inside, Ali thought grimly as he raised one powerful leg and kicked the door with brutal force.
BOOOOOM
The impact was explosive. The door flew off its hinges, crashing into the room with a thunderous noise that sent chairs, desks, and other furniture scattering like brittle leaves. Whatever barricade had been set up was instantly obliterated.
"What the fuck! Who-who is it? Show yourself!" A young man's panicked voice echoed from within the room, shaky and filled with fear.
Ali stepped through the doorway, his tall, imposing form casting a long shadow over the devastated room. His cold, black eyes zeroed in on the person he had been tracking.
Before him stood a young, pale man in tattered clothes, his garments stained with blood and grime. A filthy cloth was tied around the man's right arm, soaked through with fresh blood. Clearly, the man was wounded.
But the young man was not alone. Beside him, a woman in her early thirties sat slumped, her body draped in a dirty, ragged cloak.
Something was clearly wrong with her. Ali's sharp eyes quickly spotted the green and purple veins snaking up her neck, creeping toward her yellowing skin. She had been infected.
The young man's eyes went wide with fear as he took in the sight of Ali—a massive figure, covered in the blood of countless zombies, standing in the doorway like a spectre of death.
Inexperienced and terrified, the young man raised a shaky handgun, pointing it at the intruder. But his fear was palpable, his hands trembling as he struggled to keep the weapon steady. Ali barely acknowledged the gun.
"What do you want? Did he send you down here to kill us? We're not going back there!" the young man shouted, his voice growing louder and angrier with each word, though his shaking betrayed his lack of control. His fear was palpable, but so was his desperation.
Ali remained silent, his expression cold and unreadable. He raised one arm, pointing directly at the infected woman beside the young man. The woman's head jerked suddenly, her body twitching as if responding to some primal urge.
Suddenly, with a guttural scream, the woman lunged at the young man, her mouth wide open, ready to sink her teeth into his flesh. The young man barely had time to process what was happening. 'NOO!' his mind screamed in horror as he saw the woman-someone he clearly loved-about to rip him apart.
BANG
The young man's eyes snapped open, his breath catching in his throat. The woman's teeth had stopped just inches from his face. She froze, her body slumping forward as her lifeless head fell against his chest. Sticking out of her skull was a blue ballpoint pen, the very one Ali had used to end her life.
The young man was still reeling, the shock of what had just happened washing over him in waves. By the time he regained his senses, he realised that Ali was standing right next to him, towering over him like a giant. His gun had slipped from his grasp during the chaos, and now Ali's boot was planted firmly on top of it, preventing any foolish attempts at retaliation.
"Time to talk," Ali said in a voice as cold as ice. He crouched down to the young man's level, his dark eyes locking onto the terrified man's, the sheer intensity of his gaze suffocating.
For the next ten minutes, Ali questioned the young man. At first, the man's responses were shaky, his voice riddled with fear and grief. But as time passed, the initial shock began to wear off, and his eyes kept drifting toward the dead woman beside him. Despair settled over him, his words becoming more disjointed as sorrow took hold.
"Is that it?" the young man finally asked, his voice low and broken. Ali, who had stood up from his crouched position, gave a small nod in response.
"What now, then?" the young man asked, his head bowed, unable to meet Ali's gaze.
"Nothing you should concern yourself with," Ali responded coldly.
In one swift motion, he held the handle of his sword vertically above the young man's head and pressed the button. The blade extended downward in a single, sharp movement, piercing through the top of the young man's skull and ending his life instantly.
Ali withdrew the sword, allowing the body to collapse on top of the woman he had tried so hard to protect. With a practiced flick, he swung the sword to the side, shaking off the blood that clung to its edge before retracting the blade back into its handle and holstering it.
Looking down at the tragic pair, Ali muttered to himself, "So long story short, they were living under the rule of a tyrant controlling the upper floors with a group of loyal foot soldiers. The young man was an up-and-coming soldier, while the woman was a slave, forced to whore out to the soldiers whenever they desired. The boy fell in love with the whore, and they escaped together, using a rope to descend to this floor. But the woman was bitten along the way. She hid the wound, passing it off as a simple injury. He left her here while he went in search of something to help, only to return and find her resisting him helping with wound. Then I arrived...".
Ali let out a heavy sigh before walking over to the broken window where the couple had entered from. Peering down, he saw the endless horde of zombies surrounding the skyscraper. In the distance, the sound of gunfire echoed through the streets, distant buildings flashing with muzzle fire.
Turning his gaze upward, Ali looked toward the higher floors of the skyscraper, where the real battle awaited him. His expression was calm, but his eyes were sharp.
"So many will die when I go up there," he said quietly to himself, "but that is only natural."
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