Six months after the fall, I sit on the edge of this rooftop, as I have done so many times before. My legs dangle carelessly over the side, the harsh wind tugging at the edges of my mask. The city sprawls beneath me—a labyrinth of decay, a testament to human arrogance. From here, I can see it all: the buildings that were once full of life now crumbling and abandoned, the broken streets where the undead roam without purpose. There's nothing left now but the shadows and the whispers. And I've learned to live in both.
New York, the city that never slept, now drowns in its own blood.
I find comfort in this view. The world may be broken, but I am still here. The virus didn't claim me, and neither did the chaos that followed. In fact, I've become something else. Something that goes unnoticed by those too focused on survival, something they fear without understanding. A king of the forgotten.
I allow myself a moment to feel the weight of my own insignificance. Not in a melancholic way, but as a reminder of my power. I've learned to observe, to listen. In the city's silence, there is truth. It speaks to me.
The sun is setting, painting the sky in muted shades of orange and red. It's almost poetic, the colors of fire bleeding into the darkness. Soon, the city will be swallowed whole by the night, and I'll return to the shadows where I am most comfortable. The undead may rule the streets, but in the hidden corners of this broken world, I reign.
Behind me, two figures approach. I don't have to turn to know who they are—both are part of the Beggar Sect, my family in this forsaken world. They are the eyes and ears I've cultivated from the streets—my spies, my informants. Their footsteps are soft, barely a sound against the steel of the fire escape. The first of them calls to me, the tone respectful but laced with the same unease that I've felt too many times since the world began to crumble.
"Master," says the voice. It's Xian, a young man who once sold information for scraps. He was hungry once, just like me. But now he's part of something larger. Part of me.
"Master," Xian repeats, stepping closer. His companion, a woman named Jun, stands behind him. She is silent, always watching, never letting anything slip past her.
I don't respond at first. I'm still thinking about the world—the broken city below me, the fractured pieces of the people who live in it. The way they claw at each other for the smallest scraps of power, as though they can make something of themselves amidst the ruins. There's a part of me that sympathizes with them, a part of me that remembers my own hunger—the gnawing emptiness that pushes you to do things you never thought you were capable of. But that part of me is buried deep now, smothered beneath layers of calculation and cold detachment.
"Master," Xian says again, breaking my thoughts. "It's time. We've received word about the Cortez family. They're running low on ammunition, and the streets are becoming dangerous for them. They're desperate. We should strike."
The Cortez family. One of the last remaining forces that could challenge my rise. They thought their guns and violence made them untouchable, but they didn't understand what made people truly afraid. They didn't understand the value of information. And now, they are on the brink of collapse. Their desperation is the key to their downfall.
I finally turn to face them. Both Xian and Jun stand patiently, waiting for my decision, but there's an air of tension between us. They think I'll give the order to strike. And I will, but not the way they think.
"We don't strike them the way they expect," I say, my voice low, deliberate. "No, we'll break them slowly. We'll make them beg for their survival."
The words are chilling, but they feel right. The Cortez family is brutal. They use fear and violence to rule, thinking that's all that matters. But the truth is far darker. Fear alone doesn't keep you alive. It only leaves you vulnerable to the more patient and subtle kind of power. Information is that power.
Xian looks at me with something between awe and fear. "But… we have the advantage. They're weak. The streets are turning against them. They won't last long if we don't act now."
I nod, but there's no urgency in my movements. "Yes, they're weak. But they're still dangerous. And they have something we need."
Jun speaks for the first time, her voice cold and sharp. "What do you mean, Master?"
I hesitate for a moment, feeling the weight of the words. I've already made my decision, but this is part of the process—the shaping of their understanding. They must know why we do what we do.
"I mean," I begin, pausing as if savoring the words, "that their desperation is our advantage. They'll offer us what they can't afford to lose—their loyalty. They will bend the knee, and in exchange, we give them protection. We don't just crush them. We turn them into our tools."
The silence that follows is thick, pregnant with understanding. Xian nods, and Jun steps forward, the light from the dying sun catching the edge of her blade. Her expression is unreadable, but I can see the calculation in her eyes. She's already thinking about the next move, how to carry out my orders. She is ready for whatever comes next.
I turn my gaze back to the city, watching the shadows grow longer. The day is dying, and with it, another chapter of this broken world. It's strange—how the world keeps turning, even as everything falls apart. The city is decaying, the streets are filled with the undead, and yet people still strive for power. They still dream of control, of dominance. They just don't realize that the game has changed.
I know what it feels like to be desperate. I know what it means to fight for survival with nothing but the rags on your back. I know what it's like to be at the mercy of the powerful. But that's no longer my story. Now, I am the one who dictates the terms.
"We strike at midnight," I say, my voice a soft command. "Have the others prepare. We'll take the Cortez family's territory, piece by piece. We won't just crush them. We will make them ours."
Jun nods, her expression grim. Xian, too, seems satisfied with the plan. They know what's coming. They understand that we are not just surviving in this world—we are recreating it.
As they move to carry out my orders, I remain seated on the ledge, looking down at the city below. The streets are alive with movement, but none of it matters. They are all puppets. They are all expendable. The weak will fall, the strong will bend, and in the end, it will be the Beggar Sect that rises from the ashes.
In the darkness, we will thrive.
But even as the sun sets and the shadows of the dead begin to stir, I can't shake the feeling that something else is coming. Something darker. Something that will test the foundation of the empire I've built.
But that is for another time. Tonight, we claim our victory. Tonight, the Cortez family falls.