The three of us sat around the makeshift wooden table in the cabin's living room. The atmosphere was heavy, even though the sunlight streaming through the patched-up windows should have made it feel warmer. Jack, as usual, had his grumpy expression locked on his face, though he seemed more contemplative than annoyed. Emma, on the other hand, leaned back in her chair, absently spinning a strand of her hair while I sorted through everything we'd learned.
I took a deep breath and started summarizing for clarity.
"Alright," I began, "so let's break it down step by step. This Earth—well, not our Earth—got hit with a curveball when Pangea showed up. No warning, no explanation, just a massive continent in the Pacific."
Emma smirked. "Talk about an inconvenient landmass. Bet the real estate market went wild."
Ignoring her, I continued. "The colonization period lasted about four years, but then the Insurgences started. Monsters popping up everywhere, and most of them concentrated in Pangea. Whatever this 'energy surge' was, it flipped the world on its head."
Jack crossed his arms, his face turning slightly more serious.
"Right," I said, nodding toward him. "And because of that, Pangea became a no-man's land for a while. Most governments and armies either pulled out or fell apart trying to deal with the chaos on their own territory. That's when the people who were left behind formed the United Pangea Federation to survive."
Emma snorted. "Survival of the fittest, I guess. But that doesn't explain the freaking robots."
"Exactly," I said, tapping the table. "That's the next piece of the puzzle. At some point after the UPF formed, these Zenith things appeared. Sentient robots or animals or whatever they are, and from the sounds of it, they're as much of a threat as the monsters."
Emma shrugged. "And that's when we dropped into this mess. Reincarnated, stuck as kids, and thrown into the deep end. Honestly, the timing couldn't be worse."
"Agreed," I muttered, my tone more serious. "Which brings us to now. We've got a barely functional cabin, a reanimated monster as our guard dog, and no clear direction. Oh, and two tied-up bandits in the basement who could still cause problems."
Jack let out a low grunt, gesturing toward the map we had roughly sketched out based on what the bandits had told us.
"Right," I said, pointing at it. "From what we know, there's at least one UPF settlement to the north, though it's heavily fortified. To the southwest, there the battle between the UPF, Zenith and monster forces about a week ago which is the same battle I saw when we first got here. But since this Insurgence happens around anywhere then we are on trouble if we don't prepare.
Emma raised an eyebrow. "And what's our plan, fearless leader? Hide out here until the next monster decides to knock on our door?"
I hesitated, glancing at Jack and Emma. "For now, we focus on survival. We'll scout out nearby areas using the hound and my map ability. Maybe there's something useful—a smaller settlement, abandoned supplies, anything to give us an edge. And..." I paused, my voice lowering. "We need to figure out more about ourselves. About these powers we're apparently supposed to have."
Jack tapped the table twice, drawing our attention. He gestured toward himself, then out the window, as if to suggest scouting himself.
I shook my head. "Not yet, Jack. You're the youngest and least ready for a fight. If we send anyone out, it'll be me or Emma. But first, we need to make sure those bandits don't cause trouble."
Emma sighed dramatically, but I caught the glimmer of determination in her eyes. "Fine. But you owe me a wardrobe when this is all over."
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help smirking. Despite everything, we were still standing. And that was enough—for now.
With everything settled down Jack pointed outside to the dead bandit bodies scattered around then made a series of gestures suggesting to use the dead bodies to scout around. With a groan, Emma pushed herself out of her chair, tossing her hair dramatically as she gave Jack an unimpressed look. "You really want me to use those?" she asked, pointing toward the window where the bodies of the fallen bandits lay sprawled across the dirt.
Jack nodded firmly, his gestures deliberate as he mimed walking fingers and pointed outward, clearly suggesting the bodies be used to scout the surrounding area.
Emma let out an exasperated sigh, crossing her arms. "Ugh, fine. But I swear, if they mess up their uniforms or start falling apart, I'm blaming you. Do you even know how much effort it takes to keep undead minions from looking like rotting garbage?"
I raised an eyebrow at her. "Emma, they're literally dead bandits. Do you really think anyone's going to care about their fashion sense?"
She shot me a glare. "Just because you lack a sense of style doesn't mean I do. Fine, I'll do it. But don't expect me to enjoy it."
With that, she flounced toward the door, muttering under her breath about ungrateful boys and how she deserved better than this. Jack gave me a questioning look, and I shrugged. "This is how she operates. As long as it gets done, let her vent."
Outside, Emma approached the bodies with a mix of disdain and begrudging focus. She wrinkled her nose as she knelt beside the first one, placing her hand on its chest. Her fingers glowed faintly with a dark purple aura.
One by one, the bodies twitched and then rose, their movements stiff and unnatural. Emma stepped back, inspecting her work with a critical eye. "Alright, that's four of them up. They're not exactly runway-ready, but they'll do."
Jack stepped forward, gesturing to a rough map drawn in the dirt, and mimed directing the undead in a scouting pattern. Emma rolled her eyes but nodded. "Yeah, yeah, I get it. Spread them out, have them look around, report back if they find anything. I'm not an amateur, you know."
She snapped her fingers, and the undead bandits began to shuffle off in different directions, their stiff movements oddly efficient. As they disappeared into the forest, Emma turned back to us, brushing imaginary dust off her hands. "There. Happy now? I've sent your creepy little scouts out to do your dirty work."
"Very," I said, giving her a small smile. "Thanks, Emma."
She huffed, but I noticed the faintest hint of a smirk on her lips. "Don't get used to it. I'm a designer, not a zombie wrangler."
Jack gave her a thumbs-up, and we all headed back inside to wait for the undead scouts to report back—whatever that might look like.
I turned away from the window, my thoughts still focused on the undead scouts Emma had sent out. As I glanced around the living room, my gaze landed on the skeleton. It had been standing in the corner for a while now, unnervingly still.
Its hollow eye sockets seemed to stare into nothingness, yet it somehow gave off the impression that it was silently judging everything around it. Its makeshift broom was propped up neatly beside it, a testament to Emma's insistence on utilizing it for chores.
I raised an eyebrow. "Why is that thing still here?"
Emma, who had settled back into her chair and was busy adjusting her nails, didn't even look up. "Oh, that's Harold. He's my assistant."
"Harold?" I repeated, blinking.
"Yes, Harold," she said, with all the seriousness of someone discussing an important business associate. "He's been a big help, you know. Cleaning, organizing, holding things—he's far more reliable than some people I know."
Jack, sitting nearby with his usual grumpy expression, rolled his eyes but didn't comment.
I sighed, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Emma, you do realize it's just a skeleton, right? It's not alive. It doesn't care about cleaning or holding things."
She waved me off, finally looking up to glare at me. "And yet, Harold does it better than most people I've hired in my past life. Besides, he's stylish. Look at that posture!"
I gave the skeleton another glance. Its "posture" was less stylish and more the result of having no muscles to slouch with. "Right. Stylish," I muttered.
"Don't hate on Harold," Emma said, crossing her arms. "He's been nothing but loyal since I raised him."
"I'm not hating on him," I said, though I couldn't help but feel like I was losing an argument with a skeleton. "It's just... creepy, having him stand there all the time."
"Creepy?" Emma gasped, clutching her chest as if I'd insulted her directly. "How dare you! Harold is a gentleman of the highest caliber."
Jack, amused by our exchange, gestured toward Harold and made a shooing motion.
"Fine, fine," Emma huffed, snapping her fingers. Harold immediately shuffled off toward the kitchen, broom in hand. "Happy now?"
"Ecstatic," I said, shaking my head.
As Harold disappeared from sight, I couldn't help but wonder how long it would be before Emma found another excuse to bring him back into the living room. Probably not long.
It was now noon, and Emma was practically glowing with excitement—a rare sight and a small mercy for the rest of us. The reason for her uncharacteristically good mood? Food. More specifically, meat.
One of the undead zombie bandits—one of Emma's recently raised scouts—had stumbled upon a wild boar during its patrol. Not only had it found the creature, but it had managed to kill it and drag it back to the cabin.
Emma was practically bouncing as the boar was hauled into the backyard. "Finally! Something other than berries and fruit!" she exclaimed, clapping her hands. "Do you know how tired I was of living like a peasant?"
Jack rolled his eyes, his face as unimpressed as ever. Meanwhile, I crossed my arms, watching the scene unfold.
"Emma, I don't think you get to complain about food when your zombie bandits are doing the hunting for us," I said.
She turned to me, her hands on her hips. "Excuse me, Si Xin, but I am providing a service here. Without my wonderful Harold and company, you'd still be scrounging around for apples and berries."
"Harold didn't find the boar," I countered, pointing at the zombie bandit that had brought it back. "That guy did."
Emma shrugged, dismissing my point. "Details. Harold's morale must've inspired him."
I didn't have the energy to argue with her logic. Instead, I focused on the boar, which was surprisingly intact despite being dragged by a literal undead scout.
"Alright, fine," I said. "But if we're going to eat this thing, we're going to need to butcher it first."
Emma scrunched her nose. "Ew. That sounds disgusting."
"Welcome to survival," I said dryly.
Jack, who had been silent up until now, got up from his spot and gestured toward the boar. I raised an eyebrow at him. "You volunteering to help?"
He gave a slight nod, then pointed to the rusty tools we had scavenged from the basement.
"Great," I said. "Jack and I will handle the butchering. Emma, you can... supervise."
Emma grinned. "I'll prepare the spices!"
"Spices?" I asked, blinking.
"Don't worry," she said with a sly smile. "I'll make sure it's edible. I refuse to eat bland meat."
Jack and I exchanged a look. Somehow, I had the feeling this meal was going to be more of a headache than a luxury. Still, fresh meat was fresh meat, and we weren't about to let it go to waste.
Plus, we hadn't had real meat since we first arrived here, so no one was going to complain too much—except Emma, of course, because she always complained. Watching Jack butcher the boar was a strange experience, though.
There he was, the youngest among us, roughly looking like a three-year-old, yet somehow handling the task like he'd been doing it for years. His tiny hands worked with the rusty tools from the basement, his movements deliberate and precise. It was eerie.
"Is it just me," I muttered, leaning slightly toward Emma, "or is watching Jack do this kind of... weird?"
Emma nodded, tilting her head as she observed him from a safe distance. "It's definitely unsettling," she agreed, though her tone was more curious than critical. "Like, he's what? Three, if we're going by appearance? And he's cutting that thing up like a butcher who's been doing this for decades."
Jack didn't seem to hear us—or maybe he just didn't care. His face was stoic, his focus entirely on the task at hand.
"Do you think he remembers this from... before?" Emma asked, lowering her voice slightly.
"Probably," I replied. "It wouldn't surprise me. Jack's always been... competent."
"Competent, huh?" Emma smirked. "I'd say 'creepy' fits better. Look at him! He hasn't even flinched once. If it were me, I'd have fainted by now."
"Yeah, because you're a spoiled diva," I shot back.
Emma huffed but didn't deny it. "Still, it's impressive. And kinda horrifying. Like, who knew Jack had this side to him?"
I shrugged, watching as Jack finished separating the meat into manageable portions. Despite his childlike size, he carried himself with an almost unnerving efficiency.
"He's full of surprises," I said. "At least we'll have something decent to eat today."
Emma's eyes sparkled at the mention of food. "Yes! Finally, something worthy of my refined palate."
I rolled my eyes, turning my attention back to Jack, who had already started cleaning up the tools. Maybe it was weird, but in this strange, unpredictable world, I was starting to appreciate having someone as unnervingly capable as him around.
With the meat ready to cook, the next challenge was fire. And, unsurprisingly, it wasn't as easy as we'd hoped.
"Alright," I said, crouching next to the fire pit we'd made just outside the cabin. "We just need to get a flame going."
Emma crossed her arms, staring at the pile of sticks, dried grass, and bark like it had personally offended her. "You're acting like it's so easy. Do I look like someone who knows how to start a fire?"
Jack, standing next to me with his ever-stoic expression, tilted his head slightly, clearly unimpressed with her complaint.
"Okay, fine, no," she continued, "but it's not like I'm wrong. This is going to take forever."
Forever might've been an exaggeration, but it did end up taking us nearly thirty minutes. We tried everything—rubbing sticks together, using a bit of flint we found in the basement (which none of us knew how to use properly), even Jack trying to spark something with an old knife against a rock.
"You'd think one of us would have fire powers or something," I muttered, wiping sweat from my brow.
"That would be too convenient," Emma replied dryly, rolling her eyes. "Instead, we're stuck with you, Mr. Weakness Detection, and Jack, the silent butcher."
Jack shot her a look, and I had to suppress a laugh.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Jack managed to produce a small ember using the flint. We all froze, staring at the tiny flicker of light like it was the most magical thing we'd ever seen.
"Don't lose it!" Emma hissed, as if yelling wouldn't make it worse.
Jack carefully fed the ember some dried grass, gently blowing on it until the flame grew. Bit by bit, we added more fuel, and soon, we had a small but steady fire burning in the pit.
"We did it!" Emma cheered, throwing her hands up dramatically. "And by 'we,' I mean mostly Jack."
Jack gave her a flat look before turning back to the fire.
"Let's just cook the meat," I said, shaking my head.
As we set up a makeshift spit over the fire, I couldn't help but feel a tiny spark of pride—pun intended. Sure, it took us way too long to figure it out, but we managed. It wasn't perfect, and it wasn't pretty, but at least now we could finally eat something other than berries and apples.
As the boar meat sizzled over the fire, Emma suddenly froze, her eyes wide. "Wait a second," she said, raising a hand as if calling for dramatic silence.
"What now?" I asked, already bracing for another of her complaints.
She gasped. "I forgot about plates! How are we going to eat this without burning our hands?"
I stared at her. "Emma, we haven't had plates this entire time."
"Yes, but this is meat!" she argued, gesturing dramatically at the roasting boar. "We can't just eat it like... like savages! It's too hot to hold, and I refuse to ruin this moment with burnt fingers."
Jack, ever the problem solver, pointed at the pile of large leaves he'd collected earlier.
Emma blinked at him. "Leaves?" she said, unimpressed. "You want me to eat off of leaves?"
"Unless you want to wait for us to invent pottery," I said, shrugging. "Take it or leave it."
She huffed, muttering something about the tragic lack of sophistication in our lives, but she didn't complain further.
Once the meat was finally ready, I went back into the cabin to fetch the rest of the gang. As expected, they were up to no good.
"Seriously?" I muttered, spotting them in the living room. The twins, Cael and Star, were tackling Harold—the skeleton—in what could only be described as a makeshift wrestling match. Noah was running circles around them, cackling like a maniac, while Mera stood off to the side, cheering them on with a predatory grin.
"Okay, playtime's over," I said, clapping my hands. "Outside. Now."
Of course, they ignored me.
"When are they finally going to gain consciousness and speak like normal people?" I muttered under my breath as I started the exhausting process of dragging each of them outside.
Cael squawked in protest as I grabbed him under one arm, Star pouted dramatically, and Noah tried to wriggle out of my grasp like the gremlin he was. Even Mera gave me a challenging look before reluctantly following.
Finally, we all gathered around the fire. Emma handed out pieces of meat on leaves, and for a brief, blissful moment, there was silence as everyone dug in.
"Well," Emma said, breaking the peace as she bit into her portion. "It's not exactly fine dining, but it'll do. For now."
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn't help feeling a small sense of accomplishment. For all the chaos, we were making it work. Somehow.
As we all ate in relative peace—well, as peaceful as it gets with Noah trying to barter his scraps of meat for anything remotely shiny—Emma suddenly froze mid-bite. Her eyes narrowed in that way that told me something had just grabbed her attention.
"What is it?" I asked, already bracing for the next complication.
Emma set her meat down delicately, like she wasn't about to drop some bombshell news. "One of my undead bandits found it," she said, her voice calm but pointed.
"Found what?"
"The UPF settlement the bandits mentioned," she said, leaning back as if this was no big deal. "It has concrete walls and barb wire surrounding it. Pretty impressive for what I assume is a relatively small place. Unfortunately, those walls blocked my zombie's vision, so I couldn't see anything beyond them."
The group went quiet for a moment, letting the weight of her words sink in.
"A proper settlement," I muttered, thinking of what that meant—people, supplies, answers. "How far away is it?"
"Not too far. Half a day's walk if you go at a steady pace." She smirked, brushing imaginary dirt off her shirt. "Not bad, right? I'm amazing."
I gave her a flat look. "How exactly does this help us?"
Emma rolled her eyes. "You're hopeless sometimes. It's obvious: you're going to check it out tomorrow. If they're UPF, they're likely our best bet for learning what's really going on. Plus, if they have concrete walls, that means stability and protection. You know, not this rundown cabin we keep patching up with duct tape and undead labor."
"I hate that you make a good point," I said, sighing.
She grinned, triumphant. "Of course I do. Now, if you're going to go poking around some high-security settlement, you'll need to prepare. I'll make sure you're ready by tomorrow. Don't want you to get caught and ruin our shot at getting actual help."
Jack tilted his head curiously, clearly more interested in the logistics than the conversation. Emma, ever the opportunist, turned to him.
"You can help me get everything ready," she said sweetly, though her tone left no room for argument.
As the others continued eating, I couldn't help but feel the familiar swirl of unease and determination. A proper settlement could mean everything—or nothing. Tomorrow would be the first step in finding out.