Morning light filtered weakly through the high lab windows, gray and dull, like the world itself hadn’t slept.

The five of them sat scattered around the room.

Elliott was on the floor near the door, back against the wall, knees pulled up. He kept glancing at the handle, listening. Always listening. His mind replayed yesterday over and over—every choice, every step. Leading hadn’t been a decision. It had just… happened.

Maya paced.

Back and forth. Back and forth.

She had emptied half the cabinets, piling anything remotely useful onto a table—glass beakers, metal tools, broken chair legs, even a small fire extinguisher she refused to let go of.

“We can’t just sit here,” she muttered. “They’re out there. We need better weapons. Or an exit. Or something.”

Johan flinched every time she raised her voice.

He sat on one of the lab stools, shoulders hunched, fingers twisting the fabric of his hoodie. His eyes darted to the windows, the door, the vents—every possible way something could get in.

“I think… I think staying quiet is smarter,” he said softly. “If they hear us—”

“They already know we’re here,” Maya snapped.

Johan shrank a little at that, but didn’t argue.

Rin sat apart from everyone, cross-legged on the counter, a textbook open on his lap. Not reading—skimming. His eyes moved fast, absorbing words he probably already knew. Every so often, he’d pause, frown, and glance at the ceiling like he was trying to remember something important.

“This isn’t random,” he said suddenly.

Everyone looked at him.

Leo, who had been sitting near Johan, offering quiet reassurance with nothing more than his presence, tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Rin closed the book slowly. “Mass death events, reality tears, mythological creatures… there are theories. Old ones. About worlds overlapping when the barrier gets thin.”

Maya stared. “You’re telling me you knew this could happen?”

Rin shrugged, uncomfortable. “I knew it was possible. I didn’t think it would happen during math class.”

Leo let out a weak, almost hysterical laugh. “Figures.”

Elliott finally spoke. “Okay.”
Four heads turned toward him.

He hesitated—just a second too long. Then he straightened.

“We’re alive. That matters. Today, we rest, we stay quiet, and we think. We don’t run blindly. We don’t split up.”

Maya crossed her arms but didn’t argue. Johan nodded immediately. Rin watched Elliott closely, thoughtful. Leo gave him a small, encouraging smile.

Different people. Different fears.

Same room. Same goal.

Survive Day 2.

Maya slammed a cabinet shut.

“Great,” she snapped. “We have three bottles of water, a bag of glucose tablets, and whatever mold is growing in that corner. We can’t live on science.”

Johan flinched. “We don’t know what’s out there,” he said quietly. “Leaving the lab is— is risky.”

Maya spun on him. “So is starving.”

“I’m just saying we should wait. Think. Maybe things calm down—”

“They won’t,” Maya cut in. “They never do.”

Johan’s hands curled into the sleeves of his hoodie. “You don’t know that.”

“I know people,” she shot back. “And panic. And death.”

The room tightened.

“Enough,” Leo said gently, stepping between them without raising his voice. “Fighting each other won’t help.”

Rin, who had been silent again, finally spoke.

“This isn’t a temporary event,” he said.

Everyone looked at him.

He stood, book in hand, eyes distant. “There are old theories—fringe ones—about dimensional overlap. When two worlds occupy the same space, reality weakens. The barrier tears. Things cross over.”

Maya stared. “You’re saying zombies are… what? From another world?”

“Not exactly,” Rin replied. “They’re the result. When life and death concepts don’t align between worlds, the body keeps moving. The soul doesn’t.”

Johan went pale. “That’s… not helping.”

Rin exhaled. “I know. But this means it won’t stop on its own. The worlds are colliding.”

Silence.

Elliott felt the weight settle in his chest again. This wasn’t just about surviving the day anymore.

“We need food,” he said finally.

Maya’s head snapped toward him. “Thank you.”

Johan’s voice shook. “Outside?”

“Yes,” Elliott said. He didn’t sound confident—but he sounded certain. “Cafeteria. Storage rooms. Somewhere with supplies. We can’t fight if we’re weak.”

“And if we run into more of them?” Johan asked.

“Then we don’t fight unless we have to,” Elliott replied. “We stay quiet. We stick together. No hero moves.”

Maya hesitated, then nodded. “I’ll take point.”

“I’ll watch the back,” Leo said immediately.

Rin adjusted his grip on the book. “I’ll map routes. Noise travels differently through halls.”

Johan swallowed hard, then lifted his head. “I’ll… I’ll try.”

Elliott looked at each of them. Different fears. Same choice.

“Alright,” he said. “We move together. In and out.”

Outside the lab door, something scraped against metal.

The lab door opened with a soft metallic click that sounded far too loud.

Everyone froze.

Elliott held up a hand. They waited. Counted breaths. Nothing rushed them. No growls. No footsteps. Just the distant hum of a broken light somewhere down the hall.

“Now,” he whispered.

They slipped out one by one.

The hallway looked worse in daylight. Blood smeared across lockers. A backpack lay ripped open, its contents scattered like someone had dropped their life mid-run. The air smelled stale—metal and rot and something sour underneath.

Maya moved first, shoulders squared, gripping a metal rod. Leo stayed close to Johan, not touching him, but close enough that Johan could feel he wasn’t alone. Rin walked beside Elliott, eyes constantly moving, counting doors, corners, vents.

“Noise travels,” Rin murmured. “Step light. Avoid broken glass.”

As if summoned by the warning, a low groan echoed from the far end of the hall.

Everyone pressed flat against the wall.

A zombie dragged itself into view—slow, head lolling, jaw hanging loose. It sniffed the air, turning blindly toward the cafeteria doors.

Elliott leaned in close, barely breathing. “Don’t move. It’s following scent and sound.”

Maya’s jaw clenched. She wanted to hit it. You could see it in her stance.

Leo caught her eye and shook his head once.

They waited.

The zombie shuffled past them, missing them by less than a meter.

Johan exhaled too fast.

The zombie snapped its head toward them.

“Move,” Elliott hissed.

They slipped through the cafeteria doors just as the creature let out a guttural moan and stumbled after them.

The cafeteria was a wreck. Tables overturned. Trays smashed. Food littered the floor, most of it spoiled—but shelves behind the counter still stood.

Maya was already moving. “Check storage. Sealed stuff only.”

Rin and Leo grabbed bags. Johan hovered near the door, shaking, listening.

“Johan,” Elliott whispered, “talk to me. What do you hear?”

“…outside,” Johan said. “But not here. Not close.”

“Good,” Elliott said. “You’re doing great.”

They filled their bags fast—protein bars, canned food, bottled water.

Then the light changed.

A massive shadow passed over the broken windows.

Everyone looked up.

Outside, in the courtyard beyond the cafeteria, two enormous shapes collided midair.

Dragons.

One was dark, broad-winged, its body thick and powerful. The other was leaner, lighter in color, faster. They slammed into each other with a thunderous crash, rolling across the ground in a blur of claws and wings.

Between them lay a dead animal—half-eaten, torn apart.

They weren’t attacking people.

They were fighting each other.

Over food.

The lighter dragon shrieked, a sound that rattled the glass. The darker one roared back, fire flashing briefly between its teeth—not aimed at the school, not at the city. Just a warning.

Maya stared, breathless. “They’re… real.”

Rin’s voice was barely audible. “Survivors,” he said. “Just like us.”

The dragons broke apart. The darker one grabbed the carcass and launched into the air, wings beating hard. The other snapped at empty space, then turned away, disappearing beyond the buildings.

Silence followed.

Not peace. Just absence.

Elliott felt something settle in his chest. Not comfort. Not fear.

Recognition.

“Bag’s full,” Leo whispered. “We need to go.”

A crash echoed from the hallway.

The zombie had found the door.

“Now,” Elliott said.

They ran.

Not fast. Not loud. Together.

And as they slipped back into the lab, hearts pounding, food clutched tight, one truth hung heavy in the air:

They weren’t alone in this apocalypse.

And whatever the dragons were—

They weren’t saviors.

They were survivors.