Chapter 1- Our world.

In a small room, with doors barricaded by old rubble from a roof cave-in. Sunlight trickled through the fractured ceiling, caught between open and closed. Window shutters falling off their hinges about to give way. Light filtered through the fractured glass, a feeble beacon against the desolate ruin outside. Nature had reclaimed what once was there, what once was the city of Tokyo. The place I sat appeared to have been ransacked of anything of use. 

But the sun keeps shining and not everything lasts forever… 

I look outside. I inhale one last time before mentally preparing myself for the absolute mess that is now the world. My legs pick myself up and I shove my belongings in my weather-worn satchel and slump it over my right shoulder. My laser-blaster in my hip holster. My hair tied back using a dirty scrunchie I found a couple weeks back. I mean… why look bad when you have post-apocalyptic chic anyways! I adjust my belt a little before checking the area for anything I may have missed last night when I checked the place for anything of use. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just dust and moldy wooden furniture. I mean why not waste energy for no reason after I double checked for the third time after last night- just in case something useful magically spawned.

I feel ready, a little optimism never hurt anybody, nope. Not like there’s anything to be optimistic about- nope still pessimistic, why do I even try? Honestly. I roll my eyes. I walk over to the window, I shove the window open and slip out of it. I inhale sharply. "Ah yes, the sweet perfume of rotting civilization."

I think to myself, lurking thoughts on past events I couldn’t stop… It’s been ten years since everything fell apart. Ten years, and the world’s only gotten worse. I don’t know why I keep fighting for survival. There’s nothing left, but I can’t let go. Not yet. I promised myself I wouldn’t let anyone get close again. Not after what happened. 

As soon as I’m out the window. I hear a rustle from a bush. The snap of a twig, the sound of leaves crunching beneath something- or someone. A faint peap—just enough to send shivers down my spine, to ignite that primal gut instinct. I turn to see two beady eyes glaring at me through the foliage. I grab my laser-blaster, I hold my thumb to the trigger. A NeuroSick bursts out of the bush ; its face lunges toward me—I panic, my vision blurring as I strike back, desperate to kill before it kills me. Its bloodshot eyes make me see the human behind. Small tears fall down its face. Like it’s asking me to put it out of its misery. With a swift flick of my wrist I shoot it. Life drained out of its face. Its rotting teeth crack a slight almost unrecognisable smile, a bit of humanity still hanging on. The laser tears straight through its chest. I watch as its body collapses, the floor running red. Its legs crumpled before it. A groan as its life drains from its body. “Yasuraka ni nemuru.”
Japanese for “Rest in peace”. You can see the meaning on its face. The fear in its eyes. The sorrow in its tears. The things it’s seen, the things it's done. May it find peace, wherever it’s going. It’s not fair, the world’s a mess. Life isn’t fair. It never was, and it never will be. The least we can do is respect the dead. 

I remembered that exact look—the last thing I saw of my father: the tears, the subtle smile. It was heart-wrenching, drenched in the endless sorrow of one person I couldn’t save. I can barely even remember his name now—a faint whiff of the toll the outbreak took on me, mentally.

I stare at the NeuroSick again, a smile tugging at my lips as I see my dad’s face once more. The memories—those feelings—they flood back into my mind. I try to push them away, block them out, and stay in the present.

I’m in my house, two people holding me, cradling me in their arms. I sit on the couch, drawing with my half-eaten crayons. My mother—yeah, my mum—is beside me, helping. Then, my dad walks through the door.

"Hey."

His voice is as clear as day. I see myself running into his arms, and then he puts me down to take a call. My mother switches on the news and carries me upstairs to bed. From my bedroom, I hear strange noises coming from the TV downstairs. My room is vividly decorated, books scattered everywhere. A backpack is packed for the half-term. I remember we were supposed to go to the Caribbean—somewhere warm, though I don’t recall exactly where.

I’m walking down the stairs to ask my mum to fill my water bottle when the TV suddenly goes off. My dad steps back inside, and he and my mother exchange a quick word. Suddenly, a man starts pounding on the windows, screaming. I run upstairs, grab my backpack, and when I come back down, the windows are covered in bloodstained handprints, and a frenzied woman is banging on the glass like an animal.

My mother scoops me up, my dad grabs our dog, Max, and we rush outside. Before I know it, I’m shoved into a car, buckled in next to Max. We drive off, sirens blaring. The streets are filled with panicked people. Roads are blocked. Power’s gone. The city is spiraling out of control.

Dad pulls up outside a restaurant. We get out, my mother holding me and Max. We rush inside, but a horde of infected storms the building. My mother, carrying me on her back, kicks open doors while my father shuts them behind us. We reach a wall that we have to climb. With the swarm closing in, there’s no way we’ll all make it over in time. My mother shoves me and Max over the fence, struggling to climb it herself.

My dad steps forward, distracting the infected and leading them away from us. My mum hops over the fence. She screams his name, and he runs back toward us, hope in his eyes. But he doesn’t make it. The infected grab him and tear him to shreds right before our eyes.

I scream for my dad, but then my mum—tears streaming down her face—grabs me and Max. She walks us to a military-established base, where they scan us with X-ray devices. All three of us are ushered inside. I’m holding my mother’s hand, Max by my side.

Present day

My mind spirals. My thoughts are a blur. No one should have to relive that. The ruins are all around me, not how I’d like to remember them, but they make me feel like I have to move again. Like I have a purpose. I couldn’t save him, but I can’t afford to be weak again. People die. They leave. So I leave first. No one gets close. Not again.

I feel my heartbeat slow. A good sign. I’m calming down—like the flashback never happened.

I stand tall again, breathing in the air around me. I walk down the streets of Tokyo. The place is deserted, but rats now dominate the roads and paths. I spot a silhouette, something different. It looks like a NeuroSick, but it’s people. I decide to approach them cautiously, my gun ready.

As I get closer, I hear a twig snap behind me. A hand covers my mouth. My eyes are blindfolded, my mouth gagged, and earplugs shoved into my ears. I’m still wondering how I got into this mess...