The wooden door splintered apart with a sickening crack.

  A hand—no, a twisted mass of elongated fingers, sharpened into unnatural claws—ripped through the frame. The infected inside the gym weren’t just normal mindless monsters.

  Something else was in there with them.

  And it had heard them.

  Akira took a step back, crowbar gripped tightly in his hands. His brain worked on overdrive, scanning for options, exits, and weaknesses.

  Tatsu swore under his breath, hoisting his fire axe. “Okay, what the hell is that?”

  Sayaka’s sharp gaze flickered between the door and Akira. “That’s not normal, is it?”

  Akira shook his head. No, it wasn’t.

  Regular infected didn’t mutate that fast. This wasn’t a normal virus. It was something worse.

  Haruto was shaking beside them, clutching the revolver with white-knuckled fingers. “We—We need to move—”

  Another slam. The doorframe cracked further.

  Then they saw it.

  A hand. Gray flesh stretched too tightly over bones. Fingernails lengthened into black, needle-like claws. The thing’s arm was disproportionate—too long, too thin, like someone had stretched its body past human limits.

  And then, it spoke.

  Not words. But a grotesque mockery of speech.

  A deep, distorted, broken voice, as if its vocal cords were unraveling and trying to reform at the same time.

  “WrrrraaaAAAHHHhhhh.”

  Haruto screamed.

  That was all it took.

  The creature lunged.

  Akira moved first.

  He shoved Haruto aside and swung his crowbar with everything he had. The metal cracked against the creature’s skull.

  It barely flinched.

  "Shit."

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  Tatsu let out a battle cry, swinging his fire axe straight into the monster’s shoulder. The blade sank deep.

  The creature screeched.

  Then—it grabbed the axe with its clawed hand and yanked it free like it was nothing.

  Tatsu stumbled back, cursing.

  Sayaka was already moving. She grabbed Haruto and dragged him toward the rooftop’s opposite end. “We need to jump!”

  Akira’s brain worked at hyperspeed. No stopping power. No hesitation from pain. This wasn’t a human anymore.

  Which meant—

  Go for the spine.

  He adjusted his grip and swung low, smashing the crowbar into the creature’s lower back. The vertebrae cracked, and for the first time—it collapsed.

  Akira didn’t waste the opportunity.

  He dropped onto its back, raised the crowbar, and brought it down—again. Again. Again.

  A sickening crunch.

  The creature twitched, spasmed, then finally stopped moving.

  Silence.

  Heavy breathing.

  Haruto was curled up, shaking violently. Tatsu wiped blood from his face, exhaling heavily. “Jesus.”

  Sayaka knelt beside the body, inspecting it without touching. “That was… different.”

  Akira wiped his crowbar clean. He didn’t say anything. But he already knew.

  The infection was evolving.

  And this was just the beginning.

  "Move," Akira ordered, scanning the rooftop edge. The building below—**a storage shed attached to the gym—**was their best option. It was only a one-story drop.

  Tatsu took a deep breath. “We’re really doing this?”

  “Unless you want to fight another one of those things.”

  Tatsu didn't argue.

  Sayaka jumped first, landing in a roll. Akira nodded approvingly. She was disciplined. Efficient. Dangerous.

  Tatsu followed, then Haruto.

  Akira was last.

  He dropped, landed, and immediately scanned their surroundings.

  Nothing moved.

  Good.

  Now, they had to get to the subway.

  The streets were unrecognizable.

  Fire spread through the city. The air reeked of blood and burning flesh. Cars were abandoned, their alarms blaring uselessly into the night.

  And the dead?

  They were everywhere.

  Shambling figures dragged themselves through the streets, gnawing on the remains of the fallen. Some moved fast, sprinting on broken legs. Others were bloated, twitching, as if something inside them was waiting to burst.

  Akira took a breath. Noise attracted them. Smell, too.

  They needed to move quietly.

  Tatsu adjusted his grip on the axe. “Which way?”

  Akira pointed. “Subway station. Three blocks south.”

  Sayaka frowned. “And you’re sure the subway is safe?”

  “No,” Akira admitted. “But we don’t have a better option.”

  She studied him for a moment. Then she smirked. “I like you.”

  Akira ignored her and led the way.

  The walk was hell.

  They ducked into alleyways, avoiding larger hordes. Once, they had to crawl under a crashed bus, holding their breath as dozens of infected stumbled above them.

  They were almost at the subway entrance when they found them.

  Other survivors.

  A group of seven people—adults, armed.

  At first, Akira thought they were friendly.

  Then he saw their eyes.

  Predators.

  Not desperate. Not terrified. Hunters.

  One of them—a tall man with a shotgun—grinned. “Well, well. Look what we have here.”

  Haruto froze. Tatsu tightened his grip on the axe. Sayaka remained perfectly still, analyzing.

  Akira?

  He was already considering the fastest way to kill them.

  Because in this world, humans were just as dangerous as the dead.

  And this was a test of survival.