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Jin looked at the supplies Mark and Lisa carried. There was no rice or flour—just a few bags of bread and dried noodles.
Mark shrugged. "Not much food. Plenty of condoms and pills, though."
Lisa's cheeks flushed. She kicked Mark in the shin.
Simon laughed, though the sound was hollow. "Not surprising. That guy kept his mistress here. Those two walked around like they were better than everyone. Didn't see the fall coming." He glanced at the closed door. "They made their own bed."
Mark noticed Simon standing in the hallway. His hand tightened on the crowbar. "Who's this?"
"Simon," Jin said. He summarized the arrangement quickly: the trucks, the weapons, the knowledge of supply routes. He left out the part about Simon's son. Some things didn't need to be shared.
Simon gestured to his open door. "Wait here. I'll get you something."
He disappeared inside and returned moments later with an armful of weapons: two crowbars, several heavy wrenches, metal pipes, and a sledgehammer. The crowbars were Stanley brand, about four feet long and weighing roughly sixteen pounds each. The pipes were similar in length but lighter, maybe six pounds. The wrenches were shorter, under twenty inches, but the thick, weighted heads made them vicious in close quarters.
Simon laid them out on the floor. "These are my truck tools. Never thought I'd be using them like this." He looked at Jin. "Suit you, brother?"
Jin picked up a crowbar, testing the balance. Sixteen pounds. Before the cataclysm, it would have been heavy. Now, after his Summon's feedback had strengthened him, it felt light. He could swing it all day.
"Good," he said. He set aside the bone cleaver and tucked a wrench into his backpack, leaving the handle exposed.
He turned to Mark. "Switch to these."
Mark grabbed a crowbar, hefted it, and immediately set it back down. Even with his enhanced strength, it was too much. He picked up a metal pipe instead, testing the weight. "This works."
Lisa took a pipe as well. One crowbar, a few pipes, and several wrenches remained.
"Give the Summons weapons," Lisa said.
She was thinking about their earlier fight. Mark's Summon was still new, its strength only marginally greater than a normal human's. One-on-one, it could manage. But against two Zombies, it struggled. A weapon would change that.
Mark picked up two wrenches and handed them to his Summon. The creature's elongated claws wrapped around the handles, gripping them with surprising dexterity. The sight of it—a twisted, pale figure clutching wrenches like a mechanic from hell—was unsettling.
"Jin, you want one for yours?" Mark asked.
Jin shook his head. His Summon's Claw skill was weapon enough. He turned to Simon. "Ready?"
Simon nodded, his expression hardening. "Let's do it."
On the fifth floor, four more apartments remained. Two were empty—one clearly abandoned before the cataclysm. The other two had low growls seeping from behind their doors. Something was inside.
Jin signaled. "I'll open the door. Let it come into the hallway. Be ready."
Simon gripped his pipe. His knuckles were white.
Jin's Summon moved to the door. Its metallic Claw punched through the iron like paper, punching a hole, then found the lock mechanism. A click, and the door swung open.
The Zombie inside lunged through the gap immediately, its twisted body propelling it forward on all fours. It was tall despite the hunched spine—almost six feet, its mouth gaping, claws scraping the floor.
Jin's Summon retreated two steps, positioning itself behind Simon, close enough to intervene but far enough to let the man make his choice.
Simon stared at the thing charging toward him. His heart hammered. His hands shook. For a moment, he saw his son's face—Marcus, seventeen, terrified, begging to be locked away. Dad, lock the door—please—
This wasn't Marcus. This was a monster.
But the movement was the same. The same jerky, predatory rush. The same pale skin stretched over too-long bones.
The Zombie was three meters away. Two.
This is what I have to do.
Simon stepped forward and swung.
The pipe connected with the Zombie's shoulder. A wet crack echoed down the hallway. The creature staggered, its momentum broken. It twisted, snarling, and tried to claw at him.
Simon didn't hesitate. He'd learned that lesson decades ago, running loads through dangerous territory. You hit first, and you didn't stop until they stayed down.
He swung again. The pipe caught the Zombie across the skull. Blood sprayed. The creature dropped to one knee.
Simon kept swinging.
This is for Marcus.
The pipe rose and fell. Thud. The Zombie's arm bent the wrong way.
This is for every person who turned.
Thud. A chunk of skull caved in.
This is because I couldn't save him.
Thud. Thud. Thud.
The Zombie stopped moving.
Simon stood over the corpse, chest heaving. Blood covered his face, his hands, his shirt. His arms burned. His lungs felt like they were on fire.
But underneath the exhaustion, something else stirred. A warmth. A lightness. His hands had stopped shaking.
The Crimson Book mark on his hand flared red.
[Contract available. Bind slain Zombie as Summon?]
"Contract," he said, the word coming out steady.
Red light enveloped the corpse, dissolving it into streams of energy that flowed into his mark. The light pulsed, and Simon felt the bond form—a thread connecting him to something new. Then came the feedback.
Warmth flooded his body, washing through his muscles, his bones, his lungs. The exhaustion burned away. His back straightened. His grip on the pipe felt solid, sure.
He exhaled slowly. "That's… something."
He looked at his hand, then at the space where the Zombie had been. He called his Summon.
It materialized before him—a hunched figure, taller than he was, its skin pale, its claws un-fused but sharp. It stood motionless, awaiting his command. The bond between them was thin but real.
Simon studied it. The shape was wrong. The face was wrong. But the height was close to Marcus's. The shoulders, the way it held itself…
He forced the thought away.
"Thank you," he said to Jin, his voice rough. "In this world… if you need anything, you let me know. Supplies. The trucks. Driving. I'm in."
He meant it. But beneath the gratitude, something else was forming. A clarity. The world had ended, and in its place was a new one—one where the old rules didn't apply. Where a man could do what needed to be done without pretending otherwise.
He looked at the blood on his hands. It was still warm.
He didn't feel sick. He didn't feel guilty.
He felt capable.
Jin was watching him. Simon met his gaze, unblinking.
"It's getting dark," Jin said. "We clear the rest of the building tomorrow."
Simon nodded. "I'll be there."
They retreated to the seventh floor, carrying the day's scavenged supplies. Lisa tallied everything in Jin's apartment while Mark cooked.
"Fifth and sixth floors," Lisa said, consulting her notes. "Roughly three hundred thirty pounds of rice and flour. Thirty packs of noodles—instant and dried. Ten cans. Eight pounds of cured meat. Some eggs, snacks, and medicine. Mostly cold and flu stuff."
Combined with what Jin had already stockpiled, they had maybe six hundred pounds of supplies total. It sounded like a lot. But Jin did the math. Under normal circumstances, a person ate about a pound of food a day. With their enhanced bodies and the scarcity of meat, they would need more. Maybe two pounds each. For four people—including Simon now—that was eight pounds a day.
Six hundred pounds would last them seventy-five days, maybe less. And water was the real constraint. They had some stored, but the pipes would run dry soon.
"Tomorrow," Jin said, "we focus on clearing Zombies. We need to reach the ground floor and assess the situation. We keep scavenging, but water is the priority. The water supply won't last forever."
Lisa nodded. "I'll cook dinner. We should make extra."
Dinner was simple: cured meat with some scavenged vegetables, and nearly eight pounds of rice. The three of them ate in the kitchen. Jin consumed the most—his enhanced body demanded it—but Mark and Lisa held their own. Nothing was left.
Afterward, they sat in the living room. The gray light filtering through the windows had faded to near-black. The fog pressed against the glass, silent and patient.
Jin leaned back on the couch. "How fast do you feel the feedback coming from your Summons?"
Mark considered. "It's slow. A trickle. I'm stronger than I was, but not by much."
Lisa nodded. "Same. I feel it, but it's not like…" She glanced at Jin. "Not like what you have."
Jin didn't explain. The gap between them was widening. His Summon had fused metal twice, and the feedback had transformed him. Mark and Lisa were still at the beginning.
They would need to catch up.
A knock came at the door—three sharp raps.
Jin stood, moving to the door. Through the peephole, he saw Simon standing in the hallway, his face pale in the dim light.
He opened the door.
Simon stood there with a duffel bag over his shoulder. His clothes had been cleaned of blood, but dark stains still marked the fabric. His expression was calm, but there was something behind his eyes—a stillness, a calculation.
"Can't stay in my apartment tonight," he said. "Too many memories." He paused. "And I'd rather be near people who know what they're doing."
Jin stepped aside. "We have room."
Simon entered, dropping his bag by the door. He looked around the apartment—at the supplies stacked in the corner, the weapons laid out on the table, the three of them watching him.
"I was thinking," Simon said, his voice low. "About tomorrow. When we clear the lower floors… I want to be the one who opens the doors."
Mark frowned. "Why?"
Simon smiled. It didn't reach his eyes. "I'm good at it. And after today…" He looked at his hands. "I think I'm better at this than I expected."
Jin watched him. There was something in Simon's tone—not just grief, not just gratitude. A hunger. The apocalypse had taken his son, and in the void left behind, something else was growing.
"Fine," Jin said. "You open the doors."
Simon nodded, his smile widening slightly. "You won't regret it."
Later, after Mark and Lisa had retreated to the bedroom they'd claimed, Jin sat by the window, watching the fog. Simon was on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
"I keep thinking about him," Simon said quietly. "My son. When he turned… he knew what was happening. He told me to lock the door."
Jin didn't respond.
"I keep wondering if there was something I could have done. If I'd held him longer. If I'd—" He stopped. His jaw tightened. "But there wasn't. Nothing I could do."
He turned his head, looking at Jin. "Tomorrow, when we go down there… I'm not going to hesitate. Not again."
Jin met his eyes. "Good."
Simon looked back at the ceiling. A small, cold smile crossed his face—there and gone.
"Yeah," he said. "Good."k