For few days I will update only 1 chapter a day. My work and study in university will take more time then I was thinking.Sorry
Thanks to Zero_Tempest_9159 for the power stone
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Leon didn't let go of the railing.
His left hand gripped the warm metal, fingers tight but not locked. The door above hung crooked, one side caved inward, leaving a thin jagged gap along the frame.
"…Yeah," he muttered.
His grip slipped. He tightened it and started climbing again—left arm first, always the left. Short, uneven pulls. Boots scraped against the grating. Halfway up he paused, head hanging, breath ragged.
"Come on…"
He heaved upward. The railing groaned under his weight. His knee caught the edge, and for a split second gravity won. He fell hard, crashing onto the floor with a dull thud. Pain flared through his back and ribs. He lay there, staring upward, listening to his own labored breathing.
After a moment he pushed himself up—one knee, then the other—until he stood again. The crooked door hadn't moved.
He approached it carefully, favoring his right side out of habit. The frame was worse than it looked: metal twisted inward, the latch useless. He slid his left hand into the gap. Cold. Rough edges where the steel had warped.
He pulled. Nothing.
Leon stepped back, adjusted his stance, and rammed his shoulder into the left side. The door screeched open.
"Alright… okay."
He pushed through sideways. His jacket snagged, then his bandaged shoulder scraped the frame. A sharp spike of pain made him hiss through his teeth, but he kept moving until he was on the other side.
He leaned against the wall, letting it take his weight while he caught his breath. The hallway felt wrong—too quiet, but not empty. The silence pressed against him, heavy and unnatural.
Metal settled somewhere behind him with a soft creak. The bridge, probably. He listened.
That was all.
"Good," he said flatly. He didn't believe it.
He pushed off the wall and moved forward, slow and deliberate.
The first door on the left stood slightly ajar. He paused, then slipped inside.
Small office. Papers scattered across the floor, one chair overturned. A body in a lab coat lay near the door, arm bent at an ugly angle.
Leon crouched and searched the desk drawers. One was jammed shut. The other slid open easily. A handful of loose rounds. He counted them silently and shoved them into his pocket.
The room smelled stale, closed-off.
As he turned to leave, the body twitched.
Leon's gun came up smooth and steady. One shot. The head snapped back. The body went still.
He stepped over it and kept moving.
The next room was storage. Shelves collapsed, boxes ripped open, floor littered with debris. Two more bodies. He checked them quickly, found a small first-aid kit and extra bandages, and took both. Nothing else was worth the weight.
A sound echoed down the hall—a wet, scraping drag, higher than it should have been.
Leon froze. He didn't look up right away. He slowed his breathing.
When he finally glanced upward, he saw it: a ceiling panel pushed inward, edges bent down. Something clung to the darkness above.
Licker.
His grip tightened on the gun, then eased. Not enough ammo for this.
He backed away slowly, each step careful, keeping close to the wall as he angled toward the side corridor.
The Licker's head turned.
Leon stopped breathing.
One step. Two. Around the corner. He kept his pace even until the sound of claws on metal faded behind him.
Only then did he exhale.
"Not doing that again," he whispered.
He kept going.
The break room was next. Vending machine half-empty, shelves stripped, table with two chairs. A body slumped against the wall—pockets empty. A bag lay beside it, untouched.
Leon crouched and opened the bag. Sealed food. Bottled water.
He held them for a second, then packed them away. He stood without eating.
The silence felt off. The rooms behind him had been torn apart in panic. This corridor wasn't. Nothing looked random. Whatever had come this way had known exactly where it was going.
He stepped back into the hall.
The corridor changed gradually.
He was already halfway down when he noticed. The walls were immaculate—no scuffs, no scratches, no broken panels. The lights worked perfectly, casting a cold, steady glow. The floor was dry and clean.
He slowed.
Two doors on the left, both sealed. Card readers glowed green. He glanced at the nearest one and kept walking.
A security camera hung above the upcoming intersection, its red light steady. Leon walked straight through its line of sight without slowing or flinching.
A single set of footprints ran down the center of the floor, heels and toes sharp. Recent.
He looked ahead, then back at the tracks.
Kept moving.
The next sealed door had a rubber seal along the bottom, compressed wrong. Two fingers were visible on the frame—still warm.
Leon pulled his hand back.
A small foil wrapper lay by the wall. Pharmaceutical. Torn cleanly at one end. He crouched over it without touching it.
A sharp impact sounded farther down the corridor—one clean slap of palm on metal, then nothing. No scratching. No follow-up.
He waited.
Silence.
He moved again.
The corridor turned right. His boot clipped the edge of a vent cover lying on the floor. The clang echoed sharply.
Too late.
A figure dropped from the ceiling junction, rushing toward him. The Licker's head thrashed wildly, only six feet away.
Leon drew and fired twice. Both shots hit. The creature stumbled but kept coming. He dodged left, slamming into the wall as claws ripped through his jacket. He shoved the gun against its side and pulled the trigger again.
The Licker dropped, twitched once, and went still.
Leon stayed pressed against the wall, ears ringing, breath coming short and fast. His right arm pressed instinctively against his ribs.
He checked both directions.
Nothing.
He glanced at the dead Licker, then looked away.
"Good enough."
His chest heaved as he fought to steady his breathing. He checked the magazine—two rounds left, one already chambered. Not enough. Not nearly enough.
He kept moving.
The corridor opened into a short vestibule. Paneled walls, recessed lighting, clean floor. No debris. The air felt different here—filtered, processed. Like stepping into another building entirely.
A sealed door waited at the end. Card reader glowing green.
Leon stopped.
From beyond it came a muffled sound: a deliberate footstep, a pause, then something being set down on a hard surface. Controlled. Purposeful.
Not infected.
His hand hovered near the card reader.
He held it there.
And didn't swipe.