Alexander ran.
Not wildly. Not blindly.
Every step he took was measured, controlled—his breathing steady, his pace deliberate. While others fled in panic, driven by instinct and fear, he forced his mind into something colder.
Focus.
If he lost that now, he'd be dead within minutes.
The screams behind him faded into the distance, replaced by the sharp rhythm of his own footsteps and the distant echoes of chaos spreading across the school grounds. The world had changed in an instant, and those who failed to adapt just as quickly…
Wouldn't last.
First priority— survival.
Second— mobility.
Third— a weapon.
His thoughts aligned with unsettling clarity.
"A gun would've been perfect…"
He clicked his tongue in irritation.
If this had happened just a week ago, he would've had options. Plenty of them. But the government's recent crackdown—some large-scale operation—had swept through cities, confiscating firearms from civilians, schools, even private collections.
Not even veterans had been spared.
Now?
Nothing.
"Damn it…"
His mind shifted.
Melee weapons.
The school had plenty of those—technically.
Sports equipment.
Bats. Poles. Maybe even metal rods.
But against what he'd just seen?
A troll.
That centipede thing.
Whatever the hell those transformed students were becoming…
"…That's not going to cut it."
He exhaled sharply.
Then paused.
Wait.
His thoughts stuttered for a fraction of a second.
"Trolls… orcs…"
His gaze sharpened.
"If those things are real…"
Then—
"…zombies and that movie stuff aren't off the table either."
A quiet curse slipped under his breath.
"Fuck."
That changed things.
A lot.
Blunt weapons suddenly became far more useful if infection or undead creatures were involved. Crushing force as they say.
"…Gymnasium."
The decision settled quickly.
But—
Not yet.
He needed his bike first.
That came before everything.
Without it, escape would become ten times harder. The school was already a death trap, and the longer he stayed on foot, the worse his chances got.
And more importantly—
"What if those things wreck it?"
Or worse—
"What if someone takes it…?"
That alone was enough to make him pick up speed. If he saw someone stealing his bike, he wouldn't hesitate to put them down.
Wouldn't be the first time.
He cut across the premises, weaving through abandoned pathways and broken structures, avoiding clusters of noise where possible. The chaos was spreading fast. Screams echoed from multiple directions now—some human, some not.
He ignored them all.
Soon—
He reached the parking lot.
And, unsurprisingly—
It wasn't empty.
"…Of course."
A creature was already there.
Long.
Segmented.
Its body coiled and twisted around a car like a living chain of muscle and chitin. Dozens of tiny legs clung to the vehicle's surface, its massive length wrapping tighter and tighter as it constricted its prey.
A centipede.
But far larger than anything natural.
Its head—if it could be called that—was grotesque, mandibles twitching as it scraped against the metal hull of the car.
Inside—
A man struggled.
Panicked.
Desperate.
Alexander recognized him instantly.
The principal.
The man slammed his hands against the steering wheel, fumbling with the ignition, trying—failing—to start the engine.
"Come on—come on—!"
His voice cracked.
The car rattled violently as the creature tightened its grip.
Metal groaned.
Warped.
Began to give.
Alexander watched for exactly one second.
Then looked away.
Not his problem.
His gaze locked onto something far more important.
His motorcycle.
Knocked over.
Lying on its side.
"…Tch."
He moved immediately.
Fast.
But controlled.
Keeping a wide arc around the centipede, careful not to draw attention, he reached the bike and crouched beside it.
A quick inspection.
No visible damage.
No leaks.
No broken parts.
"…Lucky."
He lifted it smoothly, setting it upright.
Fuel gauge—
Three-quarters full.
Even better.
Without hesitation, he pulled out the key and slid it into the ignition.
A sharp twist—
The engine roared to life.
At that exact moment—
CRUNCH.
The sound of metal collapsing echoed behind him.
The principal screamed.
A raw, desperate sound that cut through everything.
Alexander didn't turn.
Didn't need to.
He already knew what was happening.
But—
At the very last second—
His eyes flicked sideways.
Just enough to see.
The principal's face.
Pale.
Terrified.
Eyes wide with pleading.
Looking directly at him.
Begging.
For help.
For something.
For anything.
Alexander held his gaze for half a second.
Then—
Looked forward.
The scream cut off abruptly.
Followed by a wet, crushing sound.
And silence.
The centipede fed.
Alexander revved the engine.
Then took off.
Fast.
No hesitation.
No guilt.
Behind him, the creature lifted its head slightly, sensing movement.
But it didn't give chase. It had its meal already in front of it.
Alexander didn't slow down.
The wind rushed past him as he navigated the campus roads, heading straight for the gymnasium. His bike wasn't particularly loud—something he'd chosen deliberately long ago.
Less attention, really, he wasn't a fan of those louder bikes.
Right now— that paid off.
Within moments, the gym building came into view.
And—
"…No one?"
Empty.
Completely.
A rare stroke of luck.
He didn't question it.
Didn't waste time.
He rode straight up to the entrance, killed the engine, and stepped off in one fluid motion.
Inside—
Silence.
The kind that made every sound feel louder than it should be.
He moved quickly.
But cautiously.
Eyes scanning.
Ears alert.
Step by step, he made his way toward the storage room.
No interruptions.
No ambush.
Nothing.
"…Good."
He reached the door.
Opened it.
And stepped inside.
The room was packed.
Equipment stacked everywhere—different sports teams forced to share the same limited space. Bats, poles, nets, gear of all kinds cluttered every corner.
Alexander didn't hesitate.
He already knew what he wanted.
A metal baseball bat.
Solid.
Reliable.
He grabbed one and gave it a few test swings.
The weight felt right.
Balanced.
Then—
A helmet.
He had made the mistake of not bringing his motorcycle helmet today. And every bit of protection mattered.
Even a little.
He secured it quickly and quickly turned to leave—
Then stopped.
Something caught his eye. Leaning against the far wall.
Long.
Sleek.
Metal-tipped.
"…Javelin?"
His brow furrowed slightly.
He didn't remember the school having a javelin team.
But—
That didn't matter.
What mattered was what it was.
"…Perfect."
He grabbed one.
Then another.
Two was the most he could fit on his bike.
With that, he turned and left the room.
To anyone watching, it might've seemed surprising.
How composed he was.
How quickly he adapted.
But there was a reason for that.
Survival?
That was part of it.
But not the main reason.
No—
The truth was simpler.
Darker.
Alexander had always imagined something like this.
The end of the world.
Chaos.
Collapse.
A system breaking beyond repair.
It wasn't normal. It wasn't healthy. But it was real.
"What else was I supposed to think about…?"
Golf?
Parties?
A future that never existed? He'd had none of that.
So instead, he imagined the destruction of everyone else's.
Something that would tear everything down.
Something that would make the world as broken as it always felt.
And now— here it was.
Reality.
He didn't expect to survive.
Didn't even particularly care if he did.
But if the world was going to burn—
"…Might as well watch it."
Or take part in it.
As long as it wasn't boring.
As he stepped outside, heading back toward his bike, the weight of the equipment became immediately apparent.
"…Yeah. That's a problem."
Bat. Helmet. Two javelins.
All useful.
All inconvenient.
Carrying them while riding?
Not ideal.
He paused briefly, adjusting his grip, trying to figure out the best way to manage it.
Then—
Thud.
A heavy sound echoed in the distance.
Thud.
Again.
His body stilled.
Every instinct sharpening instantly.
That wasn't human.
Not even close.
"…Great."
Alexander's eyes narrowed as he lifted his gaze toward the source of the sound.
And then—
He saw it.
The troll.
Its hulking form stepping into view, each movement shaking the ground beneath it. Its dull, leathery skin was smeared with fresh blood, its small eyes scanning the area with low, brutish intent.
It had finished its massacre.
And somehow— it had found him.
"…Of course it did."
Alexander adjusted his grip on the bat slightly.
His expression remained calm.
But his mind— was already moving.