Early in the morning, the thunderous roar of a helicopter shattered the silence. Survivors peeked from broken windows and shattered blinds, drawn by the rare sound.
"Is that… a rescue chopper?"
"It has to be. No one's come in three weeks."
"Honey, get ready. We're going to follow it. It looked like it landed near where those gunshots were yesterday—not far from here."
"But there are still a lot of zombies out there. It's dangerous."
"We're out of food. This might be our only chance. I'll protect you."
"…Okay. I hope we don't run into any of them."
They weren't the only ones watching. Both survivors and undead were now moving toward the direction of the helicopter. Outside the gate, dozens of zombies had begun to gather, drawn by the noise.
---
"Samson, what do you think?" Ricardo asked, pointing to the bundle of steel rebars. "Will this weight be okay?"
Samson ran the numbers in his head. "Judging by length and thickness, that's about 600… maybe 650 kilos. The chopper can handle it. But what about the rest of the materials?"
Ricardo clapped him on the shoulder. "Already secured. Trust me. I'll go grab the belt inside. That should hold it steady."
Samson nodded, still uncertain. "Alright. I'll help."
---
Meanwhile, Bats stood silently on the rooftop, gazing at the mob of zombies clustered against the gate. He'd spent the night thinking, imagining a test for his ability. Now it was time.
He raised his hand. With a quiet hum, a black void appeared in the air—his space fracture, a three-meter disc of shifting darkness, hovering just above the zombies' heads.
Lowering his hand, the fracture descended until it hovered just at their necks. Only their twitching bodies were visible beneath it.
He clenched his fist.
The fracture shrank inward in an instant—silent, precise. A beat later, headless corpses toppled as thick black blood spurted upward, soaking the concrete.
Bats's eyes widened. "Shit. Shit! It worked. It actually worked! Like slicing bread… just like Doctor Strange's portals…"
Then, as if remembering something, he waved again. A new fracture opened beside him, and the severed heads rolled through it, landing in a grotesque pile at his feet. He stared at them, his face lighting up in childlike awe.
---
Back on the ground, the chopper prep was nearly complete. Samson fastened the belt to the landing skids as Ricardo stood watch.
Suddenly, several strangers emerged from the rear of the building, holding makeshift weapons. Ricardo raised his rifle.
"Stop right there!" he barked.
"Don't shoot! We're not here to fight!" a man in a tattered business suit stepped forward, hands raised. "Are you military?"
Ricardo didn't answer. A woman behind the man pleaded, "Please. We saw the chopper and thought you might be rescuers."
Ricardo glanced at Samson and spoke quietly, "Is it ready?"
"Almost. Just checking the fastenings."
The suited man caught their urgency. "Looks like you're in a rush. Let us help. Then maybe you can take us with you. I'm a manager—I can help organize things."
The woman chimed in, "Yes! He's a natural leader. If you let him manage your place, you could relax."
Ricardo snapped.
"Shut it. Why the hell would you come here instead of heading to the military camp? Survivors are being accepted there."
Their expressions changed. Eyes darted. None of them answered.
Truth was, they'd been blacklisted. Weeks ago, a scout team spotted them murdering two children on a second-floor balcony. Through binoculars, the soldiers watched as they not only bludgeoned the kids but later cooked and ate their remains. When the group tried to enter the military camp days later, they were immediately stopped.
"You're blocking us? This is unfair!"
"We pay taxes! We demand protection!"
"Do your damn job!"
General Rigor had been nearby, puffing on a cigarette when he heard the commotion. He approached, his boots crunching gravel. The soldiers saluted him.
"What's all the yelling about?" he asked.
The man in the suit stepped forward, furious. "Your soldiers are out of line! We pay taxes to feed you! Let us in!"
General Rigor turned to the scout, "Is that true?"
"Yes, sir. We were ordered to block entry to any survivors found guilty of murder—unless proven self-defense. This group… we witnessed them kill two children. They… ate them, sir."
The man in the suit swallowed hard. "That's a lie! We would never do such a thing!"
"Yes! We can't even hurt a fly!"
"Your scout's lying!"
General Rigor's face darkened.
"What would my men gain by lying about you?"
Silence. Until the woman broke down, sobbing. "We were starving… they were orphans. No one would miss them. Please… we were desperate."
The general exploded.
"YOU BASTARDS! CHILDREN?! YOU'RE LOWER THAN ZOMBIES!"
"Be grateful there's a command from above not to waste bullets on your kind. But if I hear of you pulling anything like that again… I'll shoot you myself."
They ran. Terrified.
---
Ricardo looked back at the man in the suit now standing before him again.
"There's a reason you didn't go to the military, isn't there?"
The man hesitated, then lied. "We were just scared of zombie hordes. That's all. But you—you have a chopper. You must be from a safe place. It's only right to take us in."
His group's faces lit up with fake gratitude.
"We'll help you manage! Just give us a chance."
( Once we're in, I'll take over… the man smirked inwardly. That place will be mine. )
Before Ricardo could respond, a man in his thirties stumbled forward with his pregnant wife.
"Please, sir," he begged. "Take my wife. I can stay. Just… please, save her."
Ricardo hesitated. He touched his earpiece.
"Ask what that man can do," Bats's voice came through.
"What's your name, age, profession?" Ricardo asked.
"Manuel. Thirty-one. I'm a farmer."
Bats was nearby, and when he heard that, he immediately stepped forward. Their farms were understaffed—run by elderly and children. A farmer would be invaluable.
The group began laughing.
"A farmer? Seriously?"
"You're just dirt under our boots!"
"We have degrees! Lawyers, managers—real skills! Not… digging and planting!"
Manuel looked down, ashamed.
Bats stepped up beside him and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.
"Take your wife. Get on the chopper."
Manuel's eyes welled with tears. He kowtowed, thanking him over and over. He quickly helped his wife aboard.
The group was outraged.
"Who are you to decide that?! We're more qualified!"
"He's probably illiterate!"
Bats ignored them. Samson appeared.
"All done. Ready for takeoff."
"Start the engine," Bats said. "Big bro, take care of them. I'll stay."
Ricardo looked shocked. "What? Come with us."
Bats smiled. "I've got shopping to do. Just be at the rooftop of SM Baguio on December 28. I'll be there."
Ricardo nodded. He knew better than to doubt Bats.
As the rotors roared to life, the group panicked.
"They're leaving! Stop them!"
They rushed forward.
Bats drew his pistol. The group froze.
The chopper lifted, rebars swinging beneath. As the sound faded, desperation settled.
"This is your fault!"
"We still outnumber him! He only has seven bullets!"
"Let's take him down!"
Bats laughed. Loudly. Madly.
"You're insane!"
"You let a damn farmer on that chopper instead of us?! A lawyer! A manager!"
Bats pointed both pistols at them.
"If I need someone to run my livestock and vegetable farms, would I choose you... or him?"
Silence.
"Tsk. It's the end of the world. You say you studied—where the hell are your brains now? Still clinging to a world that's gone. Mocking the people who can actually rebuild it. Pathetic."
The man in the suit glared. "So what? One day, society will rise again. And we'll be back on top. It's only right that lowly people obey us!"
Bats's face darkened.
"You're exactly the kind of trash that brought society down in the first place."
He fired.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Screams erupted. They collapsed, clutching bleeding legs and thighs.
"AHHHH! You bastard!"
"I'm dying!"
"Don't kill me—I'll do anything—ANYTHING!"
Bats turned and walked through the back gate. Behind him, he conjured a black circle.
They watched as he stepped into it and vanished.
Then came the growls.
Zombies.
Dozens.
They poured in through the open gate, drawn by the scent of blood. The wounded screamed. Some wet themselves in terror.
"No—PLEASE—NO!"
The zombies descended.
Ripping.
Tearing.
Blood sprayed. Flesh flew. One woman's screams were cut short as her face was torn off.
The man in the suit's last breath came as he looked up, seeing Bats watching from the rooftop.
Bats smiled.
"If you're reborn… I hope it's as someone poor and powerless. Maybe then you'll finally understand."
He turned.
And walked away.