Chapter 1: My Doom
"Elena Cross! You traitorous bitch! I swear I'll kill you—mmpf! Mmph!"
"Enough!"
A filthy rag was shoved into Kael Voss's mouth by one of the men, silencing his curses.
Though he could no longer speak, Kael's bloodshot eyes locked onto the three people standing in front of him. When his gaze fell on the woman, the fury in his expression turned murderous.
The look in his eyes was so vicious it made Elena instinctively shrink behind Sylvan Viper, unable to meet Kael's stare.
"Tch."
Sylvan raised an eyebrow and kicked Kael hard across the face. His head snapped to the side, crashing against the ground with a sickening thud. Blood began to ooze from his temple.
"Still trying to act tough, Kael? In your position? What, got a death wish now?"
Kael was tightly bound, a rag stuffed in his mouth, his clothes torn and soaked in blood. He never imagined that his so-called brother would turn on him so ruthlessly.
But what cut deeper than betrayal by a friend was Elena Cross—the woman he had saved, the woman he had loved—drugging his drink and tying him up like a sacrificial offering to curry favor with someone else.
It was July 4th, 2025—a day that would later be remembered as "The Fall."
A mysterious virus swept silently through the globe like a phantom. In a matter of hours, over half of humanity had been infected. The infected didn't die—they turned. Into monsters. Into the undead.
The once-bustling streets were now cloaked in shadows of death. Neon lights flickered in silence, drowned beneath the guttural moans of the creatures that roamed freely.
After that day, what was left of humanity found itself cornered. Civilization collapsed almost overnight. The rules of society shattered like fragile glass. Friends, neighbors, even family members—anyone could turn into a mindless predator.
Trust became a fantasy. Safety, an illusion.
Kael had been among the lucky few. Before the collapse, he managed a major logistics warehouse in a British industrial city. On the day of the outbreak, most of his staff were off-duty. Only a skeleton crew was present for stocktaking. When chaos erupted, Kael and his team killed the infected among them after a desperate struggle.
They barricaded themselves on the warehouse roof. From that vantage point, the city looked like something out of a nightmare—streets clogged with wrecked cars, fires raging, screams echoing in the distance. The infected rampaged below, chasing down every last human in sight.
After realizing help might not come anytime soon, they fortified the warehouse into a makeshift shelter.
Their advantage? The warehouse contained enough supplies to sustain several hundred people for over a year. It gave them security. Hope.
During one of Kael's scavenging runs, he had rescued a beautiful woman—Elena Cross. She repaid him with her body and swore loyalty. Now, she had handed him over to his enemies like discarded garbage.
Months passed. Still no sign of government aid. Society's remnants fell apart, inch by inch.
In the ruins of civilization, desire bloomed like weeds in the cracks. With resources scarce, a single loaf of bread or can of beans could start a war—or become a bargaining chip for sex.
Sylvan Viper—once Kael's right-hand man—succumbed to his own cravings. He used food to manipulate women. When Kael caught him and punished him harshly, Sylvan smiled and bided his time.
Behind the facade of submission, Sylvan seduced Elena. Together, under the cover of night, they drugged Kael's drink, bound him, and delivered him to his doom.
Kael had always been cautious. He trusted no one lightly. But betrayal from the one who shared his bed? That, he had never foreseen.
"Don't worry, brother," Sylvan sneered, crouching in front of him. "I won't kill you myself. That would be too easy. No, I want you to feel it. I want you to be torn apart—bit by bit—by the dead. I want you to feel the real pain of this world."
He shoved a phone into Kael's jacket.
"See? I'm sentimental. You said this phone has pictures of your family. Well, let them watch you die too."
Kael glared at him, muffled fury spilling out in grunts. He couldn't speak, but the rage in his eyes said everything.
A moment later, darkness slammed into the back of his skull.
"Where… am I?"
Kael blinked against the blinding sunlight. He instinctively tried to raise his hands—but they were tied tightly behind his back.
Then it all came rushing back. The betrayal. The ambush. The exile.
He struggled upright, scanning his surroundings. He was on a city street, but it was not the city he remembered. The sky was grey, the sun barely piercing the clouds. Light fell in fractured patterns across crumbling buildings. The air reeked of rot and despair.
Figures stumbled in the distance—shadows shifting in the ruins.
They weren't human.
Zombies.
Kael's breath slowed. He forced himself to stay silent. Movement or sound could draw them in.
He understood now—he hadn't just been cast out.
He had been exiled.
Exile. The punishment reserved for those in the shelter who committed serious offenses—but not serious enough for execution. A cruel mercy. They would be thrown out with no food, no weapons. If they survived, they earned their second chance. If they didn't… well, no one would mourn.
But Kael hadn't just been cast out. He'd been left trussed up like bait.
Any sound could mean death.
He glanced around and spotted a shard of broken glass lying nearby. Awkwardly, he shuffled over, twisted his wrists behind his back, and began sawing at the rope.
The glass was dull. Progress was slow. But Kael worked patiently, grinding the cord down inch by inch, always listening, always watching for any sign of movement.
Minutes passed. Sweat dripped from his face. The rope was halfway severed. The undead still hadn't noticed him.
His heart slowed just enough for him to breathe.
He wasn't dead yet.