Ethan and Mia slipped through the lecture hall's broken doors, the air inside thick with dust and the faint tang of mildew. The ceiling sagged, beams jutting like fractured ribs, moonlight seeping through gaps to paint the floor in silver streaks. [Predator Sense] hummed, tracking distant threats—claws scraping north, a hiss east—but the hall itself was still, its rows of overturned chairs and scattered papers a silent testament to the breach's chaos. The gym was close now, a quarter-mile west past the library's husk, and Ethan's gut told him they'd find answers there—or at least a breather.
Mia clutched the fire axe, her steps light but steady beside him, her dark eyes scanning the gloom. "It's too quiet," she whispered, her voice tight. "After that thing in the quad…"
"Yeah," Ethan muttered, hammer resting against his shoulder, its head crusted with centipede ichor. "Means something's waiting." He didn't say it aloud, but the breach felt alive—every shadow a threat, every silence a trap. He'd felt it since that first night, the world tilting under an unseen weight.
They moved west through the hall, weaving past toppled podiums and shattered projectors, the crunch of glass underfoot the only sound. [Perception] caught a flicker—a shadow shifting near the far exit, human-shaped, quick. Ethan froze, raising a hand to halt Mia. [Predator Sense] pinged—not a monster, but heartbeats, three of them, fast and ragged. Survivors, maybe, but he wasn't taking chances.
"Stay back," he murmured, stepping forward, hammer ready. "Who's there?"
A figure emerged from the exit's shadow—a man, mid-thirties, wiry and unshaven, holding a jagged metal pole like a spear. His clothes were torn, a campus security badge dangling from his belt. Two others flanked him: a woman with a baseball bat, her hair pulled tight, and a teenage boy gripping a wrench, his hands trembling. They didn't look like monsters, but their eyes—wild, desperate—set Ethan on edge.
"Drop the hammer," the man said, voice hoarse, pole leveled at Ethan's chest. "Now."
"Not happening," Ethan replied, keeping his stance loose, [Agility] coiled in his legs. "We're just passing through. Heading to the gym."
The woman snorted, bat tapping her palm. "Gym's a myth. Everyone who went there's dead or gone. You got supplies?"
Mia stepped up, axe raised but not swung. "We've got nothing but what's on us. Let us go."
The man's gaze flicked to her, then back to Ethan, calculating. "You're too clean for stragglers. Where'd you come from?"
"Dorm," Ethan said, nodding east. "Found her, now we're moving. That's it."
"Liar," the boy spat, wrench shaking. "Nobody walks out of there alive. You're hoarding—food, weapons—"
"Enough," the man snapped, silencing the kid. He studied Ethan, pole still aimed. "You're not shaking. Not scared. Why?"
Ethan's jaw tightened. He was scared—terrified for Mia, for what came next—but the system had hardened him, kill by kill. He couldn't explain that, not without sounding insane. "I've seen worse tonight," he said instead, voice steady. "We don't want trouble. Let us pass."
The woman smirked. "Prove it. Toss the hammer, or we take it."
Mia's grip on the axe tightened, her stance shifting—ready to fight. Ethan's mind raced. Three against two, no monsters yet, but [Predator Sense] warned of something closing in—a faint skitter, insect-like, from the hall's north wall. He didn't have time for this.
"Look," he said, lowering the hammer but not dropping it, "we're all trying to survive. You want the gym? Come with us. Strength in numbers."
The man hesitated, pole dipping slightly. The woman frowned, but the boy's eyes widened, hopeful. "You mean it?" he asked.
"Yeah," Ethan said, meeting the man's stare. "But try to take what's mine, and you'll regret it."
A tense silence stretched, broken by a sharp chitter from the north. The wall buckled, plaster cracking as something burrowed through—a swarm of foot-long centipedes, smaller than the quad's beast but no less vicious, their mandibles glinting. The group flinched, weapons snapping up.
Ethan didn't think—just acted. He swung the hammer, smashing the lead centipede into the floor, ichor splashing. [Vermin Bane] flared, the blow sharper than it should've been. Mia's axe cleaved another, her grunt of effort loud in the chaos. The man thrust his pole, pinning a third to the wall, while the woman and boy bashed wildly, panic driving their swings.
The swarm thinned, corpses piling up, until the last one twitched and died. Ethan's chest heaved, the hammer slick in his grip. The voice chimed:
[Monster slain: Lesser Abyssal Centipede x3]
[Attributes Gained: +1 Strength]
[Skills Gained: None]
[Rewards Gained: None]
The man lowered his pole, breathing hard. "Okay," he said, voice raw. "You're with us. Name's Cal. That's Tara, and the kid's Ben."
"Ethan," he replied, nodding. "This is Mia."
Tara wiped ichor from her bat, eyeing them. "Gym's still a gamble, but better than here."
"Then let's move," Ethan said, glancing at the cracked wall. More could come. He didn't trust them fully—Cal's pole had been too close to his chest—but numbers beat dying alone.