The soft clink of ceramic cups echoed in the quiet café as Gustavo poured another round of coffee for the three of them—Maarg, Jack, and Henry. The sun had dipped past the skeletal skyline, casting shadows that stretched like claws across the dust-covered floorboards. The once-bustling Blue Angel Café now hosted survivors, not customers.
Henry, his bandaged hand shaking just a bit, unfurled a large, stained map on the counter. The edges were frayed, and various colored markings crisscrossed its surface like scars on weathered skin.
He tapped one blue circle with his knuckle. "This is where we are now," he said. "Safe-ish. Gustavo's turf." Then he slid his finger southeast and tapped a large yellow blotch. "Cobra's area. We've got some security there. Organized zones. We patrol, trade, secure supplies, try to build something."
His finger hovered over a sprawling red slash across the map. It looked like a wound smeared across the parchment.
"This," Henry said, voice low, "is the Danger Zone. Zombies, bandits, ferals, and the worst—cannibals. If hell had a zip code, it'd be right here."
Maarg leaned in, studying the inked chaos. His eyes narrowed on the red. "And people live there?"
"Some," Henry replied grimly. "Not for long. But it's not just them anymore. The Man-Eaters—those monsters—have gotten bold. They've started taking hostages from the outer zones. Few hours ago... they took Carla."
Jack blinked. "Carla?"
"Cobra's wife," Henry explained. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a slightly bent photograph. It was faded, like it had been folded and unfolded too many times. The picture showed a woman in her late thirties, her dark hair tucked under a sunhat, standing in front of a small vegetable stall with a baby goat in her arms. She was smiling, soft and unguarded.
Gustavo took the photo, and for a moment, the warm lines on his face froze. He stared at the woman with something unreadable in his expression—nostalgia, maybe. Regret, perhaps. Whatever it was, he didn't speak. He just passed the photo back in silence.
"I've never seen Cobra like that," Henry continued. "He's usually sharp, calm, even charming when he wants to be. But now? He's on the edge. He's sent out group after group, but nobody came back."
Maarg glanced at Jack, then back to Henry. "So what, you want us to join him?"
"I mean…" Henry shrugged, folding the map again with care. "You two look capable. You move fast, think quicker, and you're still alive—which is saying something these days. Cobra's looking for people like that."
Jack raised an eyebrow. "What, are we applying for jobs now? In an apocalypse?"
Henry laughed—a short, bitter sound. "It's not a job. It's a chance to fight back. Cobra doesn't want to just survive, he wants to win. Reclaim ground. Make rules again. If you've got muscle, or brains—or both—he wants you. And you? You seem like you've got something more."
"What do you mean, 'more'?" Maarg asked cautiously.
Henry's gaze drifted between them, as if weighing something. "Just a feeling. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you're just lucky. But sometimes the apocalypse doesn't need soldiers. It needs... different kinds of people."
Jack scratched his neck and sighed. "We're not saying no. We're just not saying yes yet. We've got people counting on us."
Henry nodded. "Understandable. But time's ticking. I head back by tomorrow morning. You can come with me, meet Cobra, hear him out. If it doesn't suit you, walk away. No chains, no threats."
Gustavo, who had remained uncharacteristically quiet, finally broke the silence.
"Cobra…" he said, slowly. "He's still alive."
"You know him?" Jack asked.
"I've heard of him," Gustavo deflected with a soft smile, but something in his eyes betrayed deeper knowledge. "Long before all this. Just fragments of a name in old whispers."
Gustavo stood up, dusted his hands, and looked straight at Maarg and Jack. "He's dangerous, but… not cruel. At least, not in the way the world is now. If he's desperate enough to send scouts, to ask for help, to need people—then maybe he's not as strong as everyone says."
"Or maybe he's stronger for admitting it," Maarg said quietly.
Gustavo gave him a nod. "Go meet him. Just listen. The world's gone to shit, boys—but sometimes, the right mission can give us meaning. And if his wife's still alive... well, maybe you can do something the others couldn't."
There was a long pause.
Jack leaned back, eyes on the ceiling. "So… first we escape a horde, then we meet a café philosopher, rescue a dude from a damn electric tower, and now we're being recruited by a warlord with a kidnapped wife?"
Maarg snorted. "Sounds about right."
Henry chuckled. "Welcome to the new normal."
Gustavo returned to his place behind the counter and began cleaning a mug that didn't really need cleaning. His hands moved slowly, deliberately, as if keeping them busy would keep away thoughts clawing at the back of his mind.
As the night grew thicker outside the glass windows, a decision hung silently in the air, heavy like a storm waiting to break.