Friday, 12:00 AM
29 minutes until incident
Around the corner came two zombies, both dragging the bodies of the two men Kínitos had just talked to. The guards who'd patted him down, who'd been about to check his ID before the gunshots started.
Now they were corpses being hauled like luggage.
The smell hit Kínitos first—rancid, overwhelming, like a landfill full of feces left to rot in the sun. His stomach lurched, bile rising in his throat. He almost threw up, hand flying to his mouth.
He took a deep breath through his nose—mistake—and immediately regretted it. He exhaled hard, trying to push the stench out of his lungs.
"Let's fucking get it then," Kínitos said, activating his watch.
Purple light exploded across his body, the suit forming in geometric patterns. The material settled against his skin, humming with energy.
The zombies moved slow and uncoordinated. Limping forward, dragging their feet, arms hanging at odd angles. No urgency. No worry. Just shambling forward with that horrible jerky rhythm.
"Y'all actually pretty slow. This should be e—"
The bald man moved.
Not shambling. Not limping. Blurring.
One second he was ten feet away, dragging a corpse. The next he was right there, dropping both bodies and launching himself at Kínitos with terrifying speed. His fist came down like a hammer.
Kínitos barely had time to activate his immovability.
The punch connected with his shoulder—and the floor beneath Kínitos's feet exploded. Carpet tore. Wood splintered. The impact cratered the expensive flooring, chunks of subflooring and concrete dust erupting around them.
But Kínitos didn't move. His feet stayed planted, immovable as a mountain. The zombie's fist had hit him with enough force to put a hole through a wall, but Kínitos was still there, unmoved.
The zombie pulled back, preparing for another strike. The second zombie—the taller one—was moving now too, abandoning its cargo and rushing forward with that same unnatural speed.
"Shit!" Kínitos switched abilities instinctively.
Speed.
The world slowed down around him. Not actually slower—his perception was just faster. He could see the second zombie's movements, track the bald one winding up for another punch, process it all in the fraction of a second it took them to move.
He moved.
Kínitos blurred to the side, faster than human eyes could track. The bald zombie's second punch hit empty air where he'd been standing, cratering the floor again.Kínitos was already behind him, moving toward the fallen guards' bodies.
One of them still had his gun holstered.
Kínitos grabbed it, yanking it free, spinning back to face the zombies—The tall one was right there.
Its hand clamped around Kínitos's wrist—the one holding the gun—with crushing strength. The zombie's face was slack, eyes vacant and wrong, mouth hanging open. Dried blood crusted its lips.
Up close, Kínitos could see the bullet wounds. Three holes in its chest. Still weeping blood.
It squeezed. Pain shot up Kínitos's arm. He felt bones grinding together, the zombie's grip like a vice. The gun clattered to the floor.
The bald zombie was charging again, moving with that horrifying burst of speed. Kínitos couldn't pull free. Couldn't dodge. So he didn't try.
Unstoppable momentum.
Purple energy flooded through him—not making him immovable this time, but the opposite. Making him a force that couldn't be stopped, couldn't be redirected, couldn't be slowed.
He pushed forward. His body moved like a battering ram, carrying the tall zombie with him. They crashed through the hallway, Kínitos driving forward with impossible force. The zombie's grip on his wrist didn't loosen, but it didn't matter—Kínitos was moving, and nothing could stop him.
They slammed into the wall at the end of the hall.
The impact was catastrophic. The wall exploded, drywall and studs shattering, debris flying everywhere. They burst through into the room beyond—another executive suite, furniture scattering as they crashed through.
The zombie's grip finally loosened.
Kínitos ripped his arm free and rolled away, putting distance between them.
His wrist was already swelling, bruised purple-black. Probably fractured. But he could still move his fingers.
The tall zombie stood up from the wreckage, moving with that same jerky, unnatural rhythm. No pain. No hesitation. Just purpose.
Behind Kínitos, through the hole in the wall, he could see the bald zombie entering the suite. Moving slower now. Methodical. Two on one. Both impossibly strong. Both impossibly fast when they wanted to be. Both already dead.
Kínitos's mind raced.
Headshots. Only headshots stop them.
He'd dropped the gun in the hallway. But there had been two guards. Two guns. He just had to get to the other one. Through two zombies that could move faster than he could track. The tall zombie lunged.
Kínitos activated his speed again, blurring to the side. The zombie crashed into where he'd been standing, demolishing an expensive desk.
Kínitos was already moving, racing back toward the hole in the wall, toward the hallway, toward the second guard's body—
The bald zombie was waiting for him.
It grabbed him mid-sprint, hands clamping around his torso like a bear trap.
And squeezed.
Even through the suit, even with his abilities, Kínitos felt his ribs compress. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't move. The zombie lifted him off the ground, squeezing harder. Kínitos's vision started to blur at the edges.
No. Not like this.
He activated immovability. His body became solid. Impossibly dense. Immovable. The zombie kept squeezing—but now it was like trying to crush a steel beam. Its fingers couldn't compress him any further. The pressure was still there, but Kínitos's body wouldn't give.
He brought both fists down on the zombie's head.
Once. Twice. Three times.
The skull cracked on the fourth hit, but the zombie didn't let go.
Fifth hit. Sixth.
The skull caved in, brain matter splattering across Kínitos's suit. The zombie dropped him. It stood there for a moment, swaying, a massive crater in its head where its brain used to be. Then it collapsed. Finally still. Kínitos hit the floor gasping, his ribs screaming in protest. He scrambled to his feet, looking for the tall zombie—
It was already on him.