The world ended not with a bang, but with a wet, gurgling moan.
James remembered the exact moment everything changed. He'd been in his apartment, scrolling through memes on his phone, when the emergency alert blasted through every speaker in the city.
"Remain indoors. Do not approach infected individuals." By the time he looked out his window, the streets below were already chaos: cars crashing, people running, and the first of the dead lurching after the living with unnatural hunger.
That was six months ago.
Now, James crouched behind an overturned delivery truck in what used to be downtown Seattle, clutching a blood-crusted crowbar.
His breath came in shallow bursts, fogging in the cold December air. Rain slicked his dark hair to his forehead and soaked through the layers of scavenged clothing he wore.
Around him, the city was a graveyard of rusted vehicles and shattered glass. And somewhere close—too close—he could hear the dragging footsteps and low groans of the dead.
He'd survived this long through caution, luck, and a stubborn refusal to die. But today felt different.
It started that morning.
James had been scavenging an abandoned pharmacy when a sharp pain lanced through his skull. He dropped to his knees, clutching his head, certain a migraine or worse had finally caught up with him.
Then words appeared—not in the air, but burned directly into his mind, clear and undeniable.
Quest Issued: Survivor's Trial
Objective: Kill 50 zombies by any means necessary.
Reward: Teleportation to another world (Harry Potter universe), arrival one month prior to canon events. 20 Senzu Beans (full restorative effect).
Failure Penalty: None.
Progress: 0/50
He'd stared at the empty air where the words had been, heart hammering. Another world. Harry Potter. He knew the stories—everyone did. Magic, wands, Hogwarts. A place where the dead stayed dead, and monsters could be fought with spells instead of desperation.
And Senzu Beans. Twenty of them. In a world of zombies, a single bean that could heal any injury, restore full strength in seconds… it was godlike.
The message hadn't repeated. No voice explained it. No glowing interface floated in front of him. Just the knowledge, absolute and certain, that the quest was real.
He hadn't hesitated long.
James tightened his grip on the crowbar and peered around the truck's fender. Three zombies shambled down the street toward him, drawn by the faint clatter he'd made earlier.
They were fresh enough that their clothes weren't completely rotted—two in office attire, one in a fast-food uniform. Their eyes were milky white, jaws slack, but their movements were steady.
He could run. He always ran.
But today, he needed kills.
James stepped out from cover, heart pounding. The nearest zombie—a woman in a torn blouse—turned toward him and let out a rasping groan. The others followed.
He didn't wait.
James charged the first one, swinging the crowbar in a wide arc. The hooked end caught the zombie under the chin, snapping its head back with a sickening crack.
It stumbled but didn't fall. He followed through, bringing the bar down on its skull. The impact jarred his arms, but the zombie dropped.
Progress: 1/50
The words flashed across his mind again, cold and factual.
The second zombie—a man in a bloodstained suit—lunged at him. James sidestepped and smashed the crowbar into its knee.
Bone shattered. It collapsed, crawling toward him with outstretched arms. He ended it with two quick blows to the head.
Progress: 2/50
The third was faster. It grabbed his jacket before he could swing. Rotten teeth snapped inches from his arm. Panic surged, but James twisted, slamming the crowbar into its temple. It went limp.
Progress: 3/50
He stood there, panting, staring at the three bodies. His hands shook. He'd killed before—out of necessity—but never like this. Never deliberately seeking them out.
The quest didn't care about morality. It only cared about the count.
By midday, he'd found a small horde near a grocery store—eight zombies clustered around an overturned shopping cart, as if still trying to fill it.
He lured them into a narrow alley with thrown bricks, then took them one by one. Crowbar to the legs, then the head. Methodical. Brutal.
Each kill updated the counter in his mind.
4/50. 5/50. 6/50…
He took risks he never would have before. Climbed a fire escape to drop onto one from above. Used a broken bottle when the crowbar got stuck in a skull. Set a small fire in a trash can to draw a group into a choke point, then bashed them as they bottlenecked.
By late afternoon, his arms ached, his clothes were soaked in black blood, and the counter read 12/50.
He allowed himself a moment of hope. Thirty-eight more. He could do this. He had to.
Then he heard the screaming.
A child's voice, high and terrified, echoing from a nearby apartment building.
James froze.
He told himself to keep moving. The quest didn't mention saving people. Every detour was a risk. But the scream came again, cut off abruptly.
He cursed under his breath and ran toward the sound.
The building's lobby was dark, doors hanging off hinges. He moved quietly up the stairs, crowbar ready. On the third floor, he found them: two zombies hunched over a small figure in a hallway. A boy, maybe ten years old, lay still beneath them.
Too late.
Rage replaced caution. James attacked without thinking. The first zombie died before it could turn. The second managed to grab his arm, teeth scraping his sleeve before he caved its skull in.
Progress: 14/50
He knelt beside the boy. The kid's throat was torn open. No chance.
James closed the boy's eyes with trembling fingers. "I'm sorry," he whispered.
As he stood, movement caught his eye. Another zombie—this one larger, broader—emerged from an open apartment door. It moved faster than the others, almost running.
James backed away, raising the crowbar. It charged.
He swung, missed. It tackled him to the ground, rotten weight pinning him. Teeth snapped at his face. He jammed the crowbar under its chin, holding it back, muscles screaming with effort.
With a desperate twist, he drove the hooked end into its eye. It convulsed once and went still.
Progress: 15/50
James shoved the body off and lay there, staring at the cracked ceiling. His body ached. His mind reeled.
Fifteen. Only fifteen.
The sun was setting outside, painting the hallway in dim orange light. He could hear more groans echoing through the building—drawn by the noise.
He dragged himself to his feet. Tomorrow, he'd keep going. He had to.
Because somewhere out there was a world with magic and hope. A world where he might finally be safe.
And for that, he'd kill every zombie he could find.