Bryan had always felt a twinge of guilt toward this body's parents. After all, he'd taken their son's place. That was part of why he was so determined to reach Washington—not just for protection, but to let them know their son was still alive.
He knew that if he didn't get closer to Washington during the early stages of the disaster, it would become virtually impossible once the infection fully consumed the country.
As Bryan stood lost in thought, the worker behind him suddenly spoke up: "Oh! There might be one more option."
"Hm? What do you mean?" Bryan snapped out of his reverie and turned back to the counter.
"A new transfer destination just posted." The worker scrolled through information on her screen. "It's Atlanta!"
But as she read further, her expression froze. She hesitated, then looked up at him. "I wouldn't recommend this one, though."
"Please, could you tell me why?" Seeing her reaction, Bryan knew this information was crucial. Inspiration struck, and he leaned against the counter with a dejected expression. "I really, really want to find my parents!"
Looking at the pleading child before her, the woman felt her heart soften. After an internal struggle, she glanced around to make sure no one was watching. Then she leaned forward and spoke in a voice only they could hear:
"Atlanta's surrounding area is a major infection hotspot right now. The new government is forcing some Quarantine Zones to send military escorts with civilian volunteers to reinforce the population and military presence there. I really don't recommend going. And please—don't tell anyone I told you this."
Bryan's expression sharpened. This was critical intelligence. She'd clearly taken a risk sharing it with him. He looked at her gratefully. "Thank you. I won't say a word."
He told her he needed to think it over, thanked her sincerely, and turned to leave.
"Hey kid, what'd they say in there?"
"They didn't trick you, did they?"
The moment Bryan stepped outside and started down the stairs, the crowd that had been watching from a distance suddenly swarmed around him, bombarding him with questions about what had happened inside.
"It's fine in there. You can go ask them yourselves."
Bryan frowned at the strangers surrounding him. Their behavior was irritating, but he didn't want trouble. Suppressing his annoyance, he patiently described what he'd seen inside, then tried to push through the crowd to leave.
"Hey! We're talking to you—where do you think you're going?"
But sometimes trouble finds you whether you want it or not.
Just as Bryan was about to break free, a young man in his early twenties grabbed him by the back of his collar and yanked hard.
The young man had been stewing outside the office for ages, his temper already frayed. He didn't dare take it out on the soldiers, so he'd bottled up his anger. When he saw Bryan's impatient expression, something inside him snapped. He didn't control his strength.
Some people are like that. They fear those stronger than themselves, keeping a respectful distance. But the moment they encounter someone weaker, they dump all their pent-up frustration onto that person—just to prove they're strong too.
Bryan never saw it coming. He felt a massive force yank him backward, and before he could react, he crashed hard onto the ground with a heavy thud.
The crowd fell silent. Everyone instinctively stepped back. No one had expected the young man to lash out like that—especially since they'd already gotten the information they wanted.
Even the two soldiers at the entrance frowned deeply, their eyes filled with distaste as they looked at the young man.
One soldier was about to call out a reprimand when he saw the fallen boy struggling to his feet.
Bryan felt pain flare across his back. Anger surged through him. What the hell was wrong with this guy? Did he think Bryan was easy to push around?
He looked up, staring directly into the young man's face. His voice was ice. "You'd better apologize. Otherwise, you're going to regret this."
The young man hadn't intended to knock the kid down—it had been an accident. But he'd always been arrogant, and this was just some twelve-year-old. Why should he care?
Now, hearing the kid demand an apology and threaten him? The anger that had started to fade came roaring back.
"Oh yeah? Alright, brat—here's your apology!" A twisted grin spread across his face as he strode forward, raising his palm to slap this mouthy little shit across the face. He wanted to see exactly how this kid was going to make him "regret" anything.
The onlookers gasped. No one had expected him to actually strike a child—and from his stance, he clearly wasn't holding back. Some people couldn't bear to watch and turned away.
Bryan watched the palm swinging toward his face. He felt no fear. Maybe when he'd first arrived in this world, he would have run from a situation like this. But after surviving the horrors outside, he knew some things couldn't be solved by running away. Avoidance only got you killed. He'd killed infected—and humans. Why would he fear this man?
Just as the slap was about to connect, Bryan stepped back two paces, easily dodging the wild swing.
The young man hadn't expected the kid to evade him. He'd put everything into that slap, and now he stumbled forward, off-balance.
In that split second, the boy vanished from in front of him. A chill ran down his spine. He wasn't stupid—hot-headed maybe, but not stupid. He knew the kid was looking for an opening to counterattack. He tried desperately to regain his footing.
But Bryan wasn't about to give him the chance. The moment he'd sidestepped, he'd darted around to the man's flank. The same techniques he used against infected worked just as well against a human taller than himself. He aimed a kick at the side of the man's left knee.
"AHHH—!"
The impact drew an agonized scream. The young man's leg buckled, and he dropped to one knee, both hands clutching his joint, his face contorted in pain. He snarled through gritted teeth:
"You little bastard! I'm going to kill—"
Before he could finish, a fist slammed into his face. His head rang like a bell, and the words died in his throat.
The young man clutched his head, dazed. Bryan wasn't that strong—just a kid—but the blow had landed clean. He forgot all about his knee, holding his skull as stars danced in his vision. Through the blur, he saw a foot approaching his face, getting closer... and closer...
Then everything went black. He collapsed, unconscious.
As the young man hit the ground, silence fell again. The crowd stared, slack-jawed. They'd assumed the kid would get beaten and had been ready to intervene.
Instead, in a matter of seconds, the young man was flat on his back. No one had seen that coming. Their best-case scenario had been the kid managing to run away.
The two soldiers who'd witnessed the entire exchange raised their eyebrows, sharing a glance of mutual surprise.
Bryan's movements had been practiced—but that kick to the knee had clearly been redirected at the last second. It was obvious he'd never used that technique on a living person before. Given the boy's height and the cold look in his eyes, it seemed more like something he'd developed for fighting the infected outside.
Thinking about that, both soldiers looked at Bryan with newfound respect. In this apocalyptic world, people who could face infected unarmed were rare. Those willing to risk infection by fighting in close quarters were even rarer among adults—let alone a twelve-year-old.
Bryan straightened his clothes and gently shook out his right leg. That final kick had left it a bit numb. He looked down at the unconscious young man and clicked his tongue.
"That weak, and you still talk so much shit."