Grinding

Leo pulled into an empty parking lot a few miles outside Philadelphia, the SUV's engine quieting down to a low purr as it came to a stop. The air was thick with the stench of rotting garbage, mixed with something fouler—something he had learned to recognize over time. 

Death.

Philadelphia wasn't as chaotic as New York had become, but the signs of the apocalypse were clear—abandoned cars, shattered windows, and an eerie silence that spoke of a once-thriving city now no longer alive.

He stepped out of the vehicle, stretching his legs after the long drive, his sharp eyes scanning his surroundings. This wasn't about finding a place to rest; it was about finding a place to grind, to level up in this new, harsh reality.

That was why he had picked this spot.

A multi-story apartment building, just far enough from the city center to avoid large survivor groups, but still within the danger zone.

Exactly what he was looking for.

A perfect hunting ground.

The building stood tall, darkened windows reflecting the fading evening light. From the outside, it looked untouched—no barricades, no signs of struggle. But Leo knew better. He had seen plenty of places like this before. The real question wasn't whether something was inside.

It was whether he could kill it.

Gripping his blade in one hand and his pistol that got from the scavengers he already killed in the other hand, he moved toward the entrance. The glass doors were already shattered, but the lobby was empty. No bodies. No blood.

Yet. He stepped inside cautiously, his boots crunching over broken glass. There was no power, meaning no elevators. Just the staircase.

Exactly what he wanted.

Leo moved quickly, clearing the first-floor hallway. Four apartment doors. All shut. He ignored them for now. He wasn't here to loot.

Approaching the staircase, he pressed himself against the wall and peered upward. Nothing.

He glanced downward. Empty.

So far, so good.

But something didn't sit right, a prickle of unease crawled up his spine. The silence was too perfect, too undisturbed. It felt staged, like a carefully crafted trap.

He pushed forward, climbing the stairs one slow step at a time. The second floor was the same—empty hall, shut doors, eerie quiet.

By the time he reached the third floor, the smell was stronger. The metallic tang of blood mingled with the putrid sweetness of decay, a symphony of death.

His grip on his blade tightened. 

He could feel the familiar adrenaline surge through his veins, a cold fire igniting in his eyes.

Another hallway. Four doors.

Still shut.

He stepped forward—

THUMP.

The sound came from above.

Leo froze, his senses on high alert.

Another THUMP—followed by a slow, dragging noise. The unmistakable sound of something heavy being pulled across a rough surface.

A slow smile spread across Leo's face, a hunter expression that spoke of anticipation, not fear.

Finally. 

He had come to the right place.

With smooth, deliberate movements, he stepped back into the nearest unit, shutting the door behind him. He tested the knob—it locked. Good.

He moved quickly, his eyes scanning every corner of the room. He checked the windows, ensuring his surroundings were secure. Nothing moved outside. No signs of life.

Or rather—no signs of the living.

Then, just as he was finishing his scan—

A low, guttural moan drifted down from the stairwell, a chilling sound that resonated deep within his bones.

Followed by another.

Then another.

Then another.

Leo exhaled through his nose, a flicker of amusement in his cold gaze. He didn't know what had caused this world's timeline to shift so dramatically, but one fundamental truth remained unchanged.

Yes, one thing hadn't changed.

The weak exist to be culled and he was more than ready.

He reached for his blade, the same one he had used before. Clean, sharp, and precise. The perfect tool for the job.

The first rule of fighting zombies? Don't waste energy.

The second rule? Know where to hit.

Leo knew both.

He pressed his ear against the door. Slow, shuffling footsteps moved outside, uneven and sluggish. He could hear at least three, maybe four.

Not a horde. Yet.

With a calm breath, he unlocked the door. Then, with sharp, deliberate movements, he pulled it open—fast.