Absorbing red crystal

In a dimly lit computer shop, Adam stood frozen. His breaths were shallow and erratic, as if his lungs refused to cooperate. He leaned against a shelf crammed with cables and hardware, his trembling hand clutching a machete he had instinctively grabbed. His body felt rigid, yet his mind raced wildly.

His eyes scanned the room. The shop was narrow, packed with dusty shelves overflowing with electronic components. Old monitors lined a corner, some still flickering with faint light, adding to the oppressive, uncanny atmosphere. On the cashier's desk, a small fan spun lazily, its soft hum failing to drown out the screams from outside.

Adam tried to calm himself, but the cacophony from the streets outside struck him like relentless blows—sobs, screams, and the sickening sound of flesh being torn apart echoed in his ears.

Swallowing hard, his dry throat scratched with the motion. "What is happening?" he muttered, his voice barely audible.

He wiped his face with a trembling hand, struggling to piece together an explanation. "How did these people turn into… zombies?" The word tasted bitter, like a thorn lodged in his tongue.

Panic began to creep in. His gaze fell on the machete in his grip. "Good thing I brought you," he thought, finding a sliver of solace in his foresight.

Taking a deep breath, Adam forced himself to gather his courage. "No. I can't die here," he whispered, the words laden with quiet determination. His eyes swept across the store, searching for anything that could aid his survival.

A flash of memory from a novel he once read suddenly surfaced in his mind. The bestselling book described an apocalypse where an extraterrestrial virus turned humans into zombies. In the story, those who managed to kill zombies gained extraordinary powers.

"I should try taking down one of those monsters," Adam murmured, a flicker of hope sparking in his chest. If the story was true, this could be his chance—not just to survive, but to fight back.

He turned his attention to the back of the store, where a door hung slightly ajar. Cautiously, he approached it, gripping the machete tighter in his hand.

When he reached the door, Adam moved slowly, peeking through the opening. His heart pounded, but as he glimpsed inside, his tension eased. The room was just a small restroom. Nothing of interest.

Exhaling deeply, Adam steeled himself and headed for the store's front entrance. Through the grimy glass smeared with bloodstains, he peered outside. The streets had grown eerily quiet, leaving only one or two zombies shambling aimlessly in the distance.

Grasping the door handle firmly, his mind buzzed with warnings and possibilities. If I don't act now, they'll mutate. And when that happens… Images of larger, faster, deadlier creatures flashed in his mind, sending chills down his spine.

Adam sighed, forcing himself to stay calm. "Come on, Adam. Now's not the time to hesitate," he muttered under his breath, as though chanting a mantra.

With a push, the door creaked open, shattering the silence. The world outside greeted him with a vision of devastation. The bustling city he once knew had transformed into a hellscape. Buildings crumbled, vehicles burned, and blood stained the streets. The air reeked of smoke and iron, making Adam gag.

He stepped cautiously, his machete poised in his grip. Each step made a squelching sound as his boots pressed against blood-soaked asphalt. Not far ahead, a zombie was hunched over a corpse, devouring it with grotesque fervor, its filthy teeth tearing flesh with wet, guttural crunches.

Adam froze, holding his breath. He crouched low, inching closer with deliberate, measured steps. At a meter's distance, he raised the machete high.

Swish!

The blade struck true. The zombie's head separated cleanly from its body with a sharp sound, accompanied by a spray of blackened blood that splattered across the asphalt. The creature's body collapsed with a thud, like a puppet with its strings cut.

Adam exhaled deeply, fighting to steady his pounding heart. His eyes darted around, scanning for any signs of immediate danger. But there was nothing—only the silent, scattered remains of the dead.

Yet nothing happened. No system panel materialized, no triumphant notification echoed in his mind.

Adam frowned. "Where's the system?" he muttered, frustration lacing his voice.

His gaze fell on the zombie's corpse. A grim possibility crossed his mind. Maybe… it's inside.

Reluctantly, he lifted his machete and began to carve into the creature's chest. The rotting ribs cracked with a sickening crunch, revealing decayed, putrid organs. The foul stench nearly made Adam retch, but he forced himself to press on.

As he dug deeper, his machete struck something solid. Clang! The metallic sound piqued Adam's curiosity.

He widened the incision and gasped at what he found: a small, red crystal glowing faintly amidst the rotted innards. Its dim light flickered like a beacon, drawing Adam's attention like a moth to a flame.

"What is this?" he whispered. Carefully, he reached out, plucking the crystal from the decaying flesh. It was cool to the touch, and as his fingers closed around it, a surge of energy coursed through his body—a sensation both refreshing and unsettling.

Adam froze, staring at the crystal in awe and wariness. "My body… can absorb this energy?" he murmured in disbelief.

Taking a deep, trembling breath, he gripped the crystal tighter. This was his chance. He couldn't afford to waste it.

Sitting on the bloodstained pavement, surrounded by the silent dead, Adam closed his eyes and focused on the crystal's energy. A chill spread through his body, followed by a gradual transformation. His muscles tightened, his frame grew lighter, stronger.

And with each passing moment, Adam felt the impossible becoming reality.

***

Not far from where Adam was, two armed men could be seen walking down the shattered highway. Each carried a short knife and a flashlight, moving with a cold, calculated vigilance.

"Viper, got any cigarettes left?" asked the bald man beside him, his voice gravelly and low.

Viper, a tall man with piercing eyes, pulled a pack of cigarettes from his pocket and tossed it without even glancing over.

"Don't finish them all," he said curtly, his gaze fixed on the surrounding buildings.

They moved in silence for a moment, the sound of their boots crunching against the rubble being the only noise in the desolate street. Their mission was clear: find other survivors and bring them back to their group's camp.

But suddenly, Viper halted. He raised his hand, signaling his partner to stop.

"Look over there," he whispered, pointing ahead from behind the charred remains of a car.

The bald man followed Viper's gesture. In the distance, under the pale moonlight, the silhouette of a small family appeared. There were three adults: two women and a man. One of the women cradled a toddler, while the man held a large wooden stick—a crude weapon they seemed to rely on for protection.

"Just a family," the bald man muttered.

"Exactly. They don't look like they're prepared to fight back," Viper said, narrowing his eyes as he studied their movements. "We can take them back. The boss will definitely reward us handsomely for this."

The bald man's face lit up at the word "reward." But there was a lecherous glint in his eyes.

"But before that…" He grinned, his voice low and brimming with sinister intent. "We should have some fun with the women."

Viper smirked coldly, clearly on the same page as his companion. Their eyes gleamed with dark intent as they began planning how to neutralize the man in the group.

Meanwhile, not far from them, the small family looked utterly exhausted. The devastated streets and unrelenting chaos had worn down their bodies and spirits.

"Sweetheart, I'm so tired… let's rest for a moment," said the woman cradling the toddler, her voice nearly breaking.

The man beside her turned, noticing the pallor of her face and her body's obvious fatigue. With a small nod, he agreed.

"All right, let's take a short break here," he said gently, his tone reassuring. His eyes scanned the area, searching for a safer spot to stop.

Not far away, he spotted an old, half-destroyed drink cart.

"Amel, keep an eye on your mother for a bit. I'll go check that cart," he said to his daughter, a teenager who seemed more mature than her years.

"Okay, Dad. Be careful," Amel replied, gripping her mother's hand more tightly.

The man moved cautiously toward the cart, leaving his wife and daughter by the roadside. He was oblivious to the danger lurking in the shadows.