The aunt and the PDF file

The aunt. And the PDF file.

---

Luca and Kassandra lay on a pile of old clothes and blankets they had scavenged from the store. It wasn't comfortable—half the pile smelled like dust and mildew—but it was better than the cold floor.

The dim light from the street barely reached inside, flickering as shapes moved outside. Grotesque silhouettes pressed against the store's glass, smearing it with blood and filth. The low, guttural moans of the undead filled the silence.

Kassandra was awake. Her body was still. But her mind? It was running a marathon.

"…Sorry for biting you," she muttered, voice low. Then, more firmly— "Don't touch me again."

Luca, who had been lazily tracing patterns in the dust beside him, didn't even look at her. "I wasn't gonna eat you," he said. "Reasonable crash-out, to be honest."

He sat up slightly, checking the wound she'd left. Her teeth had broken skin, but he had already patched it up with whatever he could find in the store—some gauze, a bit of tape, and probably way too much disinfectant.

Kassandra stared at his arm. Blood had dried along the edges of the bandage, but he acted like it was nothing.

Zombies groaned from outside. One of them slammed into the door, rattling the barricade.

Kassandra flinched. "Did you expect something like that? Is that why you blocked the entrance?"

"Yup. I'm a fortune cookie," Luca replied dryly.

She shot him a look.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It was just in case. And it helped."

Another thud against the glass. A dragging sound. A long, wet gurgle.

Kassandra clenched her jaw. She hated this—waiting. Sitting in the dark, hoping those things would leave.

Luca leaned back, resting his head against a shelf. "Let's wait until they lose interest," he said. "Might take a while."

Outside, the moans continued.

Inside, the silence stretched.

And for now, neither of them moved.

---

A thought crossed Luca's mind. Something amusing.

His lips curled into a warm smile.

It was unnatural, calculated, yet undeniably charismatic.

"Don't worry, Kassandra," he said gently, his voice smooth, comforting. "I won't let them hurt you."

Kassandra's breath hitched.

Something was wrong.

Her gut screamed at her, but Luca was a master of this. His expression, his tone—it was perfect. A flawless imitation of someone who genuinely cared.

She couldn't tell what was off.

Not exactly.

"Protect yourself first," she muttered, narrowing her eyes. "Then we might talk... I don't need anybody."

Luca's smile widened, just slightly.

He liked that.

No—he loved that.

The darkness in her eyes, laced with the faintest spark of hope—it was a cocktail he found intoxicating.

Beautiful.

And the best part?

She didn't even realize it.

---

Somewhere Else in the World…

Gunfire echoed through the night as an organized group tore through the undead with tactical precision.

They moved in pairs, using obstacles and spike traps to control the horde.

A soldier stepped forward, his boots crunching against broken glass. With a single swing, his machete split a zombie's skull in half. "These things don't care about obstacles," he muttered, stepping back. "They just go straight through, get stuck, and then—"

Another soldier lunged in, slamming a hammer into an undead's knee. "Yeah, BUT—!" He dodged a grab, finishing the job with a clean stab through the skull.

It was a system—one lured, the other finished.

Spikes slowed them down. Nets tangled their legs. Perfect teamwork.

But even with tactics, there were too many.

A rookie moved too slow.

A set of rotting hands yanked him down—teeth tore into his throat before he could even scream.

His partner turned to help—a mistake.

A second zombie lunged, jaws clamping onto his shoulder, ripping away flesh and muscle in one monstrous pull.

"FUCK!" someone yelled.

A third soldier tried to help—only to be dragged down from below, an undead hand clawing at his ankle.

The rest of the team didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

"Fall back to the second line!"

They retreated, leaving the fallen behind.

The strategy was sound. The teamwork was flawless.

But death didn't care.

---

Among the survivors, a soldier approached a girl no older than sixteen.

She had dark hair, sharp eyes, and a face that should've been too young to look so empty.

"Listen…" he hesitated, voice softer. "Xavier didn't make it."

No reaction.

"We saw the zombies surround him, and—"

She turned and walked away.

Didn't flinch. Didn't cry. Didn't even ask how or why.

Just… left.

The soldier frowned, staring after her. "What the hell is wrong with her?"

Before anyone could answer—

THUD.

A massive figure emerged from the shadows, moving with the kind of quiet that shouldn't have been possible for someone his size.

A towering Black man, broad-shouldered and built like a fortress, stepped forward. His deep, steady voice cut through the tense air like a blade.

"Where the hell are my daughters?"

His tone wasn't panicked. Wasn't desperate. Just firm. Unyielding.

Two soldiers jumped back.

"Holy shit—how are you alive?!" one of them stammered. "We saw you get eaten!"

He didn't blink. Didn't react.

Just took another step forward. "I asked you a question."

The soldier swallowed hard. "They're safe. Last we saw, they were in the supply camp—east end of the zone, near the river."

"They stuck together, just like you taught them," another soldier added quickly.

Something flickered in his eyes. Approval.

Without another word, he turned and walked away.

---

The camp was well-fortified, surrounded by makeshift barricades and scavenged metal walls.

When he finally reached them, his daughters barely reacted.

The youngest, a ten-year-old with bright eyes, grinned at him.

Not surprised. Not shocked. Just… happy.

"Hey, Dad."

Like he had just come home from work.

Like nothing about this was unnatural.

The older two glanced at each other but didn't seem impressed.

They didn't ask how he survived.

Didn't ask what happened.

They just accepted it.

And that was the strangest part of all.

---

Riley leaned against the wall, arms crossed, staring at Xavier with her usual unimpressed expression.

"Did it save your ass again?" she asked dryly.

"Don't call her it." Xavier's voice was firm but calm as he set down his bag. "She helped us out a lot."

"And tried taking over your body." Nia added with a shrug, but her fingers twitched slightly. She was playing tough—but the truth was, she was scared.

The youngest, Mira, tilted her head. "Who's she?"

"Don't worry about it, Mira. It's okay." Xavier smiled gently, ruffling her hair before unzipping the bag. "Here's what you requested."

Mira's eyes lit up the second she saw the contents—candy and a new game cartridge. She grabbed them immediately, hugging the game like it was the rarest treasure in the world.

Nia, quieter but no less eager, pulled out a thick novel. Her fingers traced the cover, a flicker of excitement in her eyes before she quickly masked it with indifference. She tucked it under her arm, pretending she wasn't grinning inside.

Then there was Riley.

She stood still, waiting.

But nothing came.

Xavier looked at her, voice steady. "Except for you, Riley."

Her arms tightened across her chest. "Tch. Figures."

"You don't put yourself in motherfu—" Xavier stopped himself, sighing. "You don't put yourself in danger and expect rewards."

Riley scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. I didn't care anyway."

She turned away, pretending like it didn't bother her.

But Xavier knew better.

She cared.

She just wouldn't show it.

And for now, he let it slide.

—

One Week After the Bus Incident

Luca kept up the act.

The perfect gentleman.

Respectful, attentive, just the right mix of charm and warmth. Even when Kassandra remained wary, her desperation chipped away at her defenses.

Slowly. Subtly.

She started letting her guard down. Just enough to consider him kind of a friend.

Until that night.

Kassandra walked in, carrying a plate of spaghetti. The smell filled the dimly lit hideout, the steam curling into the air.

She set it in front of him.

Luca froze.

For the first time in a while, he looked genuinely shocked.

"For… me?" His voice was quieter than usual. "You… made this for me?"

Kassandra raised an eyebrow. "What? Dude, it's just spaghetti. You brought it."

Luca stared at the plate like it was something foreign, something unreal.

"But… food…" His fingers tightened around the fork. "Especially made for me…"

He exhaled sharply, calming himself down. Then, without another word, he started eating.

"Thank you."

This time, it didn't sound like an act.

It sounded real.

Kassandra blinked, thrown off by the genuine gratitude in his voice.

But she didn't comment on it.

She just sat down, watching him in silence.

And for the first time, she started to wonder—who the hell was Luca, really?

—

Another Week Later

Luca hadn't changed.

Same casual attitude. Same cocky smirk. Same unpredictable energy.

But something was wrong.

Despite everything—the near-death experiences, the constant danger, the survivalist mindset—he realized something unsettling.

He was having fun.

And the worst part? He wasn't even pretending anymore.

Kassandra was still wary, still watching him with that cautious look in her eyes. They never allowed the other to get too close physically, but somehow, they kept living together.

Until one day—

"Stay home today."

Kassandra, sitting on the couch, narrowed her eyes. "Excuse me?"

"I'm heading into the city," Luca said, pulling on his jacket. "Won't take long. Just sit tight."

Kassandra crossed her arms. "Since when do you tell me what to do?"

Luca didn't answer right away. He casually grabbed a bar cutter—a heavy-duty tool meant for slicing through thick metal.

Kassandra's eyes locked onto it.

Her suspicion spiked.

She forced a casual tone. "The hell do you need that for?"

"Arts and crafts."

"Yeah, bullshit."

Luca sighed dramatically. "Relax, princess. I'm not ditching you. Just have some business to take care of."

Kassandra didn't move. Didn't blink.

Then, slowly, she leaned back into the couch. "...Fine. But if you're not back by sundown, I'm locking your ass out."

Luca grinned. "Oh no, how will I ever survive?"

He slung the tool over his shoulder and headed for the door.

Kassandra watched him go, her fingers unconsciously gripping her knife.

---

On the way, Luca's cocky smirk faded.

Every trace of amusement, every flicker of emotion—gone.

His face settled into something empty. Cold. Sociopathic.

He walked silently, efficiently, avoiding dangerous paths. His instincts kept him moving, scanning, adjusting.

Then—

Another airplane.

It cut across the sky, distant but too perfect. Too controlled.

Luca's expression didn't change. "...Something's fishy." His gaze lingered for a moment before he scoffed. "But not exactly my problem. One thing at a time."

Instead, his focus shifted to something more pressing.

That bitch might still be useful.

His feet carried him back to the building—the one where he first found Kassandra. Where he first saw her.

He stopped, looking up at the third and fourth floors.

Nothing.

But the zombies?

Still there. Still locked inside, pounding weakly against the walls.

Luca rolled his shoulders, setting down his bag.

Time for something stupid.

He reached in, pulling out a small metal canister. The sharp scent of oil filled the air as he poured it onto the ground outside the door, coating the pavement in a slick, reflective sheen.

His lips twitched. "Tom and Jerry really are ass-savers, huh…"

Then, without hesitation, he grabbed the bar cutter and sliced through the wires securing the doors.

The lock snapped.

The door creaked open.

For a second, there was silence.

Then—

A guttural, inhuman shriek.

The first zombie lunged forward. It took one step, then slipped.

Hard.

Its legs shot out from under it like a cartoon character stepping on ice, its skull cracking against the pavement with a sickening thud.

Then another.

And another.

The undead poured out, stepping directly onto the oil—falling, tumbling, colliding into each other. A writhing, snarling pile of bodies desperate to stand.

Luca ran.

Not away. In circles.

He moved deliberately, leading them into a chaotic loop around the open space—their rotten minds unable to process patterns or strategy.

By the time the smarter ones started adapting, it was too late.

Luca jumped—grabbing the edge of a rusted-out fire escape, pulling himself up in one smooth motion.

His hiding spot was perfect. An old balcony with a collapsed railing, half-covered in debris. From below, it looked like a pile of junk—not a place a person could be.

The zombies snarled, shrieked, flailed.

But they had no idea where he was.

Luca waited.

Watched.

And when they finally lost interest—**shambling off in different directions, following the sounds of the city—**he dropped back down.

Dusting himself off, he approached the building.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head.

"...I really have bad memories with old people."

Then, without hesitation, he stepped inside.

---

Inside, Luca was greeted by four guns.

Two bodyguards. One old bastard. And her.

The fat witch.

She sat like she owned the world, her sagging body draped in an expensive silk robe, too tight in all the wrong places. Heavy gold rings adorned her swollen fingers, her face thick with powder that couldn't hide the deep wrinkles of greed and arrogance. Despite her wealth, she stank—like a mix of perfume, sweat, and something rotting.

Luca barely had time to take her in before his eyes flicked to the old man.

Ugly. Bald. Pale. His skin hung loose, like it was trying to slide off his bones. He had that rich, sickly look—the kind of man who had never suffered a real day in his life. His yellowed teeth peeked through thin, cracked lips as he adjusted his expensive robe… and underwear.

Luca raised his hands in mock surrender, flashing a grin.

"Come on, guys." His tone was light, amused. "I'm here to talk. I did help you out, didn't I? It's kinda funny how the metal shutters that were supposed to keep you safe ended up trapping you."

The fat witch's beady eyes narrowed.

"Where's my sister's daughter?" she demanded. "I saw you take her."

Luca's smirk twitched.

For a fraction of a second, something flickered across his face.

Rage. Sharp. Violent.

Then, just as fast, it was gone—replaced by his usual, easygoing smile.

"Don't worry, ma'am," he said smoothly. "She's with m—"

"DID YOU TOUCH HER?!"

The creepy old bastard suddenly snarled, stepping forward. His robe shifted, barely covering way too much.

Luca blinked. "No, I di—"

"I PAID FOR A VIRGIN, DO YOU HEAR ME?! If I find out you touched her—if you ruined my purchase—" the old man's voice rose in a sickening shriek, veins bulging on his thin, wrinkled forehead, "I will make you wish you were dead!"

The room fell silent.

The guards stiffened.

They looked disgusted. But they didn't move. Didn't react.

Just stood there, still doing their job.

Luca exhaled through his nose.

His smile remained.

But his fingers curled slightly, his knuckles popping.

---

"Don't worry, sir. I have her safe and ready to go. Just like you want…" Luca's voice was smooth, casual—like they were discussing a business deal.

He tilted his head slightly, flashing his usual smirk.

"But the question is… what do you have?"

The old bastard's thin lips curled into a slow grin. First amused. Then pleased.

"Ah, a smart one! I like you, kid… What's your price?"

Luca barely reacted, but his fingers twitched at his side.

The fat witch raised a painted-on eyebrow, her bloated fingers sliding over the old man's chest.

Almost… intimately.

Luca's stomach churned. He nearly gagged.

But his expression? Completely calm.

"Well, sir… money is toilet paper now." Luca's voice remained even, though his jaw clenched slightly. "So I was thinking maybe something actually useful. Hmm… guns? Ammo?" He let the words hang in the air before adding, almost offhandedly— "Or a helicopter."

The old man's eyes gleamed.

Luca leaned forward slightly. "Come on, I know you guys have one. I saw you in the news, sir. Many, many times before."

Internally, his mind whispered:

"I'm gonna rip your fucking throat out and shove it up your asshole while peeling the bitch you have next to you."

The old man let out a raspy chuckle. "Quite the price… but I like you, kid." He nodded slightly. "I'll consider it. Once I see my… bride."

His beady eyes flicked past the bodyguards, eager.

And that's when everything fell apart.

Luca barely had time to register the movement before a gun was raised.

Kassandra stood behind the bodyguards.

Her hands trembled. Her eyes burned.

Tears streaked her face, but they weren't from fear. It

It was betrayal and most importantly:

Rage. Pure, unfiltered rage.

Her breathing was sharp, unsteady—her entire body coiled like a spring about to snap.

The gun didn't waver.

She was pointing it at everyone.

Luca turned, staring at her in genuine shock.

For the first time in a long time—

He hadn't planned for this.

---