What the hell just happened?

Of all the possible requests I'd imagined—medical supplies, specific foods, books, clothing, personal items from her former life—that had never even entered the realm of possibility. And the way she'd said it, so matter-of-factly, as if she were requesting aspirin or bandages...

I sat there on the couch, staring at the spot where she'd been sitting, trying to reconcile the professional, controlled woman I thought I knew with someone who would make such an extraordinary request. Was she serious? Was this some kind of test? Had I misunderstood somehow?

But no, her words had been crystal clear, delivered with the same precision she brought to everything else. She knew about my relationships with the other women in the house and somewhat that I even had sex with them—that much was obvious. But why would she want to be involved? What could she possibly gain from such an arrangement?

And more disturbingly, why was part of me not entirely opposed to the idea?

I remained on the couch for several more minutes, trying to process what had just happened and figure out how I was supposed to respond. The rational part of my mind insisted this was just another complication I didn't need, another relationship dynamic that could explode in my face and hurt people I cared about.

But another part—the part that was being increasingly influenced by the virus and its demands—whispered that maybe this wasn't a complication at all. Maybe it was an opportunity, a chance to explore the growing power I felt whenever I connected intimately with others. Maybe Ivy's clinical approach could help me understand what was happening to me without the emotional complications that clouded my other relationships. Also simply she could help and treat Rachel and the others with simple medical care…

The sound of hurried footsteps on the door entrance snapped me out of my reverie.

"GUYS!!" Christopher's voice boomed through the house. His usually laid-back demeanor was nowhere to be heard as he barged in, apparently having cut short his morning date with Cindy.

I looked up to see him standing in the doorway, his face flushed from running, his hair disheveled and sticking up at odd angles. There was something wild in his eyes, a mixture of excitement and hope.

"What's up, Chris?" I asked, already pushing myself up from the couch as I took in his panicked expression. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Y...you will never believe what we saw!" He shouted, his voice carrying throughout the house like an alarm bell.

The sound of doors opening and footsteps echoed from upstairs as everyone who had been resting or hiding away began to emerge. It was like watching a hive come to life, each person drawn by the urgency in Christopher's voice.

Rachel and Rebecca descended the stairs side by side, their earlier tension temporarily forgotten in the face of potential crisis. Sydney followed behind them, rubbing her eyes and yawning widely, her dark hair mussed from sleep and falling in waves around her shoulders.

"So noisy right in the morning," she complained, her words slightly slurred with drowsiness as she stretched her arms above her head.

"It's nearly noon, Sydney!" Christopher replied, checking his watch with an exaggerated gesture.

"Calm down, Christopher, and explain," Alisha said as she descended the stairs with her characteristic measured pace. She was followed by Elena, who moved like a shadow, and Daisy.

Liu Mei emerged from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dish towel, her dark eyes alert and focused on Christopher's agitated form. Notably absent was Ivy, who remained sequestered in her room—probably processing our earlier conversation and regretting it I hoped.

Christopher ran his hands through his hair, leaving it even more disheveled than before. "It was like a machine, but I've never seen anything like it before," he said, his words tumbling over each other in his excitement. "The size, the shape, the way it was just sitting there..."

"Did you bring it back?" I asked, though I could already guess the answer from his empty hands and the way Cindy was shaking her head behind him.

Christopher shook his head vigorously. "It was too heavy. The thing looked like it was the size of a washing machine, but it clearly wasn't one. The surface was too smooth, too... intentional, you know? Like it was designed for something specific."

"It had these weird panels on the side," Cindy added as she stepped forward, her cheeks still pink from their hurried journey back. Her usually perfect ponytail was askew, with strands of blond hair escaping to frame her face. "And symbols that I couldn't read. They looked almost... military? But not like anything I've ever seen before."

"It's not far from here," Christopher continued, his eyes darting between each of us as if trying to gauge our reactions. "Give me a hand, Ryan. We've got to check out what the hell this thing is. It could be some kind of device from the army, or maybe a way for them to reach out to survivors. Hell, it could be our ticket out of this mess."

I nodded, though a cold dread was already settling in my stomach like a stone. My thoughts immediately went to the Fire Spitter, that alien artifact that had attacked the Municipal Office. The way Christopher was describing this new discovery sent familiar shivers down my spine.

"I...I will come as well," Rachel spoke up quickly. Her green eyes met mine across the room, and I could see the same concern reflected in their depths. She'd made the connection too.

I studied her face for a moment, taking in the set of her jaw and the way her hands had unconsciously clenched into fists at her sides. She was thinking the same thing I was—that this might be another object like the one that had bound us together in ways we were still trying to understand.

"Why are you always trying to leave?" Rebecca spoke, her green eyes flashing with a mixture of hurt and anger as she glared at Rachel. "Every time something happens, you're the first one ready to run off into danger."

The tension in the room immediately ratcheted up several notches.

"It's fine, Rachel," I spoke up quickly, stepping between them before the situation could escalate. "Christopher and I should be enough to handle this initial reconnaissance. We don't need to risk anyone else unnecessarily."

"Hey, I'm coming as well," Cindy interjected, crossing her arms over her chest in a gesture of determination. "I discovered it too, after all. I know exactly where it is and what it looks like. You'll need me to find it again."

I sighed, already seeing how this was going to unfold. "Then me, Chris, and Cindy," I conceded.

"I'm coming as well," Sydney raised her hand like a student volunteering for a field trip, though the mischievous glint in her eyes suggested she was more interested in the adventure than any practical considerations.

"Then me, Chris, Cindy, and Sydney..." I said.

Myy gaze drifted to Elena, who was standing quietly near the stairs. There was something in her posture, a subtle forward lean that suggested she wanted to speak up, to volunteer herself for the mission. But when she caught sight of Alisha's stern gaze—a look that clearly communicated expectations and boundaries—she looked away, her shoulders sagging slightly in resignation.

Daisy, predictably, remained pressed against the wall near the stairs, her wide eyes darting between all of us. The idea of venturing outside, of facing unknown dangers, was clearly beyond her current capacity for courage. She'd made such tremendous progress since joining our group, but there were still limits to how far she could push herself.

"Then let's hurry up!" Christopher said, already moving toward the door with the restless energy of someone who'd been containing excitement too long. "Whatever this thing is, I don't want to leave it sitting out there for too long. If it's valuable, someone else might find it. If it's dangerous..." He shrugged, leaving the implication hanging in the air.

"Yeah," I nodded. "Give me a few minutes to get ready."

I headed toward my room, my mind still partially occupied with Ivy's unexpected request and now this new mystery. As I gathered my gear—checking my weapon, ensuring I had enough ammunition, grabbing a water bottle and some basic supplies—I couldn't shake the feeling that we were standing on the precipice of another major change.

Once I was ready, I descended the stairs to find Christopher in the living room, coiling thick climbing rope around his forearm with practiced efficiency.

"If we want to bring this thing back with us, we'll need to secure it to the roof of the car," he explained, testing the strength of a knot with a sharp tug. The rope held firm, barely stretching under the pressure. "These carabiners should do the trick, assuming the car's roof rack can handle the weight."

I watched him work, laughing.. "I hope it's not as heavy as you're making it sound," I said, already feeling a familiar ache in my lower back at the thought of hefting some massive piece of machinery.

"Yeah, don't worry about it," Christopher said, flashing me one of his trademark grins as he slung the rope over his shoulder. "The four of us should be able to lift it up without too much trouble. I mean, between you and me carrying most of the weight, and the girls providing... moral support."

"Well, if Cindy and Sydney break something trying to help, it'll be up to us to figure out plan B," I said, only half-joking as I imagined the various ways this simple retrieval mission could go sideways.

"Hey, Ryan!" Cindy arrived also ready. She planted her hands on her hips in an exaggerated gesture of indignation. "Stop saying such scary stuff! We're perfectly capable of lifting heavy objects without destroying anything."

"Don't worry about him, Cindy," Sydney chimed in as she bounded down the stairs, car keys already jingling in her hand. "Ryan's kind of like superman now, right? He could probably lift that thing all by himself if he really tried."

The casual way she said it made me twitch, highlighting once again how the changes in me had become apparent to everyone in the group. I wasn't sure I liked being viewed as some kind of superhuman figure, especially when I was still trying to understand the extent of my own capabilities.

"Don't put so much pressure on me," I protested, running a hand through my hair. "It'll only be embarrassing if I actually fail to live up to these impossible expectations you're all setting."

"You won't fail," Sydney said with absolute confidence as she spun the car keys around her finger. "Superman never fails, and last I checked, you've got a pretty decent track record of impossible rescues and heroic feats."

The way she looked at me when she said it—with that mix of admiration and playful teasing that had become her signature.

"Alright, kids," Sydney smirked as she headed for the front door, "put on your seatbelts when we get to the car. Safety first in the zombie apocalypse."

"Not like we're going to encounter any traffic out there," Christopher laughed, following her outside while adjusting the rope slung across his shoulder. "Unless you count the occasional herd of infected shambling down Main Street."

"Did you forget?" Cindy said, her voice taking on a slightly ominous tone as we walked toward the car. "Sydney loves bumping into infected just to kill them with the car. She thinks it's some kind of stress relief."

Right, I thought, remembering Sydney's peculiar habit of turning vehicle maintenance into vehicular homicide. She had an almost artistic approach to using the car as a weapon, finding creative ways to take out infected without wasting ammunition or putting us at unnecessary risk.

"What a sadist," I muttered under my breath, though not without a certain fondness. In a world where survival often required embracing darker aspects of human nature, Sydney's particular brand of cheerful violence was oddly reassuring I guess.

"I heard that!" Sydney called out from the driver's seat, where she was already adjusting the rearview mirror and checking the fuel gauge. "And for your information, it's not sadism—it's practical resource management. Why waste energy or bullets when a good old-fashioned bumper works just as well?"

Christopher slid into the seat next to Cindy. "She's got a point," he said. "Plus, there's something oddly satisfying about the thud when they hit the hood."

"You're all deeply disturbed individuals," I said as I climbed into the back seat next to Sydney in the passenger seat, who was already buckling her seatbelt with exaggerated care.

"Says the guy who can apparently bench press a washing machine," Cindy shot back with a grin. "We're all adapting to our new reality in our own special ways."

"I never bench pressed a washing machine!" I protested, though even as the words left my mouth, I had to admit that part of me believed I probably could pull it off if I really tried.

Christopher came forward peeking his head between me and Sydney. "Alright, let's not waste any more time debating Ryan's superhuman strength! That thing could be stolen while we're sitting here joking around!"

"Stolen?" Cindy laughed, the sound bright and incredulous as she gestured toward the empty streets rolling past our windows. "By whom? The infected? I wasn't aware they'd developed an interest in mysterious electronic devices. 'Oh look, Gerald, a shiny machine! Let's shamble over and drag it back to our nest!'"

"No, no!" Christopher said, waving his hands frantically as if trying to swat away her sarcasm. "I'm talking about the Municipal Office community! You know, Mark's group? Imagine that chain-smoking bastard's expression when he spots some new piece of electronic equipment just sitting there for the taking!"

"His eyes would probably light up like a kid on Christmas morning," Sydney said from the driver's seat, her knuckles tightening slightly on the steering wheel. "That man hoards technology like it's going to single-handedly rebuild civilization. Remember when he tried to trade us expired canned goods for our short waves radio?"

I remembered. Mark had this annoying habit of treating every interaction like a business negotiation, complete with cost-benefit analyses and terms and conditions. The man could probably find a way to make sharing water during a drought sound like a complex merger agreement.

But I couldn't help but grumble.

"We aren't in competition with them, Chris…"

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