Chris finally stopped dry-heaving after what felt like forever. When he looked up at Ethan, his expression had changed completely.

"Ethan," he said, still pale, "I get that you're hungry, but you can't just eat anything. That thing came out of a zombie's skull, man! You actually ate it!"

Ethan gave a small, amused smile and said quietly, "It's not just anything. Trust me—it's good stuff. I'll explain later."

Then he glanced over at Sean and the others—only to find them staring at him like he'd grown a second head. Their eyes were wide, wary, like they weren't sure if he was still human.

Ethan sighed. "Seriously? I eat one weird thing and suddenly I'm a monster?"

"You're not… turning into a zombie, are you?" Sean asked, half-joking, half-terrified. "Because that's the only way I can explain you eating that."

Ethan rolled his eyes. "You guys are so sheltered. Wait until you're starving—really starving. You'll eat anything. Hell, you might even start eyeing each other."

"No way!" Skinny Pete said, horrified. "I'd rather die than eat human flesh."

"Yeah, we're not psychos," Big Mike added. "We're not like you."

Ethan shrugged. "Hope you stick to that when the hunger hits."

He hadn't eaten human flesh himself—but he'd come close. He remembered what it felt like to be that desperate. Back then, he'd fought stray dogs over scraps in alleyways. Hunger didn't care about morals.

"Let's rest a bit, then keep going," Ethan said, glancing around at the group.

"No can do," Big Mike groaned, still sprawled on the ground. "I've got nothing left. I was already starving, and now I've puked up whatever was left in me. I can barely lift a rock, let alone fight."

"Same here," Skinny Pete muttered. "If I don't eat something soon, I'm gonna pass out."

Ethan shook his head. "That's what you get for having the stomachs of toddlers. You guys puke more than you breathe."

"..."

They all stared at him, speechless.

Like it's not your fault we're puking our guts out? they thought in unison.

Sean gave a weak laugh. "Ethan, seriously. We need food. We're not gonna be any help like this."

Ethan nodded. He wasn't feeling hungry himself—probably thanks to the energy from that crystal—but one look at the others told him they were running on fumes. No way they'd be able to handle another zombie, let alone a fast one.

"Alright," he said. "Let's go find something to eat. We've cleared most of the zombies near the stairwell. There's a dorm room nearby that looked untouched. No infected inside. We'll check it out."

"Finally," Big Mike said, perking up. "Let's go."

The mention of food lit a fire under them. Suddenly, they didn't look quite so dead.

"I'll go with Chris," Ethan said. "Too many people will just draw attention. You guys stay up here."

The others hesitated. Their eyes flicked toward each other, clearly worried Ethan and Chris might find food and keep it for themselves.

"I'll go with you," Sean said suddenly.

Ethan paused, then nodded. It made more sense. Chris could turn invisible—he was better kept in reserve. And Ethan and Sean were technically from different groups. If both he and Chris went, it'd look bad.

So it was settled. Ethan and Sean would go. The rest would wait on the rooftop.

The two of them crept down to the seventh floor, moving slow and quiet. At the stairwell, Ethan activated True Sight and scanned the area. The dorm room was clear. The zombies in the hallway were scattered, none too close.

He gave Sean a hand signal, then crouched low and crept toward the door. It was already ajar. Ethan slipped inside without hesitation.

Sean followed, mimicking Ethan's movements—but he was taller, broader, and not quite as practiced. His footfalls were heavier, his movements less controlled.

Far down the hall, two zombies turned their heads, sniffing the air. They began to shuffle toward the dorm, slow but steady.

Inside, Ethan locked the door behind them and immediately started searching.

The room was a mess—furniture overturned, blood smeared on the walls, broken glass everywhere. It looked like a fight had broken out here. And judging by the silence, the people who'd lost that fight hadn't made it.

The two of them rummaged through the wreckage for a good while before finally turning up some supplies: two buckets of instant noodles, a few sticks of vacuum-packed sausage, and a slightly squashed bag of bread.

"That's it?" Sean groaned. "This wouldn't even fill me up alone."

"Better than nothing," Ethan said, shrugging. "No one's stashing a pantry in a dorm room."

"Fair point. So, we heading back?"

"Not yet. We need weapons. Going in barehanded is asking to die," Ethan said.

His metal pipe was practically scrap now, and even the ladder they'd used earlier had bent and cracked. They didn't have a single decent weapon left between them.

Sure, Ethan's body had leveled up—he was confident he could take down a regular zombie with his bare hands now—but if more than one showed up? No weapon meant real trouble.

"Yeah, no weapons is a problem," Sean agreed, rubbing his arm. "But I already checked this place. Nothing useful."

"Where'd you get that metal pipe you had before?" Ethan asked.

"Found it outside a while back. Kept it stashed under my bed, figured I'd use it in a fight. Never got the chance, though. Ended up using it on zombies instead. And then someone conned me out of it before I even got to break it in properly," Sean said, shooting him a look.

Ethan coughed. "Conned? That's a strong word. I'd say it served a greater purpose in my hands."

"Oh, it served alright. Served until it got bent to hell," Sean muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Hey, if it hadn't bent, we'd be the ones bent. Permanently."

"...Fair."

Sean sighed. "Whatever. I'm over it. But this dorm's clearly not hiding any weapons. Where do we get more?"

"If there's nothing lying around, we make our own," Ethan said, eyes scanning the room. "Metal bed frames, curtain rods, chair legs—anything long and solid."

He walked over to one of the bunk beds, eyeing the welded joints. The frame was metal, and the welds didn't look too heavy-duty—just enough to keep the bed from wobbling.

Perfect.

He gripped the frame with both hands, braced his feet, and yanked hard.

SNAP.

The metal groaned, then gave way with a sharp crack.

Sean's jaw dropped. "Dude, are you on steroids or something?"

Ethan grinned. "These welds aren't structural. Just tacked on to keep the bed from shifting. A little force is all it takes."

"'A little force,' huh?"

Sean stepped up to the other bed, grabbed the frame, and gave it a mighty tug.

Nothing.

He tried again. Still nothing.

He gritted his teeth and yanked a third time. The frame didn't budge an inch.

"This is your idea of 'a little force'?" Sean said, panting.

"You're probably just too hungry," Ethan said with a smirk. "No fuel, no strength."

Truth was, if it were that easy, the beds would've fallen apart ages ago.

Ethan quickly pulled free a six-foot steel tube from the frame and gave it a few test swings. It felt good—balanced, solid.

He handed it to Sean. "Here. Try not to bend this one."

Then he moved to the next bed and repeated the process, tearing off another section of the frame. In the end, they had four solid steel tubes—makeshift weapons, but better than nothing.

"Four steel tubes. That should do for now," Ethan said, satisfied.

Just then, a loud bang-bang echoed from the hallway, making both of them freeze.

Ethan immediately activated True Sight and peered through the door.

Two zombies were outside, hunched over and clawing at the door, their rotting hands slapping against the wood in a steady rhythm.

"Shit," Ethan muttered. "They must've seen us come in."

"What do we do?" Sean asked, voice tight.

"What else? We go through them. If we wait, they'll draw more. Then we'll be trapped in here with nothing but snacks and regrets."

Sean nodded. "Got it."

After everything they'd been through, Sean no longer questioned Ethan's judgment. He might've been skeptical before, but now? He trusted him.

"I'll take point," Ethan said, gripping his new weapon. "You carry the food and follow close."

"Understood."

...

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