James woke up bright and early, the morning sun spilling into his home, signaling that it was time to move. With a groan, he pushed himself out of his sleeping bag, still not quite used to the rough ground. After a long stretch, he wolfed down a bit of canned food, mentally preparing for the long day ahead.

His usual morning water and bathing run to the lake was skipped—he needed all the daylight he could get. Speaking of water, he removed the water bottle and matches from his inventory to free up some space. Then, he took out the empty canteen he’d found on the corpse and cleaned it with an alcohol wipe from the medkit. Getting sick now would be a disaster.

Once the canteen was filled and safely stored back in his inventory, he started putting on his cardboard and magazine “armor.” He knew it looked ridiculous, but he couldn’t help but feel badass wearing it. Something about it made him feel like a knight from the Middle Ages. Now all I need is a princess to save, he thought with a quiet giggle.

With his armor secured, he grabbed his spear and climbed up to the roof to do some scouting. He had rigged a rope system a while ago, making it easy to reach the top.

Once on the roof, he pulled out his map, scanning for the hospital’s location. With the bird’s-eye view from his vantage point, he estimated his destination was roughly four or five miles away—a one to two-hour walk through the city. Maybe longer, considering he’d have to avoid areas where he’d seen people scouting.

Over the past two months, since he’d made his way into the city, he had occasionally spotted survivors moving through Cleveland. But for the most part, the city was a ghost town. Even the old quarantine zone was abandoned. From the roof, he could see the remnants of the military zone, though he had already searched it thoroughly. The place was completely stripped clean, with nothing of value left.

It was clear that something huge had gone down here—likely something similar to Pittsburgh, where civilians had rebelled against FEDRA. The signs were everywhere: crucified and strung-up soldiers, severed heads on pikes, anti-FEDRA graffiti. It was a grim sight, and James had no interest in ever going back.

What confused him, though, was what had happened to the rebels. If they had taken over the city, where had they gone? Now, all that remained were drifters and small survivor groups, easy enough to avoid. Even the raiders from down south seemed to have moved on—he hadn’t seen a single sign of them since arriving.

Shaking off the thoughts, he decided it was time to move. He climbed back down from the roof, adjusted his gear, and set off into the city.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

With the sun warming his back, James made good time on his journey. An hour had passed since he set out, and he now walked down a quiet, overgrown road, humming a tune. A bird flew by, its chirping bright against the stillness, and he couldn’t help but smile. Even in a ruined world, nature thrived—and that thought always made him feel a little lighter.

A cold breeze swept through the air, making him shiver. He glanced around and realized the world was shifting into fall. Some of the leaves had already begun turning orange and red, the first signs of the season’s change. He wondered what month it was—September, maybe? But he had no way of knowing for sure.

Not that he even knew what year it was.

Is it 2033? he mused. If it was, he wondered whether Ellie and Joel had started their journey to the Fireflies yet—or if they’d even met at all. Hell, maybe Joel had already massacred the Fireflies and was living in Jackson by now.

Jackson…

That was one of his long-term plans, to head there eventually. It was one of the few safe places he knew about, though he wasn’t entirely sure it stayed safe. He had never played the second game, but he knew bits and pieces about what happened. Joel would die. Ellie would go on a rampage.

But what happened to Jackson in the end? He had no idea.

James shrugged the thoughts away. No point worrying about things that weren’t immediate concerns. What mattered now was mentally preparing for what he was about to do.

For the eighth time, he considered whether this was a good idea.

And for the eighth time, he came to the conclusion that no, it absolutely was not.

He had no idea what lurked inside the hospital. No idea if there was even loot worth scavenging, or if the danger would far outweigh the reward. He could die. That was a very real possibility.

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But that’s what made it exciting, he thought with a grin.

Since coming to this world, he had realized two things about himself: He was a hedonist and an adrenaline junkie.

He had spent his entire life stuck in a bed, confined to a cramped room, unable to experience anything beyond a screen. The most joy he ever had was playing video games on a crappy Xbox his grandpa bought him.

His life had been short and sad, living to the young age of fourteen when he had passed away in his sleep.

And then, he woke up here.

The first time he had fought an infected, the rush was intoxicating. It was like going from zero to a hundred miles an hour in two seconds. His blood pumped faster, his mind sharpened—he felt lighter, happier, alive. That fire in his veins had burned ever since.

It wasn’t that he didn’t care if he lived or died—he very much wanted to live. But he had come to love walking the wire between life and death.

That’s not to say he didn’t enjoy the peaceful moments—he really did. But—

His thoughts screeched to a halt.

A voice.

Someone was talking.

Before his mind even fully processed what he had heard, his body moved on instinct, ducking into a nearby corner store. Crouching behind the register, he peeked over the top to get a view of the street.

There, moving cautiously down the road, were three people.

Two men. One woman.

They didn’t seem to have any guns, but you could never be too careful. One of the men held a machete, the other a hatchet. The woman carried a bow, her fingers lightly resting on the string, ready to pull back at any moment.

They looked rough—but then again, everyone did nowadays. Their clothes were old and worn, their faces shadowed with exhaustion.

James stayed perfectly still, watching.

Waiting.

And hoping they wouldn’t see him.

"I’m telling you, I saw a deer here the other day," the woman said, her voice laced with frustration.

"And we believe you," one of the men replied in a tone that very much suggested he did not.

"I’m not lying! I saw one!" she shot back, louder this time.

"Shhh! Are you trying to bring down a group of Clickers on us?" the last member of the group hissed, shushing them both with a sharp glare. His irritation was evident as he muttered, "Honestly, it’s a miracle you two have survived this long."

The woman scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Whatever, let’s just keep looking. We’ll be eating venison tonight, baby," she said with an eager grin, rubbing her hands together like a cartoon villain.

Their voices faded as they moved down the street, their figures disappearing behind the ruined buildings.

James watched them go, every instinct in his body begging him to move forward and talk to them. He hadn't spoken to another human being in months, and the silence was starting to wear on him.

He hesitated.

It would be so easy to walk up to them, start a conversation, maybe even join them for a bit. But his logical side—the part of him that had kept him alive this long—knew better.

If they followed him and found out he was heading to the hospital, they might camp outside and wait for him to leave, ambushing him on his way home. He didn’t think they looked like the raider type, but you could never really tell in this world.

Still… the loneliness was getting to him.

James sighed, a rare frown tugging at his face. Even though he knows it’s a bad idea to talk to them, he’s also aware he can’t take much more of this. Another week and he might even go up and talk to a group of raiders, not really but you get the point.

Shaking off the feeling, he forced himself to keep moving.

Forty-five minutes later, he finally caught sight of the hospital in the distance.

The first thing he noticed was the broken-down military blockades. Concrete barriers had been set up as cover, and judging by the bullet holes riddling their surfaces, they had seen a lot of action.

Destroyed military vehicles were scattered around the entrance, some stripped for parts, others left to rot where they had been abandoned. Corpses so decayed they were practically skeletons littered the ground, their brittle remains serving as grim reminders of whatever had happened here.

Despite the morbid imagery, it was actually kind of cool.

As James circled the building, scouting for entrances and escape routes, he let his imagination take over.

He spotted a corpse slumped in the seat of an old military truck, perched right where a machine gun had clearly once been mounted.

He imagined the man in his final moments, making some heroic last stand as raiders tried to break into the hospital. Maybe he stayed behind to buy time for the others to escape, firing relentlessly as bullets whizzed past him.

James grinned childishly at the thought.

Eventually, he finished his circuit of the building and arrived back at the front. No signs of life—at least, none that he could see. That was good and bad. No survivors meant no one to fight over supplies with. But it also meant that if anyone had avoided this place for this long, it was probably for a damn good reason.

He had spotted several entrances and exits, but none of them stood out as particularly safer than the others. If he was dealing with infected and not humans, it wouldn’t matter where he entered from.

Still, caution was key.

James decided on a destroyed wall along the side of the building, slipping through the gap in the rubble as quietly as possible.

The air inside was thick with dust, the scent of decay and mildew filling his nose. His steps were light, his entire body on high alert, every movement measured and deliberate. His hands tightened around his spear, ready to strike at anything that moved.

Despite the tense atmosphere, his heartbeat wasn’t just from nerves—it was excitement.

He could feel his smile growing.

The hospital was eerily quiet.

His first steps brought him into a long, shadowy hallway. The left led toward the main entrance, while the right stretched deeper into the building, where the unknown waited.

James took a deep breath.

And then, without hesitation, he stepped forward—delving into the bowels of a possible death trap.