Light streamed in through the shattered windows, casting long, broken beams across the dust-covered floors of the ruined hospital. The sun’s glow made it easier to navigate, but it also created stark shadows, making every darkened doorway and distant corridor feel like it was hiding something.
James moved carefully.
The halls were a minefield of debris—broken glass, fallen ceiling tiles, and scattered rubble from where the building had crumbled over time. He stepped lightly, doing his best to avoid loose trash and anything that might give away his position. The occasional abandoned hospital bed sat haphazardly in the middle of the corridors, rusted wheels frozen in place, some tipped over entirely. Old medical machines—EKGs, IV stands, and defibrillators—were left gathering dust, their screens cracked and long since dead.
And then there were the bodies.
Some were skeletons, their clothing and flesh rotted away, while others were still half-preserved, leathery skin stretched tightly over brittle bones. Most of them bore no obvious injuries, as if they had simply laid down and died, leaving behind nothing but silent, lifeless remnants of what had happened here.
James checked each corpse as he passed, searching pockets, bags, or anything that might hold something useful. So far, he hadn’t found much—just a medical mask, though not one of those cheap paper ones from COVID days. This was a high-quality filtration mask, the kind that completely covered the mouth and nose, reinforced with built-in filters.
James turned the mask over in his hands, eyeing it warily. It had come from a corpse, after all. No way was he strapping it to his face without thoroughly disinfecting it first. Still, he tucked it away—if he ran into spores, this thing could save his life.
As he rifled through another pocket, his fingers brushed against something brittle—a folded note, tucked inside the remains of a nurse’s scrub top.
He carefully unfolded the paper, the ink faded but still legible.
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I don’t understand.
A woman collapsed in the waiting room. We thought it was a seizure—until she bit into Henry’s throat. He was screaming. We all were.
Patients are attacking staff. They won’t stay down. We tried to barricade the ER, but the doors won’t hold. I can hear them breaking through.
I was supposed to have dinner with Mom tomorrow.
If someone finds this—please, tell her I love her. Tell her I tried.
—Kara
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James exhaled slowly, his grip tightening around the fragile paper.
His gaze drifted back to the skeleton, still slumped against the wall where it had died decades ago.
I hope you found peace, he thought.
Folding the note carefully, he tucked it back into the pocket where he found it, as if leaving it undisturbed might somehow honor the person who wrote it.
Shaking off the heavy feeling settling in his chest, he moved on, his footsteps nearly silent thanks to the extra socks he had layered over his shoes before coming here. The improvised soundproofing did its job, muffling his steps as he crept through the abandoned corridors, where only dust and echoes remained.
Unfortunately, the trade-off was that his traction was shit. If he had to run, he’d have to be extra careful not to slip on the dust-covered floors.
The hospital was eerily quiet, so much so that the soft rhythm of his own breathing seemed almost too loud in the vast emptiness. He had already passed by several rooms, but nothing had caught his eye yet—just old examination rooms with rotting chairs, rusted surgical tools, and long-dried bloodstains on the counters.
Then, just as he was passing a large set of double doors, a sound made him freeze.
Rrrghhghhh…
Aughhhhh…
The moans of the infected.
James immediately ducked down, his grip tightening on his spear as he turned his head toward the source of the sound.
To his left, a metal sign hung above a doorway, the faded letters reading:
ATRIUM
The noises were coming from inside.
James took a slow, deliberate breath, steadying himself as he moved silently toward the door. He pressed his shoulder against the frame and peeked through the narrow window.
What he saw made his heart stop.
The atrium was completely overrun, with spores dotting the air.
A writhing mass of infected lay entangled in the thick, orange fungus that crept along the walls and floors like some grotesque disease. He counted at least fifty in this room alone—more than he had ever seen in one place before.
Some were twitching, shifting slightly as if caught in some half-dreaming state, their chests rising and falling in unnatural, shallow breaths. Others were completely motionless, their bodies molded into the fungal growths, their skin indistinguishable from the spreading infection itself.
They were connected.
James could see it clearly now—the way the fungus pulsed, the way some of the infected twitched in response to slight movements within the mass. It was like a hive, all of them linked by the sprawling tendrils of cordyceps running through their bodies. The sight really hammered into his head the horror that this outbreak has wrought upon the world.
But that wasn’t the worst part.
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To the left of the atrium, a darkened hallway stretched downward, leading into the basement levels. The fungus was spilling out of the doorway, thick and overwhelming, as if it had completely consumed whatever was inside.
James swallowed hard. He didn’t need to see what was down there to know—
There were more.
So many more.
His forehead dampened with sweat as a mix of fear and adrenaline rushed through him.
This must be why it was marked with a skull, he thought. Is… is this what happened to the people in Cleveland? Why the city is so empty? Did the people get caught up in this and flee?
Whatever had gone down in this hospital, it hadn’t been quick. This wasn’t just a massacre—it was a breeding ground for the infection.
His fingers twitched slightly on his spear.
If he made a sound—if he disturbed the growths—he was dead.
James backed away from the door, breathing slow, controlled. He retraced his steps carefully, mind racing as he tried to recall the layout of the building.
He had passed a map earlier. He needed to check it again.
Navigating back to the wall-mounted map, he quickly located the atrium and followed the lines on the diagram, tracing the infested hallway downward.
Sure enough, it led straight into the basement.
Yeah. Hard pass on that.
He made a mental note to stay far, far away from the center of the building. If the infected in the atrium were that bad, the basement was probably even worse. He wasn’t stupid enough to find out.
Taking another steadying breath, James turned away from the map.
From what he knew, when the infected were dormant for long enough, they gathered like this and usually stayed put until their bodies fell apart. What this meant was the rest of the building should be clear, and as long as he avoided where the fungus piled up he should be clear to continue scavenging. James took a deep breath.
Time to loot.
.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.
James moved through the hospital, checking every storage area, surgery room, and supply closet he came across. Most of it was picked clean, but he still managed to scrounge up a few useful finds.
A half-full bottle of isopropyl alcohol. Some sterile gauze, still sealed in its packaging. A couple of batteries—not many, but better than nothing.
The deeper he went, the more cautious he became.
He stuck only to the first floor, making sure not to get too close to the atrium. He didn’t hear any infected wandering outside of that area, which was a good sign—but he also wasn’t about to get reckless.
As he rifled through a collapsed supply shelf, he paused, listening.
Nothing.
Just silence.
James exhaled.
So far, so good.
As James moved deeper into the abandoned hospital, something caught his eye—a barricaded room.
It looked like a storage closet, its door blocked from the inside by a heavy shelf. That meant one thing: someone had locked themselves in.
And that could mean supplies.
James approached cautiously, pressing a hand against the door. It had some give, shifting slightly under the pressure. Not too strong. I can do this.
He removed the socks from the outside of his shoes, bracing himself for better traction. With his shoulder against the wood, he lowered his center of gravity and pushed.
Creeeaaak
The barricade shifted, the sound echoing through the empty hallways like a gunshot. James froze, every muscle in his body locked in place, his breath caught in his throat.
For a full minute, he stood there, listening.
Nothing.
Only the distant howl of the wind through shattered windows.
Relaxing slightly, he resumed pushing—slowly, carefully, stopping whenever the wood groaned or the shelf scraped across the floor. Bit by bit, he widened the gap, until there was just enough space to slip inside.
Before entering, he dug into his bag, pulling out the flashlight he had scavenged earlier. He slid in two fresh batteries, flicked it on, and smiled as a strong beam illuminated the darkness.
Satisfied, he stepped inside.
The moment James entered, his nose wrinkled in disgust.
The stench hit him like a wall—rotting food, mildew, and human waste, all mixing together into something so foul it made his stomach turn.
Jesus… someone lived in here.
He took a moment to survey the space.
It was a small room, about the size of a bedroom, lined with dusty metal shelves. Old cardboard boxes were stacked haphazardly, their labels faded with age. Broken supplies were scattered across the floor—medical gloves, empty IV bags, old pill bottles with no labels.
Then he saw the corpse.
A grinning skull rested against the far wall, slumped in the corner like an abandoned doll.
And that’s when James saw it—
The uniform.
James' eyes lit up the moment he saw the faded green military fatigues. The bold white letters of FEDRA were still visible across the corpse's chest, though time and decay had done their work.
Jackpot!
Holding his breath, he stepped closer, carefully maneuvering around the cluttered floor. The stench of rot and mildew was overwhelming, but he pushed past it. If this guy had been FEDRA, there was a good chance he had been armed and supplied—maybe even left behind something worth taking.
And he was right.
The first thing James noticed was the rifle strapped to the corpse's chest.
Hell yes!
He unclipped the strap and pulled the rifle free, feeling the weight of it in his hands. It was old but intact, the metal cold against his skin. His fingers found the bolt, pulling it back to check the chamber.
Empty.
James let out a slow breath, his brief excitement dulling. A gun without ammo was just dead weight—but he still wasn't leaving it behind. He had his system, after all.
If he could earn more currency, he could buy the ammo he needed.
It was useless now, but in the future? This could save his life.
"Alright, you're coming with me." He muttered under his breath.
Slipping the rifle onto his back, he turned his attention to his second prize—the pistol still clutched in the dead man's hand.
James carefully pried it free, his gaze flicking to the corpse's skull. A dark hole gaped in the forehead, the burn marks around the wound telling the story plain as day.
Self-inflicted.
Whether the guy had been bitten or just trapped with no way out, James didn't know.
Didn't matter.
The only thing that mattered was the magazine.
He pressed the release and pulled it free, grinning when he saw the half-full stack of bullets inside.
"Now we're talking."
He slid the mag back in, feeling a bit of security for the first time in months. It still wasn't fully loaded, and he still needed to buy more ammo with his system, but now he had options. This was the first loaded gun he’d ever held since coming to this world, and the pistol alone made this trip worth it.
He quickly checked the belt pouches and found another pistol mag—this one completely full. He put the pistol and the extra mag in his inventory to free up his hands and kept looting the body.
As he was searching the pockets he felt a rush of excitement when his fingers brushed against something metallic and heavy.
He pulled it free—
And nearly laughed out loud.
James stared at the F-1 grenade in his palm, his heart hammering in his chest.
"Oh, holy shit." he whispered.
This was better than gold.
A grenade wasn’t just a weapon—it was an escape plan.
Cornered? Throw it.
Need a distraction? Pull the pin.
Sure, it was dangerous as hell, but so was everything else in this world.
His fingers brushed over the safety pin, checking to make sure it was secure. The last thing he needed was for this thing to go off in his hand.
It looked good.
Still grinning, he tucked the grenade safely into his inventory.
"I’m gonna have some fun with this."
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He figured the rest of the corpse would be picked clean, but to his surprise, he actually found something useful—one of those infection scanners FEDRA carried to test for bites.
He didn’t have much use for it right now, but it might come in handy later, so he stashed it in his backpack along with the rest of his loot.
After giving the body one final search, he didn’t find anything else of value, so he unbuckled the dead man’s ballistic vest and strapped it on. It was a little stiff, but the extra protection was more than worth it.
Finally, he grabbed the rifle, slinging the empty weapon over his back. It wasn’t much without ammo, but with the system, he could always purchase more later—making it worth the haul. Plus… it looked really fucking cool.
Feeling completely satisfied with his scavenging run, James decided to head back to camp and rest up.
Maybe I'll come back here sometime. Where there's smoke, there's fire, right? he thought, a small grin forming.
Just as he was about to leave, something caught his eye.
Below him, under the corpse, was a funky, writhing, orange substance… which he was now stepping on. Unbidden, a quote from the TV show came to his mind:
‘The fungus also grows underground. Long fibers like wires, some of them stretching over a mile. When you step on a patch of cordyceps in one place, then you can wake a dozen infected from somewhere else.’
“Shit” He muttered.
Screams erupted loudly from everywhere in the building.