The day starts with Ghost—my "friend" from the Hawks—driving his widebody AE-86 through the congested streets of Port Elizabeth like it’s nothing. His car slices through traffic, the rumbling engine a low, throaty growl that syncs perfectly with the heavy beat of hip-hop blasting from the speakers. I’m slouched in the passenger seat, feeling every bump, every jolt a little too much thanks to the stitches running down my side. Bandages cover most of my arms and torso, and each breath reminds me just how close I came to a much worse fate. The pain meds are barely doing their job, but here we are, heading straight into Central—one of the shadiest parts of the city. Not exactly the place for a Sunday stroll.
Ghost—if that’s even his real name; apparently the one he gave me when we first met was fake, which is typical agent behavior—looks relaxed, totally in his element. He hums along to the beat, fingers tapping the steering wheel, completely unfazed by the fact that we're driving straight into potential danger. Sure, he says it’s just a meetup with an undercover agent, but something about it all doesn’t sit right with me. My gut’s telling me that things are never this simple—especially with gangs involved. Gangs like the one responsible for trafficking kids, drug deals, and other horrific things. Even if this agent is undercover, how long can someone pretend to be okay with that level of filth before it starts to eat away at them?
I finally break the silence. “So, this guy we’re meeting… you trust him?”
Ghost turns down the volume, but his fingers still drum on the wheel. He throws me a quick smirk. “I trust him about as much as I trust you not to fuck up a rescue mission and need saving. So, y’know, 100%.”
I roll my eyes. “Low fucking blow, man.”
He laughs, a quick, careless chuckle, his fingers still tapping along to the fading rhythm. “He’s solid, been working the inside for a long time now. And yeah, I know you’re making conversation to distract yourself from the pain. Don’t worry—after this, we’ll head to the doc I told you about. He’ll patch you up real good. But first, we’ve gotta meet Sweet Cheeks. This is our one chance to get the SD card he’s handing over, which might just have enough intel to take down the trafficking ring, especially since you, my friend, royally screwed up his meeting with the higher-ups when you got yourself captured.”
I groan, sinking deeper into my seat. “Yeah, I get it. I fucked up. No need to keep rubbing it in.”
Ghost shoots me a pointed look, his smirk widening just a bit. “Just sayin’. If you hadn’t gone in thinking you’re Batman, you wouldn’t be in this mess, and we wouldn’t be chasing down an SD card before you get fixed up. Priorities, man.”
He’s right, of course. And I hate it. I slowed things down by getting caught, and that’s on me. But still, I can’t shake the feeling that if I’d been told more upfront instead of getting vague info from Ghost, things could’ve gone differently. “Fine. Also, there’s no way ‘Sweet Cheeks’ is his actual agent name. That’s terrible. Is it related to his ability?”
Ghost glances at me, grinning. “Oh yeah, I helped him pick it out, actually. And I see what you’re doing—trying to figure out his ability to counter it, huh? Even if you knew what it was, you couldn’t take him down. Not even with your spooky teleporting tricks.”
I roll my eyes, adjusting in the seat as my ribs flare up with pain. “So, how long has this guy been undercover? Doing dirty work for these assholes?”
Ghost’s smirk fades slightly, and he shrugs. “Long enough to make them trust him, and that’s saying something. You don’t last long in that world unless you’re really good at being bad.”
I frown, a bad taste forming in my mouth. “Can we really trust him? I mean, someone who’s had to do God knows what to stay undercover—how do we know he hasn’t turned?”
Ghost’s eyes flick to mine briefly, the edge of his smile sharpening. “Look, he’s done what he’s had to do. It’s ugly, but that’s how you win against people like this. If you wanna take these rings apart, you gotta play their game. Get your hands dirty.” He pauses, his eyes darkening. “But he knows which side he’s on. Trust me.”
The weight of his words lingers in the air, making the atmosphere in the car feel heavier. I shift uncomfortably, pulling my jacket tighter around me, trying to ignore the throbbing pain from my side. But Ghost’s words stick with me. How deep does someone have to go to survive in that world? How far before you can’t come back?
Before I can dwell on it too much, Ghost cranks the music back up, humming along like we’re not heading into a situation that could easily go south. That’s just Ghost—keeping things light when he probably shouldn’t. It’s what makes him… him.
The streets grow narrower as we enter Central. The graffiti-tagged buildings, cracked pavement, and the distant sound of shouting create a world completely removed from the beachfront tourist spots. This part of town feels tense, like the city itself is holding its breath.
We pull up near a worn-down gas station next to a large superstore that looks like it’s seen better days. Ghost parks the car, and we both step out. Immediately, I’m hit with the realization of how exposed we are here. My instincts kick in, making me hyperaware of every shadow and sound.
Ghost gives me a sidelong glance. “Relax, man. You look like you’re about to pass out. Just stick close, and don’t do anything stupid.”
I grunt in response, following him toward the gas station. A group of guys loiter near the entrance, typical shady types for a place like this. But just as I’m about to brush it off, something catches my eye.
There’s a commotion near the front of the store. At first, it looks like a regular street fight. But then I see it—a flicker of movement, someone darting too fast to be normal. They’re attacking a massive figure, someone big, and the next thing I hear is a deep, guttural growl that makes everyone stop. My pulse quickens. Beside me, Ghost tenses, his easy-going demeanour vanishing.
“Shit,” he mutters, eyes narrowing as he focuses on the chaos.
This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
I look again, my heart pounding, and see what caused him to curse. Down the street, three young women are going completely feral, attacking a hulking figure in a hoodie. The way they move—it’s not human. They’re like wild animals, their pale skin covered in black veins, biting and clawing at the man with rabid ferocity. One of them gets thrown into a nearby car, smashing through the windshield. Instead of screaming in pain, she stands up instantly, her arm clearly broken, but she doesn’t seem to care. She rushes into the crowd, attacking random civilians like a madwoman.
The scene descends into chaos. People scream as she bites chunks out of necks and arms, and the ones she attacks spasm on the ground, their skin paling, black veins spreading across their bodies. Within seconds, they stand, moving with the same animalistic rage, joining the fray and attacking anyone nearby.
The guy in the hoodie is trying to escape, but as his clothes tear, I realize he’s not human either. His body is covered in black and white fur, his size rapidly increasing as his features morph into something more beast-like. He lets out another roar, this one more primal, as the newly-turned zombies swarm him. His fur is dense, almost like a badger’s, and he fights back, breaking bones and snapping necks, but he’s getting overwhelmed.
Ghost turns to me, his expression sharp. “Help the civilians. Get them out of here—quick.” He glances toward the beast. “I’m going after Sweet Cheeks.”
With that, Ghost sprints into the chaos, his head disappearing as he phases through the crowd, leaving the rest of his body unnervingly visible. Meanwhile, I focus on the civilians. Time to act.
I take a deep breath, feeling the familiar surge of energy as I prepare to teleport. The first gunshot-like crack rings out as I vanish, leaving behind a burst of wind. I reappear in front of an old lady who’s being pinned down by one of the infected. She’s beating it with her purse, trying desperately to avoid its teeth. Without hesitation, I launch myself forward, tackling the attacker. The wind from my arrival whips through the air as I grab the lady and teleport her to safety in a rapid series of cracks and gusts.
I teleport back into the chaos, quickly scanning for more people to save. The sound of my ability—the gunshot cracks and the gusts of wind—echoes through the streets as I move. Each time, I grab a civilian, whisking them away from the madness, my heart pounding with the adrenaline of the fight.
This street has turned into a warzone, and it’s only just begun.
The zombies swarm with an unnerving focus, their grotesque figures fixating on only a couple of people at a time before tearing away to sprint directly at Sweet Cheeks. The chaos around me is deafening, but I’m locked into action, teleporting another person to safety—this time, a mother clutching her wailing child. As I set her down at a safe distance, my back turned to the madness, she grabs my arm with desperate strength.
“My son, please… he’s wearing bright blue sneakers. He was near the supermarket,” she begs, her voice ragged and trembling, her tear-filled eyes pleading for a miracle.
I meet her gaze, unable to find the words. Nodding silently, I offer her a look that says, I’ll try. Then, without another moment of hesitation, I teleport—gunshot-like cracks splitting the air, and gusts of wind whipping around me as I blink in and out of space. Each time I land, the scene of destruction and chaos feels more surreal, but I push forward, reappearing near the supermarket.
The stench of blood and sweat hits me before anything else. Bodies litter the ground, the metallic scent thick in the air, and the grotesque sounds of flesh tearing apart fill my ears. I turn toward the source, my stomach churning. Sweet Cheeks and Ghost are slaughtering the zombies in the most brutal ways imaginable. Sweet Cheeks holds one of the creatures over his head, muscles rippling as he roars and tears it in half like a beast straight out of a nightmare. Blood rains down, splattering across his black and white fur, whilst other zombies around him try to hurt him, unfortunately for them he looks fully transformed and that seems to make him tougher, he lets out a feral growl.
A few feet away, Ghost moves with deadly precision, his hands phasing straight into a zombie’s skull—this one looks like it was once a young man in his twenties. With a sickening pull, Ghost drags the zombie’s head directly into a nearby wall, his hand still phased through the skull, probably partially since he is dragging it. He lets go, leaving the body to collapse lifeless at his feet, head phased into the wall, decapitated. As he does, more zombies rush him, unaware that his entire body is intangible. They pass straight through him, one of them hitting the wall so hard it snaps its own neck, crumpling in a heap.
It’s savage. All of it.
And the hypocrisy of it hits me hard, even though I've killed before. Ghost just the other day was the one saying killing was wrong and making sure that I felt guilty about what i did. Yet here he is, tearing through these... people—if they still are people. We don’t even know if there’s a way to cure them, to save them, and yet here we are, butchering them. The uncertainty gnaws at me. And these creatures—they aren’t even rotting like you’d expect from zombies. Their skin is pale and veined, but there’s no decay. No foul stench of death. It’s like they’re caught between life and something... twisted.
I’m still grappling with the scene when I feel a crushing weight slam into me from behind. A zombie—pale, with black veins crawling across its skin—knocks me flat to the ground, snapping its jaws inches from my face. Its white eyes stare blankly, its skin icy, and it can’t be more than a teenager. I react instinctively, grasping at its throat, struggling to hold it back. With a panicked thought, I teleport us both into the air, a gunshot crack splitting the sky as the wind whips around us.
We’re suspended in mid-air now, twisting and falling. The zombie thrashes wildly, its gnashing teeth dangerously close to my face. I hold it off with trembling hands, trying to keep my grip on its neck. My mind races, trying to find a way out. I glance around and, in a split-second decision, I take a page right out of Ghost’s brutal handbook, teleport again, aiming for the nearest building I can see.
I time it perfectly, whilst also removing my hand from his face and neck last minute. We end up right against the wall on the ground, his body spasms violently for a few seconds as it comes to terms with being decapitated suddenly from the timed teleport. Blood spraying across my face as I roll off of the corpse. Panting, I wipe the blood from my eyes and stagger to my feet. But then, something catches my eye. The shoes.
Bright. Blue. Sneakers.
“Fuck,” I whisper, my heart sinking. The kid. The one the mother begged me to save. I stare at his decapitated body in horror, the reality of what I’ve done hitting me like a punch to the gut. But there’s no time to dwell on it—no time to let the crushing guilt sink in.
I barely manage to wipe my face clean before I spot another zombie sprinting toward me at full speed. She’s missing a foot, and her arm is bent backward at a sickening angle, yet she moves with a frightening, unnatural agility. Despite her injuries, she’s coming for me, relentless.
"No way this isn’t coordinated," I mutter under my breath. These zombies—they’re moving with purpose. Too much purpose. It’s like they’re all driven by the same singular objective, but they’re not communicating. Someone’s controlling them... or they’re part of a hive mind. Not sure yet.
I reach into my pockets, searching frantically for my marbles. But they’re gone. My heart races as the zombie barrels closer. Every muscle in my body screams with exhaustion, and the pain from my previous injuries pulses with every breath. My head spins from the tackle earlier, the world blurring. I can’t teleport—my concentration is too weak. One misstep, and I could end up halfway through a wall, or worse.
The zombie gets closer, and all I can do is brace for what’s coming, the brutal reality of my situation settling in as the sounds of the chaos around me fade into the background.