A new morning rose over New Haven, casting a soft golden light that illuminated the sleepy streets. The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted through the air, drawing Imani's senses to the small coffee shop nestled in a quiet corner. Imani was a vision of beauty - her bronze skin glowed in the morning light, her dark brown eyes held a hidden depth, and her braided hair was a work of art, perfectly styled in a sleek ponytail that swayed along with her hips.

The bell above the door chimed as Imani entered the coffee shop, and she was greeted by the warmth of the cozy interior. Some of the few early risers in the shop turned their heads, their curiosity piqued by the striking woman who had just walked in. Imani approached the counter, her eyes scanning the menu, her mind already set on her favorite black coffee. The barista greeted her with a warm smile, and Imani returned it with a nod. Her voice was soft yet commanding as she placed her order, her accent hinting at her African origins.

While she waited for her coffee, Imani found a cozy corner booth and settled in, observing the morning rush of the city. The diverse mix of people bustling about intrigued her as well as made her jealous. The emotion of jealousy gnawed at her heart as she longed for the simple pleasures of her past life, but she knew it was a distant memory now, forever lost to the chaos of the invasion.

Seven years ago, Cape Town had been one of the first cities to be attacked by the dreaded portal invaders, and unlike New York, it had survived. The heroes who had been awakened there had acted swiftly, pushing back the invaders and saving their city from destruction. The world had hailed them as lucky, and Imani couldn't help but feel a twinge of bitterness. It was said that the invaders in South Africa had been far weaker compared to the monstrous creatures that had wreaked havoc in other parts of the world, like the dreaded Dragon of New York.

But she cared less about such a reputation. What made her come here in the first place wasn’t because there was no place called home, but a much bigger issue. It was less than a year after the catastrophe, and the people who had become the heroes that day turned to tyrants…

“Imani,” the barista called.

Imani's eyes flickered up as the coffee shop worker called out her name. She rose from her seat, feeling the creak of the old wooden chair beneath her, and made her way to the counter. Her coffee was handed to her, steam rising from the dark liquid, and she took a sip, savoring the rich, bold flavor that enveloped her senses. It was a small moment of comfort in an otherwise tumultuous world.

Her body react before her conscious mind registered the sound of gunfire. It was a familiar sound, one that had become all too common in her neighborhood back in South Africa. Her senses sharpened, her survival instincts kicking in with the precision of a seasoned combat veteran.

She crouched low, her eyes scanning the area, trying to triangulate the source of the shots. Imani didn’t question why a gunshot echoed in the middle of New Haven, but she responded to what was needed of her. Her mind raced, calculating the safest path to take, and her eyes searched for the sturdiest surface to seek cover behind. The tables in the cafe were thick enough as she deemed it would provide good enough protection from stray bullets.

Gunfire continued, echoing down the street. Yet a second later the sound ceased to exist. Imani and the rest of the people in the cafe waited with bated breath, hoping the gunfire had really stopped.

Imani’s heart pounded in her chest, adrenaline surging through her veins, as she tried to calm herself down. She prepared to move towards the front entrance which was a straight path in front of her. Imani’s body moved with practiced grace as if she had been trained for moments like these. She kept herself low and within seconds she reached the door. As she reached the door handle, she slightly glanced behind her and saw some of them following her, waddling like a duck.

But right as she was about to turn back to the door, she caught something in the corner of her sight. The glass window of the café shattered into a million pieces, creating a shower of glittering shards that rained down upon the floor. Two figures emerged from the chaos, their bodies crashing through the broken glass and landing in a heap on the floor.

Imani's breath caught in her throat as she took in the sight before her. The two figures standing in front of her were unlike anything she had ever encountered. Their clothes were tattered, stained with dried blood, and shredded by the broken glass that protruded from their skin. One of them rose and stood before a hunched cowering man. The standing brute had a wild and yet pale-looking eye. Just seeing them this close made Imani’s blood run cold. But what came next shocked the other patrons.

The brute's eyes glazed over with a feral madness as he lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the flesh of the cowering man in a gruesome display of carnage. Blood sprayed and people screamed in horror, scattering in all directions, desperate to escape the chaotic scene.

Imani's instincts kicked in, her mind racing as she assessed the situation. The brutality of the attack was overwhelming, and she knew she had to act quickly. With a surge of adrenaline, she slammed her shoulder against the café door, bursting out into the chaos of the street.

But her run was quick to slow down until it came to a halt. Everywhere she looked, the same thing was happening on the streets. People were biting one another with savage ferocity, tearing at flesh and sinew as if cannibalism was the new trend of the day. Blood splattered across the pavement, screams piercing the air, and chaos reigned on the streets.

Imani's mind raced as she tried to make sense of the horrific scene unfolding before her. Her heart hammered in her chest, and a sense of dread washed over her like a tidal wave. She realized with a sinking feeling that she was witnessing something far more sinister than a random act of violence. Then one word came to Imani’s mind.

“Zombies.”

* * *

Ron stirred from his sleep, groggily rubbing his eyes as he peered at the clock on his nightstand. His heart skipped a beat as he realized he had overslept, his usual routine of waking up at the crack of dawn disrupted. He cursed under his breath, realizing he had spent the previous night indulging in his guilty pleasure - an online battle royale shooting game that he hadn't played in ages.

With a rush of mixed emotions, Ron swung his legs over the side of the bed, his bare feet hitting the cold wooden floor. He glanced around his messy room, the remnants of his gaming session scattered haphazardly - empty soda cans, chip bags, and empty pizza boxes.

Right as he was about to go to the bathroom, the faint gunshot was hard to miss. The suddenness of the noise caught him off guard, and he froze for a moment.

‘That’s weird,’ Ron thought. For the last six years, he had been living here, gunshots were not a common sight, and for a city in the United States that was surprisingly odd by itself. Nonetheless, his mind raced as he tried to make sense of what had just happened. Was it an accident, a random gunshot in the distance, or something involving the cops? He felt a prickle of unease crawling up his spine, a gut feeling that told him he needed to act quickly.

As he approached the window, his senses heightened, and he peered out through the heavy drapes. The sight that met his eyes was both surreal and chilling. The bustling city of New York, usually teeming with life, was now a scene of chaos and panic.

People were running in all directions, their faces etched with fear and desperation. It was as if they were being chased by some unseen menace. But he knew better. Those who were pursuing them were not some mindless force of nature or a force of the supernatural, but humans themselves.

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Now Ron's eyes were opened. He stood above the chaos, his gaze scanning the scene before him with a sense of foreboding. Something was amiss, and he would be a fool to not notice it. People were pushing and shoving each other, desperate to outpace their fellow humans. He saw men and women armed with weapons of all kinds, from the unconventional handbag to guns, fiercely defending themselves against others who were using their bare hands to attack and overpower them with pure brute strength. But what came next made Ron's blood run cold. He witnessed the unthinkable. The attackers, the chasers, were sinking their teeth into the flesh of their fellow humans, tearing at their skin and ripping through muscle and sinew with savage ferocity. Blood stained the pavement, screams and cries echoed through the air, and the stench of fear and desperation hung thick in the air.

The brutality of the situation was beyond comprehension. But Ron kept his calm. He had trained for five years for all sorts of situations that a potential Hero would encounter and this was the most troublesome one. Ron knew it at first glance. This was a case of a zombie outbreak or anything pertaining or relate to such a situation. But something did not add up.

For a city like New Haven, nestled in the shadow of the once-mighty New York City, being close to the ruins meant constant vigilance was required in case something random happened to those monsters lurking in the ruin of New York City. They were baffled at first on why those monsters did not cross the line between New Jersey and New York, but in hindsight, they were grateful to know that at least these portal monsters had a restriction that tied them down.

But humans were paranoid creatures. They feared the unknown, the unpredictable. They couldn't fathom what would happen if those monsters wouldn't obey the invisible restrictions that were imposed on them. The fear of an all-out attack loomed over their heads like a dark cloud, and they were determined to be prepared.

And so, a massive military base rose on the border of New Jersey and New York, a formidable fortress ready to defend against any unforeseen situation.

In the case of Ron’s situation, he hoped the heroes employed by the military would be alerted of this situation in New Haven. As he himself knew of that fact as he learned the basic response when a new portal emerged or any portal invasion-related situation. Yet something bothered him though. It was an ominous feeling he felt right after seeing those zombie-like humans.

He felt a sense of urgency to alert the heroes employed by the military. He knew that they were the best equipped to handle this kind of situation. He quickly dialed one of his acquaintances, a Captain in a Hero Corp based in Miami. The Captain might be from the west coast but with Ron’s input he would be quick to alert the base closest to New Haven. But as soon as he pressed the call button, his phone slipped from his hand, falling to the floor with a loud clatter. A piercing static noise emanated from the speakers and it made him frown.

A sense of foreboding washed over Ron as he tried to make the call again, only to be met with the same result - the static noise blocking his call. He tried multiple numbers, from those in his neighborhood to other countries, but the result was always the same - the static noise drowning out any attempt to communicate.

Ron's mind raced with questions. What was happening? Was this some kind of interference? He couldn't shake off the unnerving feeling that something was seriously wrong. His instincts told him that the situation was far direr than he had initially thought.

Ron went back to the balcony, peering out from the edge with his Hero-tech balcony in his hands. He ignored the chaos the zombies were making and focused on searching for what he didn’t want to find. Yet there it was. He was lucky to find it but he doubted he would call himself lucky with a portal there right on the rooftop of a five-story apartment. But the portal was not what he was looking for.

He went back inside his apartment and retrieved his old hobby from the back of the closet. The sleek, black drone was a relic from his early twenties, a reminder of a time when life was simpler and the weight of responsibility had yet to burden him.

He donned the goggles, feeling a surge of excitement course through him. The familiar hum of the drone's motors filled his ears as he powered it on, the LED lights flickering to life. He adjusted the goggles, and suddenly he was transported into a new world.

The view through the goggles was like that of a pilot in a TIE fighter, hurtling through the sky at breakneck speed. He maneuvered the drone with deft precision, his fingers working the controls with ease as he navigated the concrete jungle of New Haven City.

His eyes darted across the live feed from the drone's camera, scanning the surroundings of the apartment building. He flew the drone with skill, zipping through the air, dodging obstacles, and pushing the limits of its capabilities. He felt a rush of adrenaline as he weaved through tight spaces and soared over rooftops, scanning for any signs of what he was looking for.

And then, he spotted it. In the back alley of the apartment building, a strange humanoid figure had plastered itself on the wall, its body covered in what looked like roots or tendrils. The sight sent a chill down his spine, and he zoomed in for a closer look, his heart pounding in his chest.

The figure was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Its body seemed to be fused with the wall, the roots or tendrils extending from its form as if it was part of the building itself. The figure appeared motionless, yet its presence was eerie and unsettling.

A bone-chilling sensation swept through his entire body as the creature turned its head towards the drone as if sensing its presence. Ron's instincts screamed at him to pull the drone back, to retreat and regroup, but he was transfixed by the creature's gaze. It was as if the creature could see through the lens and directly into Ron's soul.

In a split second, the feed was cut, and Ron lost control of the drone.

Now he was certain of it. That presence of a humanoid monster alone was enough for him to make a conclusion. Over the five years, he learned to become a hero, monsters had their own variants and the most troublesome of all was those who fought like an intellect. Those who knew how to hinder their opponents like a human would and these monsters would usually be in the same appearance as a human itself and they were dubbed as the humanoid class.

Judging from the signal being jammed, Ron reckoned that perhaps even a barrier had been erected around the city. He had read about a similar incident that had occurred three years ago in Guadalajara, Mexico. Reports had detailed a portal invasion, where a barrier had been erected around the entire city, cutting off all communication with the outside world.

The most powerful heroes of that time, known as the First Heroes, had rushed to the scene to break the barrier, but it had been too late. They left it for far too long and by the time their united attack broke the barrier, they were met with a gruesome scene of a dead city.

A lone humanoid figure stood alone in the center of the city, stronger and most vicious than ever. The ensuing battle had been epic, with the culprit unleashing unimaginable destruction upon the city, and the First Heroes struggling to contain the onslaught.

For four long days and nights, the city had been engulfed in a relentless battle, with the First Heroes giving their all to defeat the enemy. The air crackled with energy as elemental abilities were thrown, weapons clashed, and superpowers collided. The city had become a battleground, a warzone where the fate of humanity hung in the balance.

But despite their valiant efforts, it had taken every ounce of strength and determination for the First Heroes to finally defeat the culprit.

Ron’s heart sank knowing what he was now facing. A humanoid class that would be the end of his life if he didn’t do something right now.

"Fuck!" he cursed, his face twisted with anger as he rummaged through his closet, his hand reaching for the hidden compartment. He slid it open, revealing a well-organized arsenal of weapons that would make any warrior envious. It wasn't the extravagant display seen in Hollywood movies, but it was a practical and deadly collection for a single person like him.

His fingers grazed over the handles of his favorite guns, each one carefully selected for its reliability and precision. He pulled out a SIG, a sleek and powerful handgun that had never failed him in a tight spot. The weight of it in his hand brought a sense of familiarity and reassurance.

Next, he reached for the standard rifle he was accustomed to, a weapon that had seen him through countless training over the years. But it wasn't just guns that lined the hidden compartment. He also grabbed the standard body armor made out of the carapace of an F-grade portal monster. It was a common piece of protection that was the standard for all new Heroes. He got it second-hand from that Captain in Miami, and it was a good price. The jagged edges and hardened surface of the armor were evidence of the deadly encounters the previous owner had survived and now it was the turn of the new owner.

He quickly suited up, strapping the armor tightly to his body, and feeling the weight of it settle upon his shoulders. The familiar sensation of protection and readiness washed over him, fueling his determination to face whatever dangers lay ahead.

With his weapons loaded, and his armor secured, he knew he was as prepared as he could be.

From the research paper he read in regard to the Guadalajara incident, the next possible action when facing a humanoid class was to kill it while it was still weak.

The sound of the final check of his rifle and guns echoed through the small closet, resonating with a sense of finality. Ron's face was set in a steely expression, his eyes blazing with determination as he inspected his weapons. The flickering light from a single lantern cast shadows on his face, adding to the intensity of the moment.

From the look of it, Ron was determined to kill it.