Ron's heart pounded as he leaped from one rooftop to another, his dark clothes flapping in the wind behind him. He landed with a sharp thud, but his momentum carried him forward, and he stumbled, emitting a yelp that escaped his lips before he could stop it. He rolled on the hard surface, trying to mitigate the impact, but the pain still shot through his body, leaving him wincing.

He quickly regained his composure, but his frown was evident as he sat on the rooftop, rubbing his knees and shins with a grimace. The ache throbbed, a reminder of the risks he took in his daring venture. His breath came in short gasps, a mix of exhilaration and exhaustion. He rose from where he stood, glancing beyond the edge of the rooftop with zombies teeming down below, unaware of his presence at the topside.

Ron's eyes flicked between the map on his phone and his surrounding area. He had carefully marked his destination on Google Maps after his drone had gone down, and now he relied on the offline map to navigate the treacherous urban jungle where the floor was hotter than lava. The screen of his phone emitted a faint blue glow, illuminating his determined expression as he traced his route with a finger.

But he sighed. He knew that in order to reach his destination, he would have to cross the main road ahead. But the sheer number of zombies shambling about made it seem like an impossible task. Their moans and groans filled the air, echoing through the empty streets, sending chills down Ron's spine.

He clenched his fists, feeling the weight of his decision. He couldn't afford to stay on the rooftop forever. Ron took a deep breath, steeling himself for what lay ahead. He carefully scanned the area, looking for a path through the horde. He spotted a narrow alleyway on the other side of the road, partially obscured by burning wreckage and debris. It would be a risky move, but it might be his best chance to make it across.

Ron's muscles tensed as he prepared to make his move. He could hear his own heartbeat, pounding in his ears. He took a step back, then sprinted towards the edge of the rooftop, leaping across the gap with all his strength. He landed on the other rooftop with a roll. Ron ignored the pain and kept on jumping from one rooftop to another as if he was Spiderman, minus the enhanced physical ability, web shooter, and bright spandex.

By the time he landed on another rooftop, his eyes were set on the narrow alleyway he found before. It was right in front of the building he was perched on. It was his best chance to make progress, but the alleyway was infested with zombies, drawn by the cumulative moans of its own kind.

Ron strode to the edge of the rooftop, his rifle raised, scanning the empty alleyway. He didn't hesitate as he squeezed the trigger, sending bullets echoing through the alley, hitting a few dumpsters and trashcans. The sound of gunfire reverberated through the desolate urban landscape.

The zombies, drawn by the noise, began to swarm toward the source of the shots, their undead instincts taking over. Ron crouched down, listening to the frantic footsteps of the zombies moving to the alley. He peeked a bit at the front of the building and the coast was a bit clearer than before. A few zombies still lingered around, but not as many as before.

He headed inside the building he was on, entering the staircase with the door slightly creaking. Ron stopped the moment he heard this damn door screaming, glaring at it like it was alive. He crept inside the building, mindful of every creaky step on the stairs, and the rustling of debris underfoot. The air inside was musty and stale, and the only sounds were the distant groans of the undead echoing through the halls.

Ron descended the stairs carefully, his rifle ready in his hands, eyes scanning his surroundings for any signs of danger. He moved like a ghost, slipping past broken windows and overturned furniture, navigating through the dark and decaying interior of the building. His movements were fluid and calculated, a deadly dance with the zombies as he moved from one hiding spot to another, using his skills and instincts to outwit them.

Ron's senses were on high alert, every sound amplified in the silence of the building. He held his breath as he cautiously peeked around corners, checking for any potential threats. He relied on his years of training to stay one step ahead of the zombies, using the environment to his advantage and staying hidden from their sight and smell.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Ron reached the front entrance of the building. He carefully peered out, checking for any signs of the undead outside. The coast was clear, but he knew he had to move quickly before the situation changed.

With a calculated burst of speed, Ron burst out of the building, his boots hitting the cracked pavement with a resounding thud. The air was thick with the stench of decay, and the distant moans of the undead echoed through the desolate streets. Ron's senses were heightened as he scanned his surroundings, keeping an eye out for any signs of movement.

The zombies were quick to react to his presence. Their faded eyes locked onto him, and they began to close in, their grotesque forms lurching towards him with unnatural speed. Ron's heart pounded in his chest as he raised his rifle, fingers gripping the trigger tightly.

The gunfire erupted, the sound deafening in the otherwise quiet city. Heads were pierced, and bodies crumpled to the ground. Ron moved with precision, taking down the approaching zombies one by one. Their relentless pursuit did not deter him, as he swung his rifle with expert precision, knocking them back with powerful strikes.

Ron sprinted through the desolate alley, his heart hammering in his chest, as the horde of zombies pursued him relentlessly. He could hear their guttural moans and the shuffling of their feet, sending chills down his spine. His breath came in ragged gasps as he pushed himself to the limit, his eyes scanning for an escape route in front.

As he ran deeper into the narrow alleyway, Ron's hopes were dashed. The back alley was blocked by a horde of zombies, their decaying bodies pressing in from both sides. His mind raced, trying to come up with a plan on the fly.

Ron's eyes flickered left and right, assessing the situation. The stench of decay hung heavy in the air, and the eerie silence was shattered by the groans of the undead. By a fluke of luck, one of them turned and let their sunken eyes fixate on him, hungering for fresh flesh.

The scene was quick to turn chaotic, the undead closing in from all sides. Ron's movements were fluid and practiced, evading their grasping hands. He dodged, weaved, and struck with lethal force when it was needed, using his strength and skill to keep them at bay.

Ran raced for the main street. His boots pounded against the pavement, echoing in his ears alongside the distant moans of the pursuing zombies. He could feel the burn in his muscles, the ache in his chest, but he refused to slow down.

His mind raced with disbelief. How could a city be overrun by the undead so quickly? It had only been a matter of hours since the outbreak had begun, and already the entire city seemed to be crawling with the infected. Ron's thoughts were a jumble of frustration and fear as he pushed himself harder.

He reached the main street. But before he could react, something slammed into him with tremendous force, knocking him off his feet. He crashed onto the unforgiving asphalt road, his breath knocked out of him.

For a moment, Ron lay there, stunned, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. But the urgency of his situation quickly snapped him back to reality. He shook off the daze, pushing himself up onto his elbows, his eyes scanning his surroundings.

He looked up and saw a woman in jogging attire, already on her feet, her eyes wide as they landed on him. She seemed as surprised as he was, her chest heaving from exertion. Her athletic form spoke of physical fitness and agility, and Ron quickly realized that she was likely one of the few survivors who had managed to evade the zombies. But the medieval mace in her hand told of another story.

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“Get up,” she said. The woman's voice was breathless, her eyes flicking over Ron's form to check for injuries. Her tone was cautious but tinged with surprise at finding another living human in this zombie situation.

"Your rank," she uttered, her voice barely above a whisper, her eyes scanning the horde of zombies that were closing in, their grotesque forms moving with surprising speed. Ron frowned, confused by her words amidst the chaos.

"What?" he replied, raising his voice to be heard over the growls and moans of the approaching undead.

"Your hero rank," she repeated, her gaze briefly fixating on the gleaming armor adorning Ron's torso. It was the standard issue armor given to new heroes, a symbol of their valor and courage in the face of portal invader’s menace, provided to them free of charge.

“I’m not a hero,” Ron curtly replied.

"What? Then why—" she started to ask. But her words were abruptly cut short by the chilling chorus of moans that pierced the air, rising in volume with each passing second. Her heart skipped a beat, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins as she cursed under her breath, realizing that the relentless horde of zombies was closing in at an alarming pace.

Without missing a beat, she tightened her grip on the head of her mace, the crackling electricity sending a thrill of power up her arm. Her eyes narrowed, her gaze unwavering as she raised the weapon above her head. The tendrils of lightning danced along the surface of the mace head, casting an otherworldly glow.

With a swift and practiced motion born of countless battles fought, she swung the mace with all her strength, her muscles straining with the effort. The head of the mace struck the pavement with a resounding crack, and in that moment, the air crackled with raw energy, the tendrils of lightning snaking across the road like serpents in search of their prey.

The sight was both mesmerizing and horrifying as the tendrils of lightning found their mark, striking a zombie's feet with a blinding flash of light. The undead creature erupted into flames, the fire spreading with unnatural speed, engulfing the zombie and those unfortunate enough to be close to it. The stench of burning flesh filled the air, and the anguished cries of the undead echoed as they writhed and shrieked in agony.

Fatigue etched deep lines on her face, her once bright eyes now dull with exhaustion. She cast a quick glance back at Ron, her grip tight on his wrist as she yanked him forward. "Move!" Her voice was a roar, a command that brooked no argument.

Ron stumbled, caught off guard by the sudden burst of strength from his companion. He struggled to keep up, his feet faltering for a moment before he found his rhythm and picked up the pace. His heart hammered in his chest, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he pushed himself to match her frantic sprint.

The woman’s strength was astonishing, befitting her status as a hero. And from the look of it, Ron assumed she was a close combatant with a tinge of elemental power.

"Almost there!" she called out, her voice hoarse with exhaustion but still commanding. Her eyes were fixed on a distant point ahead, her determination driving her forward.

As they rounded a corner, they saw a narrow gap between two buildings, a faint glimmer of something reflecting was caught in her eyes. “Over there!” she pointed and without hesitation, she pulled Ron with her, their feet pounding on the pavement as they sprinted towards the narrow gap.

They found themselves in a narrow alleyway, barely wide enough for them to walk side by side. The walls rose high on either side, casting deep shadows that seemed to close in on them. Their chests heaved as they leaned against the walls, trying to catch their breath. Ron’s eyes darting around, searching for any signs of danger.

She came to a sudden halt in the middle of the narrow alleyway, right beneath a window.

“Why did you stop?” Ron asked.

She didn't answer, her gaze fixed on the window above them. It drew Ron's attention as well, and he looked up to see the window slowly creaking open, revealing a bearded man with a sly smile on his face. The man's eyes glittered with mischief as he surveyed the two of them.

"You're late," he said in a raspy voice.

“I’ve found company,” she said. Briefly glancing at Ron.

“That I can see,” said the bearded man.

Without a moment of hesitation, she sprang into action, her athletic form leaping with astonishing height. With a powerful grip, she grabbed onto the window sill, propelling herself upwards with a burst of strength. Her muscles strained as she hauled herself up and over, maneuvering herself through the open window and into the building, leaving Ron outside.

“A little help here?” Ron said. He eyed the mouth of the alley as the zombies arrived. He glanced at his rifle, his finger twitching on the trigger, ready to take the shot. But before he could react, he heard the clanking of metal against bricks, and his gaze snapped to the window. There, dangling outside, was the head of the mace.

Ron's instincts kicked in, and without thinking, he jumped towards the window, reaching out to grab the mace with both hands. With a sudden jolt, he was whisked away through the window and fell headfirst onto the hard wooden floor of the building.

Ron groaned, feeling the impact reverberate through his body. He quickly scrambled to his feet, and glanced around, taking in his surroundings, and saw the jogger staring at him with the short bearded man by her side.

“So what rank is he?” the bearded man asked.

"Where is Hector?" she asked, her voice cutting through the tension in the air like a sharp blade. She ignored the question from before, her focus solely on finding the person she sought.

The bearded man shifted uncomfortably, his gaze flickering to the floor for a moment before he responded, "Fourth floor, first room to the right." His voice was gruff, but there was a flicker of relief in his eyes.

Without wasting another moment, she turned on her heel and strode out of the study room.

Ron, who had been standing by silently, exchanged a wary glance with the bearded man before following in her wake. The two were left alone in the now empty study room, the air heavy with tension and unspoken words.

"She's always the moody one," the bearded man said with a chuckle, trying to break the silence that had settled over them. He offered a hand to Ron, who hesitated for a moment before accepting it, using the man's assistance to pull himself to his feet.

"The name's Aldo, delta rank," Aldo said, his gravelly voice carrying authority as he stood in front of Ron, their eyes locked. Aldo's stature was imposing, despite being a head shorter than Ron. He made up for his lack of height with his broad shoulders and brawny build, exuding a palpable sense of strength.

“Ron, and I’m no hero,” Ron replied.

The answer raised Aldo’s eyebrows. “But the armor? How?”

“I bought it,” Ron said.

“But why? The civilian-grade variant is a lot more suitable for non-heroes,” Aldo said.

“Do you really think so?” Ron threw a question and left Aldo pondering. Most armor produced for heroes were not suitable for the likes of normal people. The weight itself would leave them standing there like a lamp post while some might give off a detrimental effect. Although there were some armor that could be worn by civilians but such things were rare and the price would be astronomical.

And thus came out the cheap, civilian-friendly body armor. It was commercialized as something safe for people to wear. But Ron knew it was far from it. After careful research, he found out the newbie armor given to new heroes was a dozen times better than what was sold in the market and not to mention, it had no adverse effect on any non-hero wearer.

“Shit, I bought my whole family of those,” Aldo said. He never imagined that the sleek, cutting-edge gear that had been advertised on the billboard would pale in comparison to the archaic set he had worn during his humble beginner days.

“Hey, how much do you—“

“So you’re here to kill the invader?” Ron cut him off. Their eyes gazed at one another in a fierce but silent battle.

* * *

The female jogger entered a common room with vigor, the door slammed strongly against the wall. “Did you find it?” she asked. Her gaze was directed at the man with a chiseled face, standing before a map of New Haven.

Hector shook his head. A sign it was a failure.

“Damn it,” the jogger said. Hurling her fist against the wall, punching a hole right through it.

“Geez, ease up, Jess,” O'Shea, a man hugging a sniper rifle jumped from Jess’s abrupt action. “You’re gonna scared little Timmy over here.”

All eyes gazed at the big muscular dude wearing an Under-armor sweater. He had his eyes closed and hands clasped together as if praying. But he was far from it. Timmy was the biggest reason why they were still alive right now. He was one the one responsible for erecting a misdirecting illusion barrier around the whole building.

Jess ignored Oshea and gazed at Hector. “So what now, Hector?” she asked. “If we don’t find that fucking invader, we’re all going to…” she stopped herself from saying that word.

“Relax, Jess,” Hector said. “We’ll find it. Constance had scanned a part of where we ran through while you were acting as bait and for now, we could exclude this part of the city.”

“I know, but you said—“

“I know what I said Jess,” Hector cut her off. “The situation might be similar to Guadalajara, but I might be wrong.”

“But you might be right,” Jess said. “We need to find where that bastard is and—

“I know where it is,” a foreign voice echoed through the room, silencing Jess. All eyes were drawn to the newcomer who entered the room and Ron made his appearance.