Chapitre 3: Chapter 3:When Night Falls
Liam's eyes darted to the sky, the last rays of daylight slipping away, casting long, eerie shadows. His pulse quickened, the kind of tension that came when you knew something was about to go wrong—really wrong. The soldier's rough, no-nonsense voice cut through the air: "Night's coming. We need shelter, and we need to get off this road." The words were more bark than suggestion, but Liam couldn't exactly argue with the man.
Still, his attention kept sliding back to the old man standing further down the road, frozen in place like some kind of messed-up street sign. The guy hadn't moved an inch, just staring, a vacant look in his sunken eyes that left Liam feeling as if he were some exhibit on display. He shivered, tearing his gaze away, his stomach twisted in knots of dread he'd never admit to feeling. The old man was the kind of creepy that nightmares were made of, the kind that made you want to get as far away as possible but also held you in place, curiosity prickling at the edges.
Then a soft tug at his sleeve yanked him out of his trance. Expecting something far less friendly, he whipped his head around, only to find a woman looking up at him. She was shorter than him, with an open, gentle face that seemed out of place in this horror show of a world. Warm brown eyes held his in a way that made her look too trusting, as if this apocalypse hadn't managed to leave a scar on her just yet. A few stray curls peeked out from under her hood, framing her face and softening her expression. There was something almost… calming about her, like she saw in him some piece of human decency that he somehow managed to possess.
She didn't say anything, just kept her gaze steady and her hand resting lightly on his arm. For a second, he caught himself relaxing. He let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. "So, uh… I take it you don't mind following a guy who has no clue where he's going?" He smirked, trying to mask the tension with humor, though his voice had a slight tremor.
Her lips twitched into a smile, and she shrugged as if to say, better than being alone. There was something in her expression, a mix of quiet confidence and empathy, that made Liam wonder if maybe he could live up to that trust—even if he wasn't sure he'd earned it.
He glanced back at the soldier, raising his voice just a notch. "You heard the boss, right? Let's get moving before the creepy guy over there decides we look like a buffet special."
Liam felt her giggle bubble up like the first bit of sunshine he'd seen in days. It was soft, light, and for a brief second, it cut through the nightmare closing in around them. He blinked, momentarily caught off guard by how disarming her laugh was—and just how cute she looked, even with the apocalypse crashing down around them.
He leaned in a little, flashing a lopsided grin. "Well, I must've hit the jackpot," he murmured, his voice playful but with a rough edge that came from days of exhaustion and frayed nerves. "I didn't think I'd be meeting anyone with a smile like yours in a place like this. Feels like I'm dreaming." He shot her a wink, the kind he used to give back home in his world,before all of the crazy stuff started to happen.
Her cheeks flushed slightly, and Liam felt a spark of satisfaction at the reaction. She still hadn't let go of his sleeve, her fingers barely grazing his skin in a way that made his heart pick up a little.
"Careful there," she replied with a smirk, clearly noticing his charm, "Wouldn't want you to get too distracted."
"Oh, I'm already too far gone," he teased back, a hint of seriousness creeping into his voice. He leaned a bit closer, voice dropping low so only she could hear. "But hey, if I'm going to risk my neck out here, I'd rather it be next to someone who can make me forget what's lurking around every corner."
She laughed again, and he felt the tension in his shoulders ease just a fraction. He gave her a quick, playful once-over and added, "You know, you might just be the best thing to happen to this sorry excuse for a day. Now, what are the odds you've got a plan… or are you just here to keep me company?"
She raised an eyebrow, shrugging as if she hadn't decided yet, but the look in her eyes said she might just be interested in finding out.
As darkness thickened around them, Liam followed the soldier behind, his signature smirk firmly in place. Flirting came easy—it was a habit, a distraction, and if it made someone blush, all the better. He caught the girl's lingering gaze, her hopeful eyes clinging to him like he was her anchor in this mess. He knew she liked him; they always did. But to Liam, it didn't mean much. She was just another pretty face in a world that had gone to hell and he still wanted to believe even for just a moment that none of this was real.
He toyed with a strand of her hair, flashing a roguish grin as he murmured some halfhearted compliment. It wasn't that he cared—he didn't—but keeping her on edge felt like a game worth playing. Anything to distract from the gnawing fear clawing at his insides.
The soldier stood a few feet ahead, silent and rigid, his jawline sharp beneath the dark scarf masking the lower half of his face. His hair was tied back in a rough, low knot under his cap, and his piercing eyes swept the area with a relentless focus that made Liam feel a little safer—like any threat would be dealt with before he even knew it was there. The guy seemed more machine than man, every movement precise and calculated. Liam doubted even his most charming grin could crack through that unyielding exterior.
Still, he couldn't resist trying. He took a step closer, hands half-raised in mock surrender, his voice light but tinged with nervous humor. "So, what's it take to stick near someone like you? You got a buddy system going, or should I start bartering my way into the VIP section?"
The soldier didn't so much as glance his way. For a long, excruciating moment, Liam wondered if the guy was deaf, or maybe just ignoring him. Then, in a tone so flat it could've been pre-recorded, the soldier finally said, "Stay quiet and stay out of my way."
Liam blinked, his grin slipping for a second before he plastered it back on like it had never left. "Wow. Okay. Didn't realize I signed up for the deluxe robot protector package," he muttered under his breath.
Undeterred, Liam sidestepped closer with a deliberate shuffle, like he was testing the waters—or possibly creeping toward his death.
Throwing a quick glance back at the woman, Liam mustered up a wink—one of his go-to moves. Unfortunately, he was pretty sure it landed more in the "awkward eye twitch" category, judging by her unimpressed expression. Well, so much for charm under pressure.
The soldier was already scouting ahead, gesturing sharply for them to move. "Let's go. Keep a good pace. Standing around is a great way to get dead when it's dark out here."
Liam swallowed hard and dared another glance behind him. The old man at the rear of the group shuffled along, hunched like his spine was trying to escape his body. Yet somehow, his eyes gleamed with this unsettling, almost smug amusement, like he was in on some cosmic joke the rest of them were too dumb to get. Fantastic. Just what Liam needed—existential dread with a side of creepy old dude. He was already certain that those glinty eyes would haunt his dreams later. Probably laughing at him.
Snapping his focus forward, Liam steeled himself with a deep breath. He'd been through worse than this. Hadn't he? Well, maybe not. The jury was still out on whether getting ghosted at prom stacked up against getting eaten alive in the apocalypse.
He felt a tug on his sleeve and glanced down. The woman was holding on to him, her small hand clinging like he was some kind of lifeline. It was sweet. Reassuring, even. And also completely misplaced, because Liam was about as much of a lifeline as a wet paper bag. Still, he couldn't bring himself to shake her off—he wasn't a total jerk.
He offered her a lopsided grin, the kind he hoped screamed "cool under pressure" and not "mildly terrified." "Don't worry," he said, patting her hand lightly. "I've got this. Probably. I mean, statistically, someone survives, right?"
As they kept moving, Liam shot the soldier a look. "Hey, uh, just curious—what's the survival rate for amateurs like us sticking with a guy like you? Fifty-fifty? Maybe, like, sixty-forty if I manage not to trip over my own feet?"
The soldier didn't even look back, his voice clipped and devoid of humor. "Depends. How fast can you run?"
Liam didn't answer right away, mostly because he was busy doing mental calculations. He wasn't exactly slow, but he wasn't the sprinter type either. He glanced over his shoulder at the seven other people but mostly to the old man, who was moving at a pace so leisurely it could be mistaken for a zombie audition. Then at the woman still clinging to his sleeve, her grip tightening like she'd decided he was her personal safety blanket.
Okay, he thought. Realistically, I don't have to be the fastest. Just faster than someone else. It wasn't the noblest thought, but hey, survival wasn't exactly a morality contest. Still, he winced a little at the idea of leaving Grandpa behind. The old guy probably had, like, war stories and grandkids or something. Besides, Liam had a feeling the guy would somehow haunt him even faster than a zombie could.If what the system said was true then that was out of the question.
The woman was a different story. She was clearly terrified, and while Liam knew she'd probably slow him down, he couldn't bring himself to shake her off. She looked at him like he was capable of protecting her—a hilarious overestimation, but still, it was... nice. He sighed, already feeling the weight of his conscience dragging him into a Plan B that didn't involve tripping anyone.
Fine. New strategy: stick close to Mr. Apocalypse up there and hope he's got enough hero complex for all of us, Liam thought. If it came to it, he'd try to help the others—within reason. He wasn't a total monster. He just liked his chances of survival a little better when someone else had the gun.
Without saying a word, he jogged along, trying not to look too winded and attempting to ignore how bad his odds still felt. Alright, Liam. Plan A: Stay close to Soldier Boy and hope his tough guy routine holds up. Plan B: Get creative. You're scrappy if nothing else.
Glancing at the woman beside him, he offered a quick smile, more to reassure her than himself. "Don't worry," he said quietly. "Stick with me, and we might just make it. I mean, not a guarantee, but, you know, better odds than going solo." It wasn't much, but he figured if she was betting on him, he might as well try to live up to it. At least for now.
___
As the group moved through the eerie quiet of the streets, the soldier led the way with unrelenting focus, scanning every shadow and corner like he expected trouble to spring out of thin air. The woman stayed close to Liam, her grip firm on his arm, while Liam, against all his instincts to keep some distance, found himself practically glued to the soldier's side. Every time the soldier stopped to check the surroundings, Liam stopped too, almost bumping into him more than once.
"Uh, I'm just, you know, staying in formation," Liam mumbled when the soldier gave him a side-eye. "Safety in numbers, right?"
The soldier didn't respond, though Liam swore he caught a faint twitch of annoyance in his jaw. The guy probably thought Liam was a coward, which wasn't entirely wrong, but Liam liked to think of himself as more of a realist with priorities. And priority number one was sticking to the person with the gun.
One of the men in the group finally broke through the tense silence. "Anyone else think it's weird we haven't seen any zombies yet?" His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it, like he didn't trust the stillness any more than the rest of them.
One woman glanced over her shoulder nervously. "Do you think they're... gone? Maybe they've moved on?"
The soldier shook his head, scanning the dark windows of a nearby row of crumbling houses. "They don't move on. They're here. Somewhere. Probably closer than we want them to be."
"Well, isn't that comforting," Liam muttered under his breath, earning a glare from the soldier. He quickly held up his hands. "Hey, just saying what we're all thinking."
The man chuckled dryly, the sound unsettling in the quiet. "Kid's got a point. It's too quiet. Even the dead make noise."
As they rounded a corner, the soldier raised a fist, signaling them to stop. Liam froze instantly, bumping into his back again. "What now?" he whispered, but the soldier ignored him, squinting at a boarded-up diner across the street.
"We'll check that out," the soldier said, pointing to the building. "Looks like it hasn't been touched in a while. Could be a good place to rest for the night."
The woman hesitated, her voice trembling slightly. "What if they're inside? What if we're walking into a trap?"
Liam, trying to keep things light despite the gnawing anxiety in his chest, gave her a reassuring smile. "Then we'll heroically run away screaming and let the soldier here deal with it. Right, big guy?"
The soldier ignored him again, already crossing the street with his weapon at the ready. Liam followed closely, dragging the woman with him. "Don't worry," he said softly to her. "I've got your back. Well, technically, he's got all of our backs, but, you know, I'm moral support."
When they reached the diner, the soldier paused at the door, gesturing for them to stay back. Liam, naturally, ignored the gesture and stayed so close he could practically hear the guy's breathing.
"Can you not?" the soldier said flatly, glancing at Liam out of the corner of his eye.
"What? I'm being strategic!" Liam whispered, throwing his hands up. "If something jumps out at you, I need to be close enough to pull my saviour from danger."
The soldier muttered something under his breath that Liam was pretty sure wasn't a compliment before shoving the door open with one swift motion.
The inside of the diner was dark and smelled faintly of mildew and grease. The soldier swept the room with his flashlight, his weapon raised. Liam squinted into the shadows, half-expecting something to lunge at them. When nothing moved, he exhaled loudly, earning another glare from the soldier.
"Sorry, thought we were about to die," Liam said, stepping in cautiously with the woman still clutching his sleeve. "You can't blame me for dramatic breathing."
The old man shuffled in last, his eyes darting around the room.As usual he didn't say anything but was staring at Liam and the woman next to him.
Liam gave him a suspicious side eye and moved to the center of the diner .
"Still too quiet," he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. "I don't like it."
The soldier ignored him, moving further into the room. "Looks clear," he said after a moment. "We'll stay here for the night. Barricade the door, keep watch in shifts."
"Great," Liam said, pulling up a chair and sitting down with exaggerated relief. "Home sweet diner. Who's taking my order?"
The woman gave him a nervous smile finally letting go of his sleeve. The old man muttered something unintelligible as he sat down at a nearby table.
The soldier, meanwhile, was already securing the door, his movements precise and efficient. Liam watched him for a moment, his thoughts drifting. Okay, so no zombies so far. That's good. But if they show up… His eyes flicked to the creepy old man he was sure the system had warned him about and then to the soldier. Alright, let's be honest. The old guy's a liability, but the soldier? If he goes down, we're all screwed.
"Hey," the woman whispered, pulling him out of his thoughts. "Do you think we'll be okay here?"
Liam hesitated, glancing around the room. The diner had that old-fashioned, all-American vibe to it—vinyl booths, a broken neon sign buzzing in the corner, and the smell of old fried food lingering in the air. It looked peaceful enough, almost nostalgic, but something still gnawed at him. He gave her a crooked smile. "Yeah, sure. As long as nothing starts banging on the windows, we'll be fine. Totally fine. No need to panic."
Just then, the system's voice cut through the silence, unnervingly calm.
[System Alert:Unknown presence detected in closer proximity. Host advised to seek immediate protection.]
Liam's breath hitched, the words feeling like a cold hand gripping his chest. His eyes snapped around the room, searching for any sign of movement, any shadow that didn't belong. His heart pounded in his ears as he quickly backed away from the woman at his side, his instincts kicking in.
Liam's breath hitched, his blood running cold. His gaze darted around the room as if the walls themselves were closing in. He swallowed hard, forcing himself to whisper under his breath. "You've gotta be kidding me?"
The woman, sensing his tension, let go of his arm. "Liam? What's wrong?"
Liam didn't answer. His eyes were wide, his mind racing, and his feet were already moving before he could think better of it. Without hesitation, he beelined straight for the soldier, his survival instincts overriding any shred of pride he had left.
The soldier had just finished barricading the door when Liam practically latched onto his arm, his fingers digging into the soldier's sleeve with a grip that felt almost desperate. His face was pale, his eyes wide and stricken, the fear in them undeniable and raw.
The soldier turned his head slowly, raising an eyebrow, torn between irritation and concern. "What are you doing?"
Liam's voice was barely a whisper, shaking with panic, his gaze darting around the room as if expecting something to leap out at him. "I… I have a feeling. A bad feeling. Someone in here... isn't human."
The soldier stiffened, his expression hardening as he scanned the room. The diner was quiet, save for the occasional creak of the walls settling. The five other people scattered across the room seemed like they were in their own private hell, no one making eye contact, too afraid to speak. The woman Liam liked sat at a corner booth, her eyes glassy, fingers trembling slightly as she fiddled with the edge of her jacket. She glanced up nervously, but quickly lowered her gaze, avoiding all interaction.
Across the room, an old man sat alone at the counter, his back hunched and his gaze unfocused. He was unshaven, his clothes worn and torn, but it wasn't his disheveled appearance that bothered Liam—it was the way he stared at nothing, as if his mind was somewhere else entirely. The old man's hollow eyes locked with Liam's for a split second, sending a shiver down his spine. There was something off about him, like he didn't belong there at all.
The rest of the survivors were scattered around—some at the booths, others leaning against the walls, faces gaunt from hunger and fear. They were survivors, but the loss of hope was written all over them. A couple of them were slumped in their seats, staring vacantly ahead, the exhaustion of the apocalypse evident in their hollow expressions. Another woman near the window had her hands wrapped around her knees, rocking slightly, as if trying to comfort herself. The others shifted uncomfortably, avoiding each other's eyes, the tension thick in the air.
Liam's grip tightened on the soldier's arm as he whispered again, his voice cracking with terror, "I swear… One of them. The old man. I think he's one of them. I think he's—" He couldn't finish the thought, the fear choking him.
The soldier exhaled through his nose, irritation creeping into his voice. "Maybe you're imagining it, kid. Could be anyone. People are on edge. This is a damn zombie apocalypse. We all look human, but that doesn't mean anything. I don't see anything wrong with him."
He nodded toward the old man at the counter, who was still staring into space, his hands shaking slightly as if in rhythm with some invisible tremor. "The old guy looks like he's seen better days, sure, but it's not like he's growling or trying to eat anyone."
Liam's grip tightened, his knuckles white. He shook his head, his voice lowering even further, cracking with a quiet urgency. "No. It's him. I'm telling you. The way he looks at me… He doesn't blink. Doesn't breathe right. Something's off."
The soldier gave him a skeptical look, then refocused on the room, his mind trying to work through the logic of it. He was trained to be pragmatic. Logical. A threat wasn't a threat unless it showed itself, and right now, none of these people were acting like the mindless undead. They were all just survivors—living, breathing humans, each as scared as the next. They all had that glazed look, that fear in their eyes, but that didn't make them monsters.
He rubbed a hand across his face, trying to clear his thoughts. "Liam, listen to me. We're in the middle of a goddamn apocalypse. We're all messed up right now. You've seen it, I've seen it—hell, we've all seen it. But we still look human. Just because someone's quiet or acting a little off doesn't mean they're not human. They're scared, like everyone else here."
He eyed the others briefly—no one was moving too fast, no one was talking, just silent, wary souls clinging to whatever little semblance of humanity they had left. "Look, if there's someone in here who isn't human, they're gonna show it eventually. Trust me. But until then, we stay logical. Stay calm."
Liam's heart was pounding in his chest, but he couldn't shake the feeling gnawing at him. Every instinct screamed that something was wrong.
He whispered again, his voice barely audible, "I'm telling you, the old man… he's not right."
The soldier looked back at the old man, who still hadn't moved. The soldier felt the familiar, unsettling itch on the back of his neck—the kind that told you something wasn't quite right—but he shook it off. "We'll keep an eye on him, alright? But I think you're overthinking it. If something goes wrong, you'll know."
Liam nodded stiffly, still not letting go of the soldier's arm, his breath shallow as he kept glancing over at the old man. The room felt suffocating.
The diner was quiet again, the tense silence hanging thick in the air. Every person in the room was just a little too still, just a little too quiet. But the soldier's words rang in Liam's ears—we're all human—and for a moment, he almost believed it.
Almost.
Liam's mind raced as he scanned the room again, his heart pounding in his chest. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong, that danger was lurking in the shadows of the diner, watching them all. His eyes flicked toward the exits. They were barricaded for now, but if something went south, he needed a plan.
He backed away from the soldier and, without a word, made his way toward the bathroom. The quiet hum of the diner faded as he slipped through the door, the dim light casting a sterile glow across the small, cramped space. His hands lingered on the cool metal of the doorframe for a moment as he took in the sight of the chipped tiles and cracked mirror.
Liam's eyes went to the sink, then to the mirror above it. He hadn't really thought about his appearance in this new body, but now, standing in front of the glass, it was impossible to ignore.
He leaned closer, squinting at his reflection, a strange sense of unfamiliarity washing over him. His face was striking, impossibly so. The features that had once belonged to someone else—someone entirely different—were now his. His skin, pale but with a healthy glow to it, stretched smoothly over high cheekbones and a sharp jawline. His lips were full, slightly parted, the soft curve of them almost too perfect, like something sculpted. His eyes—those piercing, almost unnatural green eyes—seemed to glow in the dim light, too bright, too intense, like an endless forest.
His hair framed his face in messy waves, dark brown with streaks of gold that caught the light just right, falling almost to his shoulders. It was thick, soft, and effortlessly tousled, giving him an almost ethereal, otherworldly look. He wasn't just handsome. He was beautiful—a beauty that made him feel alien in his own skin, as if this new body was more than just a vessel.
Liam swallowed hard, his gaze falling to his own neck, where the sharp lines of his collarbones were visible beneath his skin. He couldn't help but notice how perfect his body looked—lean but toned, like something that had been chiseled by a master artist. He ran a finger along his throat absently, feeling the smoothness of his skin, and shuddered. This wasn't his body. He wasn't himself anymore.
His chest tightened as he realized just how different he truly was now. He hadn't seen his reflection since being transmigrated into this new life, and it was disorienting, unsettling. He didn't recognize the person staring back at him. He didn't feel like this beautiful stranger, even if he was the one wearing the face and body. It was like he was trapped in a perfect mask, and he couldn't even remember who he had been before.
He stepped back from the mirror, his breath uneven. The fear that had been gnawing at him wasn't just about the old man or the diner anymore. It was about him. About the person he had become.
The image in the mirror stared back at him, enigmatic and unreadable, as if it knew something he didn't.
He remembered his original appearance vividly. He had been taller, his frame broad and solid, a far cry from the lean, almost delicate figure that stood before him now. In his old life, he had a muscular build, the kind that made people notice him even before he opened his mouth. His shoulders were wide, tapering into a strong chest and narrow waist, muscles that had been honed over years of physical work and dedication. He had carried himself with the quiet confidence that came from knowing his own strength, from looking in the mirror and seeing someone who could protect himself—someone who commanded a certain presence.
His face had been striking, too, but in a different way. His jaw was square, rugged, and his hair, though shorter and darker, always had a slight wave to it. But it was his eyes that people remembered—deep brown with an intensity that made them linger. They were warm, inviting, but always sharp with intelligence. He'd worn glasses, thick-framed and stylish, the kind that gave off a "sexy teacher" vibe—smart, approachable, and just a little intimidating. He knew how to use that, how to turn heads with just the right look or a quiet smile.
Liam couldn't help but feel disappointed now. His reflection, the perfect face and body he saw in the mirror, was beautiful, sure. There was no denying that. But it was… unnatural. He felt disconnected from it, as if this body wasn't really his. He longed for the strength he had before—the sense of physical power that had come so naturally. His old body had been capable, grounded in a way this one was not. Here, in this slender form, he felt almost fragile. It was beautiful, yes, but it lacked the presence he once carried.
He missed the rawness of his old self—the way he could stand tall, exude confidence without saying a word, and feel the weight of the world rest on his broad shoulders. Now, in this new body, he was nothing but an image—a work of art, yes, but something that felt hollow. He missed his thick-framed glasses, the way they made him look a little too serious, a little too smart for anyone's comfort. He'd always known how to balance that perfect mix of intimidating yet approachable, charming yet mysterious. But now, in this body, he was just a pretty face.
He couldn't help but compare it—the lean lines of his jaw now, the sharpness of his cheekbones, the unnatural beauty that was so foreign to him. This wasn't who he had been. This wasn't the body he'd inhabited for years, the body that had felt real.
Liam rubbed his fingers across his face, as if trying to feel the man he used to be beneath the smooth skin of this new shell. But it wasn't there. There was no trace of the man who used to walk into a room and immediately draw attention. There was no trace of the quiet strength he had relied on.
Instead, he was left with this perfect, delicate face—one that didn't quite feel like it belonged to him. A face that was so beautiful it made him feel like a stranger to himself.
He let out a long, quiet breath, almost as if trying to exhale the discontent that had settled deep within him. The body he now inhabited was undeniably flawless, but it wasn't his. It didn't carry the history, the power, the authenticity he had once had.
Liam stared down at his hands, fingers that were long, delicate, and graceful—so different from the strong, calloused hands he used to have. He wanted to feel that strength again. He wanted to feel like himself again.
But for now, he was trapped in this body. This body that was beautiful, yes—but not his own. And that, in itself, was a kind of loss.
As Liam continued to stare at his reflection, the unease in his chest grew, and that's when it hit him. The system's voice rang out in his mind, and everything else seemed to blur away.
[System Update: Character Name Assigned. You have been formally introduced to your new identity within this world. Name: Liam Orlean.]
The name sent a shock through him. Liam Orlean—the words felt strange, foreign, and yet they tugged at something deep inside of him.
And then, without warning, flashes of memories erupted into his mind—quick and violent, like shards of glass cutting through his consciousness. They were vivid, dark, and utterly unsettling. A cold, cruel laugh echoed in his ears as he saw a figure—himself—standing over a frail, weak man, bullying him mercilessly.
The man on the ground trembled, pleading, his face pale with fear. But Liam—no, the tyrant—wasn't moved by his fear. He grinned, cruel and vicious, enjoying every second of the power he had over the helpless man. Liam's larger form towered over the smaller figure as he pushed him to the ground, slamming his boot into the man's chest. The flashes grew more erratic, showing the tyrant laughing as he broke the man's spirit.
Then, the memory shifted. The man on the ground began to change—his body growing bigger, stronger. Muscles bulged beneath his skin, veins popping out, and Liam could see the transformation with an unsettling clarity. The man rose, standing tall now, and though his eyes still held fear, there was something new in them: a spark of defiance, a seed of revenge that began to grow.
Liam's heart pounded in his chest, and the flashes flickered again. The once-weak man—now massive and terrifying—smiled at Liam with a twisted expression, his grin full of malice and bloodlust.
"I will kill you when I find you, brother."
The words hit him like a punch to the gut, cold and full of promise. The flashes ended abruptly, leaving Liam standing there, breathless and shaken. The vision of the other man's twisted smile lingered in his mind, his words echoing like a curse.
Liam took a step back, his hands shaking slightly as he tried to steady his breathing. The reflection in the mirror seemed to twist with the memory—the tyrant—and for a moment, Liam couldn't tell if he was looking at himself or the man who had come before him.
A deep unease settled over him. The power, the cruelty—it all felt so close, like it was within reach. The memories hadn't been his own, but they felt real, like pieces of someone else's life that had somehow become a part of his. The idea that this man—had once stood over someone so weak and broken, and now his memory haunted Liam's every thought, unsettled him in a way he couldn't explain.
And then the final words, "I will kill you when I find you, brother."
Liam shuddered, pushing away the memory of that smile, that promise.
Liam stood frozen, his hand still gripping the bathroom door, trying to shake off the remnants of the memory that had just assaulted him. He took a deep breath, attempting to steady his racing heart, but the feeling of dread still clung to him. He had to focus. He had to think.
Liam tore his gaze away, trying to steady himself. He couldn't afford to get distracted now. There was no time for self-reflection—not when things were this tense. With one last glance at his reflection, he turned away, heading toward the back exit of the bathroom.
With a reluctant push, he opened the door and stepped out into the diner, hoping the cold air would help clear his head. But as soon as he stepped into the dim light of the room, his breath caught in his throat.
There, standing in the doorway, was the woman he had been flirting with earlier—the one with the soft smile and the glimmer of hope in her eyes.
But her smile now was different. It was too wide, too knowing. Her lips stretched unnaturally, revealing a grin that looked more like something a predator would wear. Her eyes gleamed with an unsettling glint, and her posture, though relaxed, seemed too... perfect. Too still.
Liam's stomach dropped.
She had been standing there, just outside the bathroom door, waiting for him. How long had she been standing there? The thought made his blood run cold.
She looked up at him, her smile widening even further as she took a slow step closer. "You took an awfully long time in there..I was beginning to miss you." she said, her voice dripping with something that wasn't quite sweet, nor innocent.
Liam's heart slammed against his ribs, his body instinctively stiffening. He swallowed hard, trying to maintain some control. But the truth was, the moment he saw her, his fear was real—too real—and it rushed through him like a tidal wave.
He couldn't shake the nagging thought that something was wrong—something that didn't belong. This woman, so calm, so eerily composed, had been in the diner with them the entire time. But why hadn't she spoken much? Why hadn't she been involved in the tense silence, the chaos of the apocalypse that seemed to have fractured everyone else?
And why, now, was her presence so suffocating, so unnatural?
The longer he stood there, the more his mind raced, the more the feeling grew—this wasn't just a woman anymore. This wasn't just a survivor.
Liam had a horrible gut feeling that she—like the man in his memories—wasn't human.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone