It was January 12th, and Raven wandered the cracked, half-lit corridors of a suburban mall on the outskirts of New York. The silence was eerie, punctuated only by the low sound of broken lights and the soft drip of lted ice cream pooling on the tile floor. She walked through the remnants of a once-thriving food court, stepping over discarded cups and shattered glass, her boots leaving faint prints on sticky tiles. In her arms, she carried a treasure trove—pints of half-lted ice cream salvaged from a shop’s freezer. Vanilla, chocolate, mint chip—all slowly turning to sludge, but still worth the grab. Sweetness was hard to co by in the apocalypse.
As she stepped out of the shop, the quiet broke.
Two male voices echoed down the corridor, low and leering, followed by the sharp, desperate sounds of a struggle. Raven rounded the corner without much thought, expecting to see another scuffle over supplies.
Instead, she saw two n laughing crudely, pinning down a frail, blonde-haired zombie. Her skin was pale, marred by bite scars and decay, her clothes once fine—now torn and stained. Blood-red eyes blinked with emptry indifference, her jaw snapping weakly as they shoved her down, muttering disgusting jokes.
Raven’s first instinct was to walk away. They weren’t her problem. The weak died, and fools deserved what they got.
But then—
A strange, pulling sensation snapped through her like a whip, low in her gut. Her gaze locked on the blonde zombie, and sothing primal surged inside her. A compulsion. A need. She couldn’t explain it—couldn’t even think clearly as her feet froze in place.
“She’s mine,” the thought whispered in her mind. Not from the system. Not logical. Just… a raw and compulsive need to have this zombie for herself.
The n didn’t notice her. They didn’t see the Beretta in her hand until it was too late.
Two shots.
'Pew'
'Pew'
'Thud, Thud'
Two bodies hit the floor, blood pooling beneath them.
The zombie blinked, then lunged onto the corpses with a ferocity that was almost... vindictive. Her teeth tore into the flesh, ripping chunks free, devouring the n as if exacting revenge. Raven watched with detached curiosity as the scene unfolded, her mind distant.
As she approached, her eyes drifted to the woman’s chest—what was left of her shredded sweater. A na tag still clung there, dirty but legible: “Hello, my na is Alara.”
Raven stopped just two feet away, her gaze steady. The zombie Alara lifted her head, blood flowing down her lips, and stared at Raven. Blank, red eyes locked onto hers. But she didn’t lunge at her. Didn’t snap at her. Didn’t growl at her.
She just… stared at Raven.
Raven crouched, their faces inches apart, searching for sothing in that blank gaze.
“Alara, huh?” she whispered. “You’re the most interesting thing I’ve seen in a long ti.”
Raven tilted her head, studying the lack of aggression from Alara. “Most zombies would’ve tried to rip my face off by now. You? You just sit there, all covered in blood, watching .”
With a thought, she sent the Beretta back into her System Space. No need for it now. It was just the two of them.
Then, the voice of the Apocalypse Ascendancy System echoed coldly in her mind:
[System Notification:] “Alara your destined female partner has been encountered. Now binding her to the host as her girlfriend, Alara—a Level 0 zombie. Congratulations, host, on finding your destined partner.”
Raven blinked, stunned into stillness. “What the hell...?”
A soft hum buzzed in her mind. A new ntal link ford a strange, foreign, but undeniable link with Alara. She could sense it now: the faint flickers of emotion within Alara. Hunger. Satisfaction. A quiet, animalistic loyalty. It wasn’t language, not yet, but the shape of feelings brushing against her mind.
“I just got assigned a zombie girlfriend by my system,” Raven said, deadpan and dumbfounded. “This is a blind date from hell.”
No details. No backstory. No explanation. Just a na tag and a congratulations. Typical.
Alara finished her grueso al and stood back up her feet, red eyes fixed on Raven like a lost puppy. There was no intelligence in that gaze. Just instinct. Hunger. Obedience. But… sothing more. Sothing Raven couldn’t put her finger on this woman has a lot of potential, Raven thought.
She stood and turned toward the next ice cream shop down the row. Alara followed quietly, her bare, bloodstained feet padding behind her like a shadow.
Raven glanced back once, catching the sight of the zombie trailing her steps, silent and still. “Trying to get on my good side, are you?” she murmured.
The mall was empty. The world was burning. And in the middle of it all, Raven walked toward a half-lted tub of ice cream, a zombie girl at her side, and a question burning in her mind.
What the hell is going on here?
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