When the ti ca to open the tal gate, they did so in unison, as if the act itself required a ceremonial flair.
This lifted Luck’s mood. It ant his effort to show dominance and prove his value worked like magic. Now they would think twice before ssing with him.
Yuna muttered "That was unbelievable ... You moved like sothing out of a movie."
Fernando chid in, "Never seen anyone fight like that. Not even the soldiers I t right after the zombie outbreak."
Luck straightened his back.
"Don’t compare to them. I was specially trained. Learned bunch of fighting skills. What I did—that’s just normal for ."
His words dripped with arrogance, but no one questioned him. Only soone trained could pull off a stunt like that.
Now, his story about being Special Forces was cented in their minds.
"You behave, stay out of trouble, and maybe—just maybe—I’ll get you five on my team. When extraction’s possible, I’ll take you with ."
The twins exchanged a glance. For just a second, their expressions flickered with hope.
"Is that true?" Fernando asked.
"Yeah. We have a base on an island—that’s our next destination. It’s pretty far, so we’re trying to find a way to contact HQ and let them our location. Once that’s settled, we can all get out of here."
"That’s... good to hear," Fernando’s shoulders relaxed, and for the first ti since the outbreak, there was a bit of hope in his eyes. "Thanks. Really. I didn’t think we had a shot at making it out."
After Luck left the periter, the survivors clustered up in the shadow of the tower, unpacking their night’s ager comforts.
They talked like cautious people, hoping not to tempt fate—no fire, no lantern, no raised voices.
Only the moon, dared illuminate their hunched silhouettes.
Yuna and the twins gathered dry grass and cardboard, building a nest in the shelter of the concrete wall.
"Let’s eat." Dima produced a battered can opener; a minute later, the air soured with the scent of expired pork and beans, served cold.
Gregor made a show of pretending to savor it, pinching the can to his lips like a fine wine, then passed it to his brother, who downed a spoonful and grimaced.
Fernando accepted last, scooping out the final chunk with his finger.
They all looked toward the motel, wondering what was inside. It was clear there were supplies there—maybe even enough for everyone—but no one dared to ask.
What happened earlier was still fresh in their minds. The way Luck moved, the way he handled the sword—he wasn’t just skilled. He was very dangerous.
Right now, he was their greatest ally. But if anyone pushed the wrong button, he could just as easily beco their worst enemy.
Luck ate alone in his office. He chewed slowly, savoring the oil and shreds of fish, and watched the closed-circuit feed from the courtyard on his laptop.
That’s right—one of the things he bought was a CCTV cara.
He saw their faces in grainy green: huddled close, sharing body heat, passing a single can between them.
They looked like beggars on the street, eating expired food while he sat back with expensive fish, a cold can of Coke, and even a slice of cake—watching them like it was just another TV show.
Luck set his fork down. When he wiped his mouth, the napkin left a sar of red – tomato, and he realized, with a twist of guilt, how easily he accepted this routine of private luxury .
’Damn... I’m selfish as hell.’
He could offer them a real al, he supposed.
There was more food in his store than he could ever eat in a month, and the ration packs in the basent would outlast the siege, assuming the zombies didn’t learn to climb.
"How can they share just one can between all of them? So this is what it’s like to survive a zombie outbreak... how sad..."
"Oh well, that’s life." he reached for another sardine, pressing it to his tongue until the salt burned away the urge to care.
Next, he gulped down a cold soda and ate the slice of chocolate cake until he was full.
In reality, he didn’t mind sharing. But being too generous could backfire. If they wanted anything from him, they had to earn it. No handouts.
He checked the feed again.
The group outside already settled into a hierarchy of warmth: Dima and the twins at the center, Gregor curled defensively at his brother’s side.
Yuna set apart, cross-legged, scanning the sky like she didn’t trust sleep.
It made sense—she was the only girl in the group, and to be honest, she was attractive.
If he was being generous, the odds of n trying sothing were around 101%.
And the chance of them ganging up on her? Probably 105%.
All that speculation ca from too much ti watching hentai and reading questionable manga. Even for him, those mangaka went too far.
He enjoyed most of it though, which ant he wasn’t any better.
’I should check the other cctv,’
Leaning back, he reached for the key to switch the caras—but a sudden movent caught his eye.
At first, he figured it was a typical shiver pile—people jamd together for body heat, a kind of enforced intimacy they learned to endure the cold.
But then the lines between them change, and it beca clear: this wasn’t about survival.
Gregor’s hand slid up her thigh, and she didn’t stop him. She just let it happen.
Dima spread his sleeping mat to cover the dirt, then dropped his jacket and crouched beside her, fingers deftly unbuttoning her shirt.
The twins flanked her, leaning in as if to block the wind, but their eyes stayed locked on her lips, her neck, her slow, careful breaths.
Luck thought about turning the cara off—give them privacy, let them have whatever comfort they could find.
But sothing compelled him to keep watching.
Maybe it was curiosity. Or maybe he just wanted to make sure she was okay—because, honestly, he was probably the most decent man left in this place.
She leaned back, arching her neck as Dima’s hands moved under her pants.
One twin nuzzled her hair while the other whispered, close enough his stubbled jaws grazed her skin.
She let out a sharp, an laugh, then wrapped an arm around Gregor’s waist and pulled him closer.
’So this is what people beco when there are no more rules and no one left to enforce them.’
Not monsters—just hungry, bored, desperate to scrape the last dregs of pleasure out of life before it curdles.
Yuna went all the way to the ground, knees on the mat, elbows braced, head turned so her cheek pressed into the rough wool while Dima lick her sweaty slit.
She began to move her hips slowly, enjoying the sensation.
Fernando tried to play the mature one, keeping his distance. But when she gestured for him to join, his control slipped. She wanted four—nothing less would satisfy her.
He dropped beside her, fumbled out his manhood, and pushed it at her mouth.
She took him, lips tight, eyes unblinking. She gagged once, but didn’t break the stare like an expert.
’It’s getting too wild... Should I close the laptop?’
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