Breathe. Step. Breathe.
Ezra stood at the foot of the stairs, pipe clenched so tight his fingers ached.
The house creaked like it hated him.
Every step up sounded louder than a gunshot.
And the wet noise upstairs?
It stopped.
Like it heard him coming. Like it was waiting.
'Bad idea,' Ezra thought.
'Worst idea. I'm gonna die in my own house holding a rusty pipe like a damn idiot.'
He cursed under his breath and kept moving.
Creak. Creak. Creak.
At the top, a hallway stretched out…
Doors ripped off hinges.
Bloody handprints smeared along the walls.
The air smelled like iron and rot and something worse.
One door sat half-closed at the end.
The wet, slurping noises came from there.
Ezra swallowed hard, pipe raised.
He nudged the door open with the tip…
…and froze.
Inside the room, crouched over what used to be a person, was a zombie.
But not just any zombie.
Red hair.
White skin.
Curves he still remembered way too well.
The tattered remains of a nurse's uniform barely clung to her body.
She turned her head at the sound…
Eyes milky, mouth dripping blood…
And Ezra's whole chest caved inward.
Mikha.
Mikha Torres.
His childhood crush.
The girl from three houses down.
The girl who is always walking her dog past his house.
Ezra stumbled back a step.
"No," he breathed. "No, no, no, no…"
Mikha growled low in her throat.
She stood, a bite mark on her arm, and started toward him.
Ezra stumbled back, pipe shaking in his hands.
"Mikha?"
The name came out cracked, broken.
The thing in front of him cocked its head, confused.
For a half-second, he could almost believe she recognized him.
Then she screamed…
A raw, tearing sound that had nothing human left in it, and charged.
"Shit...!"
Ezra barely got the pipe up.
She slammed into him, teeth snapping inches from his face.
They crashed into the hallway wall.
Pain exploded down his side.
He shoved her off, pure panic, no technique, no plan.
She hit the ground hard but rolled right back up, too fast, too strong.
Another lunge.
He swung wild…
The pipe hit her shoulder with a sick crunch but she didn't even slow down.
"Come on, come on!"
Ezra dodged sideways.
Barely.
The world narrowed, blood pounding in his ears, air burning in his lungs.
He knew one thing,
He couldn't bash her head in.
He couldn't.
Not Mikha.
But if he didn't end it, she'd tear his damn throat out.
"Heart," he gasped. "Go for the heart."
He remembered what the System said, damage the heart, link establishes.
She charged again.
Ezra braced, let her come.
Then jammed the pipe forward.
Straight into her chest.
The force knocked her back two steps.
She staggered.
Blood ran down her chest.
She stared at him, eyes wide, lost
and crumpled.
---------
The prompt screen flashed in his vision.
[Primary Core Severed. Control Enable.]
[Initiating Control Link...]
[New Lazarus Acquired: B-Class Healer]
[Available Control Slots: 14/20]
Ezra dropped to his knees.
Breathing so hard it sounded like he was dying too.
The pipe clattered on the floor beside him.
"Mikha," he whispered.
He didn't know if he was apologizing.
Or just breaking a little more inside.
Across the room, Mikha's body twitched.
She wasn't dead.
Not anymore.
Ezra stared at the flickering screen in his vision.
A new nightmare, gift-wrapped just for him.
Ezra just sat there.
Still breathing like he'd run a marathon through hell.
He stares at Mikha's crumpled body.
And then…
the screen flickered again.
Right there in his own vision.
[Initiating Control Completed…]
Ezra blinked.
He wiped blood, off his face with the back of his hand.
"B-Class... Healer?"
His voice sounded small in the wrecked hallway.
He looked at Mikha.
Still twitching.
Ezra swallowed hard.
He had questions.
Way too many questions.
But breathing came first.
And getting the hell out of this house came second.
He staggered to his feet, pipe in hand.
"Mikha," he said again.
Just to say it.
Just to remind himself she was herself, a little.
Maybe.
He took one shaky step toward her,
When she moved.
Fast.
She shoved up onto her hands and knees like some puppet yanked by invisible strings.
Her head snapped toward him.
Those cloudy, broken eyes locked onto him like magnets.
Ezra flinched.
Almost swung the pipe again on instinct.
Almost.
But then…
Mikha crawled toward him.
Slow. Unsteady. Like a baby deer on ice.
And when she reached him, she didn't attack.
She knelt.
Bowed her head.
One bloody hand stretched out…
Not to kill.
To serve.
Ezra's gut twisted.
"This is so wrong," he whispered.
He tightened his grip on the pipe until his knuckles popped.
The System flickered again in the corner of his vision.
[Command: Rename New Lazarus? Y/N]
Ezra stared.
'Rename her? Like a pet? Like some broken tool?'
He glanced down at Mikha, 'Mikha, goddammit'
and felt something small and sharp twist deep in his chest.
"No," he muttered. "Not yet."
His thumb hovered over the mental command.
[N].
He wasn't ready for that.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
Ezra took a step back, and Mikha followed on hands and knees.
Silent. Patient.
Like she had nothing left but him.
He backed toward the stairs, heart hammering.
She followed.
Not fast.
Not dangerous.
Just... there.
Ezra didn't know if he should be grateful.
Or terrified.
Probably both.
Definitely both.
Mostly terrified.
Ezra dropped down by the closet, dragging the first-aid kit out like it weighed a ton.
Mikha plopped herself on the floor across from him, real quiet, real creepy, just staring like some broken doll waiting for instructions.
He muttered, "God, this is so stupid."
Flipped the kit open.
Mostly junk inside. Some old gauze, nasty-looking tape, a half-smashed tube of something that might've been antibiotic cream back in the year 90's era.
Good enough.
He glanced at Mikha.
She still wasn't moving.
Just sitting there, head tilted a little, bloody nurse uniform stuck to her skin.
"Alright, Mikha. Let's pretend this is normal."
He grabbed some gauze and started wiping her off.
It was gross.
Sticky, half-dried blood.
Torn-up skin.
But she didn't flinch.
Didn't blink.
Didn't even look at him.
Ezra worked faster, cursing under his breath the whole time.
Wrapped and taped the cuts.
Patted some cream onto a cut across her cheek, feeling like the biggest idiot on the planet.
"Congratulations," he said. "You survived the apocalypse. Here's some Watsons brand first aid."
Mikha didn't say a damn thing.
Ezra sat back, wiped his hands on his jeans, stared at her for a second.
Something about it kept bugging him.
''Wait a minute…"
Scratching at the back of his brain.
Then it hit him like a brick to the teeth.
"Healer."
"She's a healer, dumbass."
He snapped his fingers. "Wait. Wait. Wait."
He dug into his brain for how this whole system thing worked.
Commands, right?
"Uh... Mikha," he said, feeling like an idiot. "Heal yourself?"
At first?
Nothing.
He felt real dumb.
But then, her hands twitched.
Like a puppet getting its strings pulled.
Ezra leaned in, heart doing jumping jacks in his chest.
The air around her... shimmered. Barely. Like heat off asphalt.
Then, right in front of him, her wounds started closing.
Slow and gross and real.
The tape fell off.
The gauze slid down.
The cuts just... knit together, like watching time rewind.
Ezra sat there, jaw hanging open.
"Holy shit."
"Holy shit."
[Skill Used: Heal Wounds I.]
[Cost Applied: -10% Stability.]
[Current Stability: 55%.]
[Warning: Stability below 50% may result in erratic behavior.]
Ezra squinted at the message.
"What the hell does that mean?"
Mikha just sat there, breathing slow and weird, like she was half-sleeping.
He got it now.
She was hurt, and healing helped... but it also fried her brain a little more.
Made her less human. More... twitchy.
Ezra looked at her, uneasy.
"If you bite me," he muttered, "I'm throwing you out the damn window."
Mikha didn't react. Just kept breathing.
Ezra rubbed his face. "Awesome. I got a crazy nurse zombie. Living the dream."
He snapped the first-aid kit shut and shoved it aside.
Then sat there for a second longer.
Ezra stared at Mikha, her breathing ragged, her eyes blank.
'She must've been trying to get help, ran here when things went bad.'
He swallowed hard.
She hadn't made it.
Then he shoved himself up to his feet, pipe still clutched in one sweaty hand.
"Time to move. I need to find my family."