Lexicon: II

Teni v Berlin

Location: Berlin, Germany – Abandoned city streets

The air was thick with decay. Kitagawa Hayashi—Haya to those who knew her well—moved through the shadows, her footsteps soundless against the cracked pavement. The sky above was a flat, unending gray, casting the city in an eerie twilight that seemed frozen in time. Silence stretched around her, punctuated only by the distant groans of the undead and the occasional shuffling of something dragging itself through the rubble.

Haya's hand tightened around the hilt of her katana, her grip steady, the familiar weight grounding her. In her other hand, she held a Colt M1911, the metal cold against her skin. Every nerve was alert, every muscle coiled, ready to strike.

She slipped between the skeletons of abandoned cars, her eyes scanning for any movement. Zombies were everywhere in Berlin, some wandering aimlessly, others lying in grotesque piles where they'd fallen. Overhead, crows cawed, feasting on the corpses that littered the streets. She forced herself to ignore the smell, focusing on the task at hand.

It was a supply run—simple, quick. She just needed to get in and out, grab enough food and essentials to last her and Mika another week. Yet even the simplest tasks had become a deadly gamble in this world.

As she passed a shattered storefront, she caught a flicker of movement in the reflection. She froze, muscles tensed, her eyes narrowing. Slowly, she turned, her gaze locking onto the figure of a zombie—a Runner. It hadn't noticed her yet, its head twitching, movements jerky as it sniffed the air.

Haya took a silent breath, slipping her katana from its sheath. In one fluid motion, she was on it, her blade slicing clean through its neck. The Runner's head rolled away, eyes still wide with vacant hunger, before its body slumped to the ground with a heavy thud.

Wiping the blade on her sleeve, she pressed on, slipping into a small grocery store half-buried in debris. Inside, the air was stale and filled with dust, shelves toppled and aisles strewn with broken glass. Haya moved quickly, grabbing canned food, water bottles, anything that would last.

As she reached for a box of instant noodles, a faint noise caught her attention—a low, distant wail that sent a chill down her spine. She knew that sound all too well.

A Screamer.

Haya's heart pounded as she dropped into a crouch, gripping her pistol. The Screamer's cries were dangerous, drawing other zombies like moths to a flame. She'd learned that the hard way, watching helplessly as her neighbors were overrun after a Screamer alerted an entire horde.

The wail grew louder, echoing off the walls and amplifying her unease. She held her breath, ears straining to catch any sign of movement. She only had a few seconds to decide. If the Screamer saw her, it was game over.

Moving quickly but quietly, she ducked behind a checkout counter, peeking through a crack in the display. The Screamer was close now, its hollow eyes scanning the store, its mouth twisted open in a horrific, soundless scream. Its head jerked back and forth, the tendons straining, teeth bared as it searched for any hint of life.

In one swift movement, Haya raised her pistol, her finger steady on the trigger. She fired a single shot, the suppressed sound barely a whisper. The bullet struck the Screamer's temple, and it collapsed instantly, its cry dying on its lips. Haya exhaled, her heartbeat slowing as the store fell silent once more.

But the danger wasn't over. Outside, shadows began to move—drawn by the Screamer's last call. Runners, shuffling figures, and Crawlers emerged from the edges of the street, their heads turning toward the store as if sensing her presence. Haya clenched her jaw. She had to move fast.