The World Is Mine For The Taking

"Phew, that was close, wasn't it?" the tattooed man said nonchalantly, his tone suggesting he saw nothing extraordinary about what had just happened.

The military man, finally breaking free from his shock, marched over and seized the tattooed man by the collar. With a powerful shove, he slammed him against the wall, the impact echoing through the room.

"Why the fuck did you do that?!" he demanded, his voice a low growl of fury.

"Come on, now. I saved our asses, didn't I? So why the hell are you so pissed instead of showing some fucking gratitude?" the tattooed man retorted with a smug grin. His expression made it clear he had absolutely no remorse for his reckless actions.

"You just fucking killed him, you bastard," the military man growled, pressing his face so close that their noses were almost touching. "You destroyed the hope of a man who just wanted to survive! You killed him!"

"I did no such thing," the tattooed man replied coolly. "He died at the hands of zombies. I didn't spill a single drop of his blood. How can you blame me for his death?"

"You kicked him toward the horde! If you hadn't done that, he might still be alive!" the military man shot back, his anger boiling over.

"If I hadn't kicked him, it would've been too late to close the door," the tattooed man countered, his tone unwavering. "If I hadn't done it, those zombies wouldn't have stopped at the stairs; they'd have come straight to this rooftop. Do you really think we would've survived if I hadn't acted? There's no way in hell."

He was right, even if his actions were unforgivable. If he hadn't kicked the terrified man into the horde, the zombies would've been right on top of us, and we'd never have had a chance to close the door. Without his brutal decision, it would've been a dead end for us, and the infected would've swarmed the rooftop.

The military man understood that now, but he couldn't bring himself to forgive the tattooed man for what he'd done.

"I would never sacrifice a comrade just to save my own ass," he said through gritted teeth, his voice tight with anger.

"We're not comrades. Can you ditch your military mindset for a second? Do you honestly believe that teamwork and camaraderie mean a damn in this fucking hellhole of a world? You might be older, but you're still too naive to see that."

The military man's face darkened with barely contained fury. He lowered his head, his jaw clenched tightly, then drew back his powerful arm and swung his fist toward the tattooed man. The tattooed man didn't even blink as the massive fist hurtled toward him. Instead of landing a hit, the fist smashed into the wall beside his head with a bone-jarring thud.

The impact left a spiderweb of cracks in the wall. Only then did the military man finally ease his grip on the tattooed man's collar.

"There's only a few minutes left before 10 P.M.," the tattooed man said, his voice cutting through the tension with grim urgency. "We need to stay sharp for those giant bats. Use the flare gun when the time comes so the rescuers can spot us at the last moment. We don't want to attract those fucking giant bats."

He jabbed a finger toward the flare gun resting on the ground, its metal catching the last glimmers of fading light.

Just then, the sound of helicopter rotors began to slice through the night, their relentless whirring growing louder and more insistent, vibrating through the air like a pulse.

"Here it is!" the tattooed man shouted, excitement in his voice as he pointed to the distant helicopter slowly descending.

"Point it upward and shoot!" the military man commanded, his voice urgent. Find unique content at m-vl-em-py-r

I followed his instructions, aiming the flare gun skyward and pulling the trigger. The flare shot into the night, a brilliant streak of light cutting through the darkness, as if tearing a hole in the inky blackness.

"I think they saw it," the tattooed man said. "Fuck, after three long months, I'm finally getting the fuck out of this hellhole."

I was honestly relieved myself. For the first time in what felt like ages, I felt my knees nearly buckle from the weight of the relief. The sound of the helicopter's rotors was deafening now that it was so close. The air around us felt heavy, almost suffocating, from the churning of the helicopter's blades. A figure, clearly one of the rescuers, leaned out and shouted down at us.

"There are three of you?!" he yelled over the roar. "Oh no, that's a problem! We only have room for one more person!"

"What?!" the military man shouted back, his voice a mix of anger and disbelief. "You're telling me that only one of us can get on that fucking helicopter?!"

"It's unfortunate, but yes, only one of you can board!" the rescuer's voice cut through the chaotic whirring of the helicopter blades, a harsh reality against the backdrop of desperation. "We've been picking up survivors all along the way. If you don't make a decision on who gets on, we're fucking leaving without you."

The military man's eyes locked onto me.

"Fine then. At least you can go," he said. "One of us is getting on this helicopter, and it looks like it's going to be you."

"Get moving then, or we'll attract the bats!" the rescuer urged, urgency lacing his tone.

I stared at the man. "Are you absolutely sure about this?" I asked. "There's a real chance you might not escape, especially since the only other route is through that door, which is packed with zombies. Do you really want me to be the one to go up there?"

He hesitated, his gaze dropping as he fumbled in his pocket. Slowly, he pulled out a golden chain. When he opened his hand, a small locket lay nestled in his palm. He opened the locket and stared at the contents for a long moment, his expression haunted. Then, he continued, his voice thick with emotion, "...I can't bear the thought of watching someone who reminds me of my daughter die.

I don't want to relive the moment I lost her. I might not have been able to save her, but if I can save someone who looks like her, it might make things a little better."

I honestly didn't know how to respond. The words felt stuck in my throat. My own fractured relationship with my father had left me with no positive memories of father figures, and I struggled to connect with them. Yet, his pain was palpable, and though I couldn't fully empathize, his intentions were clear.

"You might not have been able to save your daughter, but you've saved me," I said, my voice steady but soft. "That alone shows that you're a great father." I attempted to muster a smile, but it came out as a strained attempt, my lips struggling to curve upwards.

The military man stared at me, his eyes widening in shock. Then, his expression softened, and a genuine smile spread across his face. "Thank you for saying that," he said, his voice carrying a note of heartfelt relief.

I glanced up, realizing that I was now the only one left to make it out. I was about to climb the rope ladder that had been dropped by the helicopter when a guttural groan pierced the air behind me.

"Do you really think I'm going to stand by and let my chance to escape this shithole slip away just because she looks like your daughter? Fat fucking chance!"

I spun around, my heart pounding, to see the tattooed man, his face twisted in a sneer, driving a knife deep into the military man's back. The blade sank with a sickening squelch.

"Nngggh?! You...!" the military man gasped, his voice choked with pain and shock.

"Shush! Let the virus work its way through your body. The blade I just shoved into your back is the same one I used on those infected. You know what that means, right? It means the virus is now coursing through your veins," the tattooed man said, his grin stretching wider with malevolent glee.

"Go up, now!" the military man shouted at me, his voice hoarse with desperation.

"Oh no, you don't!"

The tattooed man yanked the blade out of the military man's back with a sickening squelch and swung it at me. I barely dodged the initial strike, but he swiftly redirected his attack, the edge of the blade slicing through my arm. The sharp sting of pain flared as blood oozed from the small cut, trickling down my skin.

"Got ya!" the tattooed man jeered, his voice dripping with malice. "Now both of you are definitely dead."

As I staggered, still stunned from the cut, he shoved me roughly aside and scrambled onto the rope ladder. His movements were swift, almost triumphant.

"Now go up! I'm the one escaping from this shithole!" he taunted, his voice echoing with cruel satisfaction. The helicopter's blades roared to life, and it began to pivot away, the noise deafening as it ascended into the sky.

Meanwhile, I could feel the virus starting to course through me, a chilling, unsettling sensation spreading through my veins like icy tendrils.

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