PROJECT# NECRO

PROFESSIONALLY EVADING PAIN

The darkness settled in But Marco never did, While Donovan and Elona sat inside the dimly lit Waffle & Fries stand, Marco was in constant motion.

Checking doors. Checking windows. Reinforcing every weak point.

Looking beyond their shelter-scanning the food court, testing which gates and barriers still held.

Setting up makeshift alarms-trash cans against doors, silverware clinking against glass.

The food court was larger than just their stand.

There were other buildings-other kitchens, storage rooms, and small spaces that needed securing.

And Marco wasn't about to leave a single one unchecked.

Inside, Donovan sat slumped against the counter, his body heavy with exhaustion.

But he couldn't sleep.

Couldn't even close his eyes.

Because every time he did-he saw her.

His mother.

The last look she gave him.

💭 She knew she wasn't coming with us.

The way she smiled at him anyway.

💭 She lied so Elona wouldn't cry harder.

The way *Marco grabbed his arm and forced him to move before he could break down right there.

💭 We left her.

His throat tightened.

His hands clenched.

He wanted to scream.

Wanted to punch something-anything.

But he didn't.

Because just across from him-Elona sat curled up against the counter, watching him.

And she wouldn't stop talking.

Elona (quiet, hopeful): "When do you think Mommy's gonna get here?"

Donovan winced.

He didn't answer.

Elona (frowning): "Daddy didn't say she was staying. He just told us to keep moving. That means she's okay, right?"

Donovan's jaw clenched.

Elona: "Maybe she found another way out."

Elona (nodding to herself, convinced): "She's smart. She'll know where we are."

She was waiting. Watching. Expecting him to say something.

But he couldn't.

Because if he opened his mouth, he would break.

💭 She doesn't understand. She still thinks she's coming back.

Elona kept going.

Elona (insistent): "She's coming, Donny."

Donovan's breathing turned shallow.

His nails dug into his arms.

Elona (softer, pleading): "Right?"

Then-he snapped.

Donovan (loud, breaking): "SHE'S NOT COMING, ELONA!"

The words echoed in the quiet, bouncing off the tiled walls.

Elona flinched.

Her eyes went wide.

For the first time since they got here, she stopped talking.

Her lower lip trembled.

Her small hands gripped the bottom of her hoodie, pulling at the fabric.

Elona (soft, hurt): "...You don't know that."

Her voice cracked.

And just like that, she broke.

Elona (sobbing, burying her face in her knees): "I want Mommy."

Donovan felt it.

The guilt. The immediate regret.

💭 She's a kid. She's just a kid.

💭 She doesn't understand. She just lost her mother, too.

And that's when it hit him.

It wasn't just his pain.

It wasn't just his loss.

💭 She lost her, too.

She lost her mother.

And she still thought she was coming back.

That belief was the only thing keeping her together.

And he had just shattered it.

Donovan swallowed hard.

His own pain was still there, heavy, raw, unforgiving.

But for the first time, he shoved it aside.

He opened his arms.

Donovan (quiet, softer now): "Come here."

Elona didn't move at first.

Then, slowly-she crawled over to him, curling into his chest.

He wrapped his arms around her, pulling her in tight.

She was so small. So fragile.

He held her as she sobbed.

Donovan (whispering, running a hand over her braids): "I got you."

Donovan: "I won't let anything happen to you."

She didn't answer.

Just held onto him.

And eventually, her breathing slowed.

She fell asleep in his arms.

And for the first time since this nightmare started-Donavan didn't feel alone.

The air inside the Waffle & Fries stand was thick with the scent of old fryer grease and exhaustion.

But Marco didn't stop.

Couldn't stop.

His mind was running through every possible weak point, every risk, every vulnerability.

💭 If I can't control what's out there, I can damn sure control what's in here.

The front entrance was the most obvious weak point.

Glass doors. Wide and fragile. Not good.

A metal security gate. Good-if it locked properly.

Marco yanked it down, testing the lock mechanism.

It stuttered, groaning as it slid into place.

Marco (muttering): "Not secure enough."

He scanned the inside of the shop, looking for reinforcement materials.

💭 The stools.

He grabbed three metal stools from the counter, stacking them against the security gate.

Then, he tore napkin dispensers from the tables, jamming them into the gaps.

💭 Won't hold forever, but it'll slow them down.

Marco moved to the back of the store.

One back door, leading to the rear service corridor.

A supply closet with an overhead vent.

A large service window meant for food pickups.

Back Door:

Locked. Deadbolted.

Pushed an industrial fryer in front of it.

Supply Closet Vent:

Too small for a grown man-but not for something desperate.

Shoved a rolling trash bin under it. Taped the vent cover down with packing tape from a supply drawer.

Service Window:

Too large to leave exposed.

Marco flipped one of the heavy-duty tables onto its side, bracing it against the window.

Jammed silverware trays and condiment holders into the gaps to stabilize it.

💭 Not perfect. But better than nothing.

A barricade was only as good as its warning system.

If something got inside, Marco needed to know.

So he set traps.

Silverware balanced on ledges near doors-if anything moved them, they'd fall with noise.

Empty soda cans lined near the service counter-kick them, and they rattle.

A string of paper towels tied between the stools at the entrance-if something pushed past, they'd rip loudly.

Not foolproof. But enough.

Marco (gritting his teeth, satisfied): "That'll do."

The Waffle & Fries stand was secure-for now.

But this wasn't just about their building.

💭 If the food court isn't safe, nowhere is.

Marco moved out cautiously, keeping his gun raised, finger resting near the trigger.

Checked the nearby restaurants.

Tested the doors-some locked, some broken.

Peered inside-dark, silent, untouched.

Most were abandoned.

But one?

One wasn't empty.

Marco stepped toward a small coffee stand near the center of the food court.

💭 Doors open. Not a good sign.

He kept his steps light. Silent.

Peered inside.

At first? Nothing.

Then-a shape in the shadows.

Sitting behind the counter.

Slumped forward, head down.

Breathing... slow. Too slow.

Marco's grip on his gun tightened.

💭 Dead or turning?

He took a careful step closer.

The figure shifted.

Marco immediately backed up, gun raised.

Then-it stopped moving.

Completely.

Not breathing.

Not alive.

💭 Just a body.

Marco exhaled through his nose, stepping back.

He quietly shut the door behind him.

💭 One less thing to worry about tonight.

When Marco returned to the Waffle & Fries stand, everything was quiet.

Too quiet.

💭 That's never good.

Then, he heard it.

Soft sniffling. A whispered voice.

He stepped further inside-and saw them.

The world outside was still burning.

The Deadheads still wandered in the distance.

Survivors were still screaming in the far-off corners of the park.

But here, in the small, dimly lit food stand, there was a moment of stillness.

Not peace. Never peace.

But just-stillness.

Marco stood near the window, gun in hand, eyes scanning the darkness.

And somewhere, deep in his own exhausted mind, he allowed himself one final thought.

💭 She would have wanted me to keep them safe.

💭 And that's what I'll do.

The Waffle & Fries stand felt small compared to the weight sitting on Marco's chest.

But he refused to let it crush him.

So, he didn't sit.

Didn't pause.

Didn't stop.

💭 Because stopping means thinking.

And thinking means remembering.

The first time he let himself sit, it was on the counter near the register.

His hands were shaking.

His breath caught in his throat.

The silence was too loud.

💭 She's gone. I left her. I left her.

His chest tightened.

His vision blurred.

💭 I should have carried her. I should have found a way-

Then-his body curled forward, and the tears came.

He gritted his teeth, shaking, fists clenched.

Then-he stood.

💭 No. No crying. Get to work.

💭 Secure what we have. Stockpile. Plan ahead.

The walk-in freezer was a lifeline.

It could be a food storage unit, a fallback shelter, a hiding place.

So Marco spent the next two hours filling it.

Every slab of frozen meat from every abandoned restaurant? Dragged inside.

Every box of fries, waffles, nuggets? Stored neatly against the walls.

Bottled drinks and anything that wouldn't expire too soon? Piled into crates.

By the time he stepped back, the freezer looked less like a freezer and more like a survival bunker.

💭 It's something. It's a start.

💭 Food is good. But food won't stop what's out there.

He moved through the empty food court, searching for weapons.

The supply closets had nothing useful.

The tool carts had a few screwdrivers, but nothing strong enough.

Then-the kitchens.

Marco stepped into a dark, abandoned pizza stand.

His eyes scanned the area.

💭 Knives. Brooms. Anything.

What he found:

Two oversized kitchen knives-sharp, well-balanced. Good for close combat.

A fire axe from an emergency station-heavy, but powerful.

A long broomstick-snapped it in half, creating a crude spear.

💭 Not great. But it'll do.

He returned to the Waffle & Fries stand, arms full of supplies.

He placed the knives on the counter. The broomstick near the door. The axe next to his sleeping children.

Then, for the first time in hours-he sat down again.

And the moment he did-it hit him.

The silence collapsed on top of him.

The memory of her voice.

The final look in her eyes.

💭 She's not here. She's never coming back.

His chest heaved.

Tears slipped past his clenched jaw.

For just a second-he let himself break.

Then-a noise outside.

A shuffling sound.

A low grunt.

Marco's head snapped up, body tensing.

💭 Deadhead? No. Too slow. Too steady.

A shadow moved beyond the service window.

Then-a voice.

Unknown Man (weak, exhausted): "Hey... anyone in there?"

Marco stood slowly.

Gun in hand, but held low.

Body tense, but not attacking.

Eyes sharp, scanning the figure.

The man was older. Maybe late 50s.

Gray beard, face worn from time.

Torn jacket, dirt on his hands.

No weapon. No immediate threat.

But that didn't mean he was safe.

Unknown Man (raising hands, cautious): "I'm not looking for trouble. Just... saw the place. Looks secure. Figured I'd try my luck."

Marco didn't answer right away.

His mind raced.

💭 Do I let him in? Do I turn him away?

Then-the man swayed.

His knees buckled slightly.

💭 He's weak. Dehydrated. Probably hasn't eaten in a while.

Unknown Man (hoarse, barely standing): "Just need a place to sit. Catch my breath."

Marco's finger twitched near the trigger.

💭 He's alone. But for how long?

💭 Is this a setup? A trap?

Then, from behind him-Donovan stirred.

Donovan (sleepy, voice rough): "Dad...? Who's out there?"

Marco didn't look away from the man.

Marco (firm, unreadable): "Haven't decided yet."

The older man let out a breath.

Unknown Man: "...Fair enough."

Elona stood alone in the abyss.

The air crackled with heat.

A blood-red sky stretched endlessly above her, filled with screaming faces-souls writhing in agony.

Below her feet, the ground was scorched black, littered with the remnants of a once-living world.

Buildings crumbled into flames, bodies moved in the shadows, and the sounds of tearing flesh filled the air.

💭 Where am I?

She turned.

Then-she saw them.

People.

Ripping each other apart.

Clawing. Gnawing.

Flesh peeling, teeth sinking.

Shrieks of hunger, screams of agony.

The world had become a place of madness.

And all Elona could do was watch.

Her feet wouldn't move.

Her voice wouldn't rise.

She tried to scream, tried to call out, but it was like something had stolen her breath.

💭 Please... someone...

The chaos closed in.

Figures turned their heads, soulless eyes fixating on her.

She was next.

She was going to be torn apart like the rest.

Then-

She found her voice.

Elona (screaming, desperate): "MOMMY!"

A sudden gust of wind tore through the air.

The sky rippled, lightning cracked overhead, and a wave of power surged through the landscape.

Then-a golden light exploded from the darkness.

The creatures staggered back, screeching, shielding themselves.

And from that blinding light, she emerged.

Aneesa.

She moved like a storm, her body radiant with an otherworldly glow.

Her eyes burned with power.

In her hands-a long silver spear, crackling with raw energy.

Aneesa (fierce, powerful): "NOT MY DAUGHTER."

Then-she attacked.

Aneesa moved like a force of nature.

Her spear slashed through the darkness, severing creatures with every strike.

Flames burned where her feet touched the ground, purifying the tainted earth.

Her movements were fluid, precise-like a warrior dancing through destruction.

Every time a creature tried to lunge for Elona, Aneesa was faster.

Every time the darkness tried to consume her, Aneesa pushed it back.

And when the last monster fell, the hellscape stilled.

For the first time since she arrived-Elona could breathe.

Aneesa turned to her daughter, lowering her spear.

Her face softened.

She knelt before Elona, reaching out to tuck a loose curl behind her ear.

Aneesa (gentle, loving): "You have this power too, baby."

Elona blinked, her heart racing.

Elona (whispering): "What?"

Aneesa (nodding): "You and Donovan. This is in your blood. In your spirit."

She reached for Elona's necklace, running her fingers over the charm.

Aneesa: "This is important, Elona. This protects you."

She held it up to the dim, flickering sky.

Aneesa: "Never take it off. Never let it out of your sight."

Elona swallowed, gripping it tight.

Elona: "I don't understand."

Aneesa smiled softly.

Then-she wrapped Elona in her arms.

The warmth of the embrace was overwhelming.

Stronger than anything she had ever felt.

It filled her, surrounded her-like being wrapped in a shield of love and light.

The pain disappeared.

The fear faded.

Nothing could hurt her here.

Not while her mother held her.

Aneesa (whispering): "Be strong. Never give up."

Elona closed her eyes.

And then-she woke up.

Elona's eyes snapped open.

Her breath hitched. Her chest felt tight.

And the warmth?

The safety?

Gone.

Instead-she felt her brother's arms around her.

She blinked, looking up.

Donovan was holding her. Protecting her.

But something was wrong.

Their father's tense voice cut through the air.

Marco (low, urgent): "Stay low."

Elona shifted, confused, still shaking off the dream.

She followed Donovan's gaze toward the diner window.

And there-her father was standing outside.

Waving them down.

Telling them to stay quiet.

To hide.

💭 What's happening?

She didn't know.

But something inside her had changed.

The dream had been more than just a dream.

It had been a warning. A lesson. A gift.

And now, she had to be strong.

Like her mother told her.

Like her mother showed her.

The night air was thick, humid, and deadly silent.

Except for the voice outside the barricade.

Devin (low, urgent): "Hey! Anybody in there?"

Marco's hand was already on his gun.

💭 Damn it.

He had spent all night securing the area, and now someone was talking like it was a Sunday morning barbecue.

His eyes narrowed through the barricade gaps.

The man was older, maybe late 50s.

Gray beard, lined face.

Worn-out clothes, a tattered jacket.

No visible weapon.

But Marco didn't trust what he couldn't see.

Marco (harsh, voice low but firm): "Back away from my barricade."

Devin held up his hands slowly, showing he had nothing.

Devin (calm, whispering now): "Relax, big guy. Just saw your setup. Looks solid. Figured I'd-"

Marco (sharply): "You figured wrong."

Devin's lips pressed together. He exhaled through his nose.

Then, he took one careful step back.

Devin: "Look, I get it. You don't trust me. Smart. But maybe don't yell? The dead like noise."

Marco's jaw flexed.

His finger hovered over the trigger.

💭 Damn. He's right.

Marco didn't speak for a long moment.

Instead, he just stared.

Studied him.

Devin stood still, hands still raised.

Not defensive.

Not desperate.

Just waiting.

Then, finally-Devin spoke again.

Devin (calmly): "Look, I'm tired. I've been walking for miles. I just wanna talk. Inside your barricade, preferably."

💭 Inside my barricade?

Marco's grip on his gun tightened.

His mind ran through every possible scenario.

💭 What if he's a scout for a bigger group?

💭 What if he's just waiting for me to open the gate?

💭 What if he's really just an old guy who needs help?

He took his time.

Didn't rush the decision.

Didn't let pity or paranoia push him too fast.

Then-

A smaller voice cut through the silence.

From inside the Waffle & Fries stand, Donovan and Elona were wide awake.

They had heard everything.

Donovan kept his head down, listening carefully.

But Elona?

Elona had other plans.

💭 Mom said I have to be strong.

💭 Mom said we have power.

Before Donovan could grab her, she popped her head up over the counter.

And, with pure confidence, she answered for her father.

Elona (boldly, loud enough for both men to hear): "Yes."

Both Marco and Devin snapped their heads toward her.

For the first time since meeting him, Devin looked surprised.

And Marco?

Marco looked furious.

His daughter had just made the decision for him.

His teeth clenched. His breath came out sharp.

Marco (gritted teeth, hissing): "Elona. Get. Down."

But Elona didn't flinch.

She just looked at Devin, studying him.

And for a moment, Devin studied her back.

Then-he smiled.

Not mocking.

Not sly.

Just... surprised.

And maybe even a little impressed.

Marco exhaled slowly.

💭 Damn it, girl.

His daughter had just forced his hand.

Now he had two choices.

1 Shut Devin out, make it clear they don't take strangers in.

2 Let him in-but on Marco's terms, under Marco's rules.

He didn't like either option.

But at this point, his decision had already been made for him.

💭 Fine. Let's see what this guy is about.

Marco (low, controlled, but final): "You take one wrong step inside my walls, and I put you down. You understand me?"

Devin nodded slowly.

Devin (calmly): "Crystal clear."

Marco unlocked the barricade-just enough for one man to enter.

And Devin stepped inside.