Mav stood on a rise overlooking Chapel Hill, her home. Smoke curled up from scattered fires across the city, a greasy haze hanging low over the streets. Cars littered the road ahead, all abandoned, all pointing away from downtown as if the entire city had tried to flee at once.

  At her feet lay a cracked tablet, its screen flickering weakly. She bent to pick it up. A grainy freeze-frame filled the display: a news logo she didn’t recognize, the frame paused mid-chaos. She tapped play.

  A shaky video sprang to life. The reporter’s voice was tight, his words rushed to beat the noise closing in, distant gunfire, screams threading through the din. “It is madness here in Chapel Hill, like all cities across the Northern Territories. We don’t have much information, but what we do know is this: the dead walk among us.”

  His face drained as he said it. The feed cut between D.C., Denver, L.A., and New York. Everywhere was the same: civilians running, some shooting back, their targets distorted shapes in the distance. Some lurched forward slowly. Others darted with predatory bursts of speed.

  In the New York segment, something lunged out of a dark doorway, a blur, smashing into the female reporter and driving her to the ground. The camera caught her scream before static swallowed the image.

  Mav blinked, and suddenly she was standing downtown, just in front of the reporter’s position. The tablet was gone. ‘Ok… that’s new.’ The lingering heat of her argument with Arthur eased a notch, her mind catching on the strange elegance of the transition.

  The reporter stopped and looked back over his shoulder in fear. The crowd running past had thinned out and she could see shambling forms stumbling out of the smoke, tripping over curbing and bumping into cars as they moved ever forward. He shook his head and looked into the drone camera hovering just in front of him, continuing to report the unfolding events.

  “The NTCDC and WHO have confirmed: the virus has reached pandemic levels, threatening the extinction of humankind. Origin theories vary, but the most credible points to an escaped biological warfare agent. The synthetic prion altered the human genome resulting in forms of what we are calling zombifacation. No one knows what triggered the synthprion to awaken the dead… but that doesn’t matter now. What matters is surviving the coming days and reclaiming the earth from the dead.”

  Gunfire cracked closer now. Smoke parted to reveal shambling silhouettes closing in from the far end of the street. Two large military trucks roared up behind her. Soldiers in full combat kit poured out, fanning into firing positions.

  “We will stay with you as long as we can,” the reporter was saying. “The NT Guard is here now and I know these brave men and women can stem the tide of the dead. For those in other territories around the continent we know you are all dealing with a different type of the dead. Some are fast, some slow, others mindless while a few are cunning hunters.

  We have received no information on how to tell the difference except for watching carefully. Being wary will keep you alive.” An older man stepped from the passenger side of the truck and spoke to Mavis.

  “Miss, this is about to become a killing field. Get in the back of the MTVR, we’ll move you to a safer zone. Are you with me?” He asked in a commanding voice pointing to the truck he’d just vacated.

  Mav gave a shaky nod and jogged to the MTVR. ‘Tutorial start,’ she guessed, climbing inside. ‘Once I’m out of here, I’ll message TzuLau and get some damn answers.’

  The officer swung the heavy door shut with a thunk. Through the narrow window, she watched him join his troops at the firing line. The reporter backed away, drone camera floating to track the chaos.

  Controlled bursts rang out, dropping bodies, but the gunfire only seemed to draw more from the smoke. In the far distance she could hear a strange whine and then the truck shook as two jets screamed overhead, each dropping a line of projectiles and then peeling off, their payloads tumbling earthward.

  Fireballs tore holes in the oncoming horde, shockwaves rocking the truck. But as the smoke cleared, more undead poured in from side streets and alleys, filling the gaps. At the line, the younger soldiers were shouting, one gesturing frantically toward the trucks. The older officer shook his head, laid a hand on the man’s shoulder, and then, with terrible calm, drew his sidearm. One shot and the young man fell. The others understood instantly.

  Ammo ran dry. Rifles were slung, pistols and knives drawn. The officer barked orders, squads falling back in twos and threes. Movement flashed past Mav’s window, two zombies slipping around the flank. The soldiers wheeled to intercept, but she could see it: they were surrounded.

  The officer’s hand went to his phone, his thumbs moving fast. He pocketed it, then locked eyes with her through the glass. Slowly, he made a get down gesture. She stayed upright, confused. He repeated it, then pointed up and mouthed a single word: “Bomb.”

  The whine came again, deafening now. The MTVR rocked as the jets screamed overhead. A second barrage fell, closer this time. She ducked too late. The world turned into concussive force and rolling blackness.

  A voice unfurled in her mind as vision seeped back:

  This is your world now, a world dominated by the dead.

  You have survived the first days. But what will you do?

  Will you fight for the living… or prey on them?

  Will you build, craft, invent… or wander alone, carving your own legend?

  Every choice echoes. Every action has consequence.

  In Umbra, those consequences can be quite… final.

  Best of luck, player.

  And never forget, this is just a game.

  Light returned. Mav lay on a cot in the middle of a dilapidated warehouse, sunlight slanting through high, broken windows. Her limbs felt heavy but whole. She flexed her hands, and HUD shimmered into view, semi-transparent against the dim warehouse interior, character sheet overlaying the screen.

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  Name - Mavitsune Injuries - None

  Level: 1 Disease - None

  Class: Unassigned

  Brawn: 316

  Fortitude: 447

  Intent: 267

  Grace: 603

  Quickness: 607

  Insight: 627

  Reason: 653

  Customize: 702

  Presence: 393

  Allure: 291

  Fortune: 716

  Pandemonium: 815

  Perks: None

  Skills: None

  Inventory:

  Equipped

  Black Shirt – Class D / Poor

  Black Pants – Class D / Poor

  Black Low Boots – Class C / Basic

  Black Composite Vest – Class C / Basic

  Combat Knife – Class D / Poor (Combat Knife Slot)

  Black Leather Gloves – Class C / Basic

  Black Composite Leg Guards – Class C / Basic

  Black Hoodie – Class C / Poor

  Black Tactical Web Belt – Class C / Basic – 8 Slot

  Pistol Holster – Class C / Basic (Empty)

  H&K VP19 9mm – Class D / Poor – Loaded (10 Rounds)

  H&K 9mm Clip – Class D / Poor – Loaded (10 Rounds)

  Black Leather Shoulder Bag – Class C / Basic – 20 Slot (+Hidden Pocket)

  2 Bandages – Class E / Sub Par

  2 Cans Soup – Class D / Ordinary – 1 Chili / 1 Chicken Noodle

  2 Water Bottles – Class D / Ordinary – 6 Servings Each / Full

  Hidden Pocket

  1 Card Wallet

  100 White / 10 Silver / 2 Gold

  Quests: None

  She scanned the glowing list, the corner of her mouth twitching upward despite the strange and unsettling setting. Fully geared, well-armed for a starter loadout, and miracle of miracles, no injuries or sickness.

  Beyond the dim light of the warehouse, a distant moan drifted through the broken windows, low and drawn-out. The air carried the faint tang of rust and decay.

  ‘Welcome to Umbra,’ she thought grimly. ‘Let’s see what you’ve really got for me.’

  Do you wish to set ‘abandoned warehouse’ as your respawn point?

  [Yes] [No]

  “Well, Arthur never mentioned this,” she muttered, “but sure… better to have a place to land if something happens.” She selected [Yes], then rose from the cot, the springs giving a faint metallic groan.

  The warehouse smelled of rust and mildew, a damp cold clinging to the air. Shafts of dusty light angled in through fractured panes high above, turning the motes into slow-moving constellations. She slung her bag over her shoulder, feeling the strap bite into her collarbone, and moved toward the faint outline of a door where light bled around the frame.

  The door was warped but not locked. Mav gave it a slow shove with her shoulder, hinges whining in protest, and stepped out into a harsh, washed out daylight.

  The outside world was nothing like Antumbra’s vibrant greens and golds, it was a stripped, exhausted landscape. Buildings in the distance sagged against the horizon, their windows dark and gaping. Cargo containers squatted in uneven rows before her, their paint flayed away by time. A white arrow was spray-painted on the nearest one, TOMSVILLE stenciled beside it.

  She squinted toward the curl of smoke rising beyond the buildings. ‘That’s probably the starting area…’

  The wind threaded through the containers, carrying the faint tang of burned oil. Somewhere ahead, a loose metal sheet banged, the sound sharp and sudden in the stillness. Mav flinched, heart rate spiking, and turned toward the noise. ‘This is so creepy…’ She shuddered, eyes darting around. Movement flickered behind a jagged hole in a rusting container wall, a flash of pale skin, then a thump.

  “Hey, are you okay?” she called, stepping closer. The answering sound was a wet, animal moan. Her fingers found the locking bar before her brain caught up. The door swung wide with a groan, shadows peeling back to reveal a twisted figure shuffling toward her. One eye milk white and leaking, jaw slumped sideways, leg dragging like dead weight. The stench hit a beat later, rot, copper, and something damply sweet.

  “Shit…!” She yelped, her brain screaming ‘zombie,’ but her hands were already too close. It lunged, fingers hooked into the strap of her bag, hauling itself forward. She shoved a boot against its sternum and yanked back hard, the strap snapping with a sharp twang.

  The sudden release dropped her to the dirt. She rolled, came up in a crouch, and bolted into the maze. Her boots pounded over gravel, lungs heaving. She zigzagged through container corridors, ears straining for pursuit, nothing.

  She slowed, walking backward to scan the path. Her forearm throbbed. She raised it, and froze. A long, open gash ran from her elbow to just shy of her wrist, blood welling in thick, bright pulses.

  “Shit. Artery.” Her voice sounded far away. The adrenaline drained her legs. She sank to her knees, pressing her free hand over the wound. Red mist gathered at the edges of her vision. A shuffle of feet. She looked up, too slow and the zombie was already there, shadow falling over her.

  It toppled onto her, pinning her flat. Teeth snapped inches from her face, the stench choking her breath. She braced an arm against its chest, muscles screaming. She could feel its hands pulling on her shoulder and hip like a lover trying to pull her close, ragged nails dragging fire over her skin.

  They held that macabre pose for a long second then; crack. Her push and its pull crushed brittle ribs, and her hand slid into something slick and yielding. Warm, fetid blood gushed down her arm.

  Her vision tunneled. Cold crept into her limbs. The teeth found her neck. Pain ripped through her, then again, and again, shoulder, throat until her scream fractured and the world blinked out.

  You Are Dead – Loading – Please Wait

  “You are safe now,” a stern, kind male voice murmured. “Please take three deep breaths.”

  She floated in the darkness, adrenaline still burning in her chest, but took the three breaths as requested. Calmness shimmered into her mind. The next prompt appeared.

  [Return to Camp] or [Logout]?

  ‘What the fuck was that?’ Mav thought, heart still hammering. The fear was already fading, Arthur had warned her the game dampened trauma responses. ‘Well… he was right. Only way to know is to feel it. Still… why the hell did I just jump in there? What was I thinking? I am a noob as Arthur called me. I didn’t use my gun, my knife or anything to defend myself. I don’t belong here, but now I’m stuck unless they can get me into another scenario, and how long did I last, ten minutes, what a fucktard.’ She furiously berated herself, trying to figure out what to do.

  She hesitated. Log out and ask for help, or push toward Tomsville, the tutorial area she assumed.

  ‘I hate asking for help… I’m here for therapy. And what better way to get my legs back than running from overly real zombies? It’s just a game, like they said.’ She set her jaw and mentally clicked [Return to Camp]