I moved through the service corridors, effectively orbiting the second floor by way of the cramped tunnels, mall layout burned into my mind from my time working with the construction crew. I knew this place better than my own skin, so I knew exactly where I was heading.

  First things first—I needed to arm myself. The mall had no gun shops, and the souvenir stands' "mall katanas" weren't worth the rust they were coated in. But there was one place that had what I needed.

  Hardhat's Hardware Store.

  As soon as I got to the metal door of the back entrance, I pushed my ear against the cold painted iron and listened. No noise. Grabbing the handle and pressing my shoulder against the door, I pushed until the lock snapped with a dulled krump and I went stock still, waiting for any sound of motion or insect chirping.

  Still nothing. All clear.

  With a sigh of relief, I pushed the door open and made my way into the store proper.

  Unlike most of the Mall's stores, Hardhat's Hardware didn’t flaunt its wares behind walls of glass. Instead, it had two towering plywood barriers, patched and weathered, plastered with a haphazard collection of sale signs and faded posters. The entrance was a simple double glass door—one side cracked but still holding, like the rest of this place, barely hanging on.

  I stood there for a moment, listening. The silence stretched on, deeper than it had any right to be. The store seemed empty, but I wasn’t foolish enough to trust it completely.

  From what I’d seen, the rotbloods were never truly still. Even when they were dormant, they made a soft, almost imperceptible chittering noise, like the sound of insects crawling beneath the floorboards. But there was nothing here. No telltale clicks or whispers of movement.

  I was starting to think I might actually be alone. For now.

  No point in worrying about what might be lurking in the shadows. That was a problem to be dealt with when faced. Right now, it was time to shop.

  I moved through the aisles, my eyes scanning the shelves with purpose. The wall-bore machines, compact pick hammers, and nail guns were all tempting in their own way, but I ignored anything that relied on electricity, gasoline, or an external compressor. Anything like that was liable to be loud and a liability. Plus, lugging around external batteries or canisters of gasoline was not something I intended to do. At least, not until I secured a proper ride for myself. Maybe a truck. Or a bulldozer.

  I paused in front of the chainsaw display for a moment, images of tearing through a swarm of rotbloods dancing in my head, the roar of the engine blending with some hard techno and metal. A zombie apocalypse would be the perfect opportunity to rip and tear. But I shook my head and moved on, chuckling under my breath.

  Vampire or no, I was still a guy, tempted by the rule of cool. But still grounded enough to know that it was the kind of stuff that only worked in games and movies.

  I needed something simpler. Something that didn’t run on fuel or batteries, something that didn’t rely on anything but my own hands. Something… more analog.

  As I rounded the corner of the next aisle, I froze mid-step, mid-thought. It wasn’t what I’d set out to find, but it was exactly what I needed.

  Hardhat's Hardware wasn’t the kind of place that specialized in anything particular. It didn’t boast the polish of a boutique or the refined air of a niche store. No, this was the kind of shop that stocked whatever it could sell—mostly construction equipment, but also random odds and ends: cheap toasters, blenders, knock-off coffee machines, and the occasional camping gear. Whatever moved.

  And right there, stacked between the flimsy kitchen gadgets, was a treasure trove. An entire section devoted entirely to hunting and outdoor gear.

  No guns, Hardhat’s didn’t have the licence to sell them, but clothes , tents, machetes and everything in between. And not the off-brand crap either. This was proper equipment, for seasoned hunters, fishermen and the like. Durable stuff.

  "Finally, some damn luck," I muttered to myself, eyeing the pile of torn and shredded clothes that hung in tatters on my body, like a badly pitched and torn open tent. I tugged the rags off, fingers moving quickly, eager to replace the mess I’d been wearing with something more practical. Something that would last.

  Reaching out, I touched the fabric and smiled. It wasn’t just thin textile painted in camo, like those cheap cargo pants you’d find in tween boutiques. This was the real deal.

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  Hard, coarse linen reinforced with myriad other fibers I was nowhere near smart enough to know. Tough and durable, and that was all I needed it to be.

  In stark contradiction with the cheap electronics that shared this aisle, the gear was high-quality, proper stuff. Premium even, if the price tags were anything to go by. Good thing everything had just become the “finders keepers”-kind of free.

  Within ten minutes, I was outfitted and ready. A base layer of a long-sleeved, flexible undershirt clung to my skin, thick enough to protect, light enough to move in. Trekking pants that were loose but durable, made for long, grueling trips, and over it all, I’d donned a reinforced hunting jacket—one of those bulky, pocket-heavy ones, laced with tough mesh and solid panels. It even had a detachable hood, and every seam screamed durability.

  Windproof, waterproof—though honestly, I didn’t need any of that anymore. Exposure? Cold? The concept was foreign to me now. I could probably scale Everest naked and wouldn’t feel a thing.

  Still, it was good to have gear that could stand up to the world. It would hold. It would last. And that was all that mattered.

  Over in the construction aisle, I’d picked out a perfect pair of steel-toed boots—solid, heavy-duty, and a set of work gloves, the new kind with carbon-fiber meshing. Supposedly tough enough to stop a circular saw mid-cut. I wasn’t in any hurry to test that claim, but they’d make punching through a monster’s skull a lot less of a hassle, so I wasn’t complaining.

  A wide field belt cinched my pants in place, its many compact satchels now holding a hodgepodge of essentials: fire-starting kits, all-purpose knives, multi-tools— everything I might need. The "better safe than sorry" principle was in full effect here. I didn’t know how much of it I’d use, but if shit hit the fan, I wasn’t going to be the guy caught without a backup.

  The weapon selection was none too shabby either.

  Machetes. The new-fangled "ergonomic" designs with a slight outward curve to both handle and blade, making every swing naturally flow into a draw-cut. Long as my forearm and as thick as a man’s wrist, they were built for cutting through anything, rotblood or otherwise.

  I hoisted the hunting rucksack onto my back, packed with three sets of identical clothing, two spare bowie knives, and a backup machete. The weight settled onto me—solid, but not uncomfortable. For all the mass packed inside, the backpack was equally of the modern generation, complete with all the marketing lingo of “improved lumbar support” and all that. Maybe it wasn’t all smoke and mirrors, it was damn comfortable.

  All told, I figured I was carrying about 15 kilos of gear—around 34 pounds. But it felt like nothing. The straps didn’t dig into my shoulders, and my arms swung free. I was light, mobile, ready.

  “Right, one last piece of gear” I muttered to myself. The bowie knives would be useful, no doubt about it. The machetes, even more so. But something heavier would be even better. Especially against Orcs. I needed a main weapon, something durable and top-heavy to take full advantage of my improved strength and limitless stamina.

  And the lumberwork aisle would have exactly what I needed.

  Sledge ax. Splitting maul. Hamaxe. Name it whatever you like, it is a perfect melee weapon for a zombie apocalypse. Nothing flashy, but damn does it get the job done.

  38 inches long from pommel to top, with fifteen-pounder, high-carbon steel heads that were a combination of ax and sledge hammer, carbon fiber hafts, and thick, concave blades, they were perfect. Top-heavy. Solid. Made specifically for long-term use with as little wear and tear as possible.

  I pulled one off its bearings and latched it onto the rucksack straps, balancing a second one in my hands. Having back-ups was good. And weighty though it was, I could probably one-hand it with ease.

  Finally, now I was ready. I could start working towards getting some Aether Stones, maybe even buying a Class like Puck had advised…

  *BOOM!* *Crash!* “Aaaaahh….”

  The gunshot, it’s sudden loudness in such contrast with the eerie silence of the Mall it may as well have been a volcanic eruption, followed by the unmistakable sound of an aggravatingly familiar, squeaky scream, froze me in my step, eyes still locked on the splitting maul I’d just acquired for myself.

  “No. You can’t be serious” I hissed, sheer disbelief keeping me locked into place. She CANNOT have been this stupid. She was supposed to be the smart one.

  *BOOM!* “Help!!!” another gunshot, followed by the voice of a panicked Mina Miller, screaming her pigtailed little head off, echoing from the maintenance corridors.