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Next update? Fuck this cultivation world
____
Chapter 10
Her son wasn't in his room.
Again…
She held back a worried sigh as she closed the door behind her and started looking for her son.
This has been happening more and more lately.
She checked the kitchen and the living room, but there was no sign of him.
Seeing this, she was left with one place to search.
She climbed the stairs carefully, the old tray balanced in her hands, each step creaking under her weight.
The cups clinked softly with each movement, the faint scent of cocoa drifting up into the air.
Her eyes flicked toward his room again, the door now closed, still empty.
Please be upstairs…
She turned down the hallway and stepped into the small storage room at the end.
The window was open again, and the cool morning breeze filtered in, tousling the curtains gently.
She set the tray down on a nearby shelf and moved closer to the window, her fingers brushing the frame as she peered outside.
There he was.
Her heart clenched with both relief and worry at once.
Her ten year old son sat near the edge of the roof, legs folded against his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them.
The rising sun painted the sky in streaks of gold and pale lavender, casting a warm glow across his small, trembling figure.
She could see the tension in his shoulders from here, the slight quiver of his frame against the chill.
And when he turned slightly, just enough for her to glimpse his face, her breath hitched.
Tears glistened in his eyes, silently slipping down his cheeks. His mouth was pressed into a thin line, his jaw clenched as if trying to hold himself together.
She gently knocked on the glass of the open window.
He flinched.
Then turned, startled, eyes wide, but he relaxed the moment he saw her.
She offered him a soft, tired smile, climbing carefully through the window and onto the sloped shingles with the tray in hand.
He didn't say a word.
She sat beside him slowly, placing the tray between them before picking up one of the mugs.
The steam curled upward in lazy spirals, the scent of chocolate and cinnamon wrapping around them.
She handed the cup to him, and he accepted it with shaking hands.
"Another nightmare?" she asked quietly.
He nodded, not looking at her.
"Was it the same one?" she continued, voice cautious.
He gave another nod.
Her heart cracked at the confirmation.
"The dead came back again?"
This time, he hesitated, but then he nodded a third time, slow, stiff, as if ashamed.
She scooted closer and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, pulling him gently against her side.
He didn't resist.
In fact, he melted into her like he'd been waiting for it all along. His cocoa remained untouched in his lap.
"It's alright," she whispered, pressing a kiss to his hair. "You're safe, I'm here."
He sniffled softly, burying his face against her arm, the silent tears continuing to fall.
"The dead don't come back, you know this." she murmured, getting a nod from her son.
"It's a bad dream, I know, but it's not real, sweetheart. I'm here, I've got you, and I'll never let you go." She softly hummed, hoping it was enough to calm her little boy down.
"…P-Promise?"
"Promise."
The two of them sat there in the quiet hush of morning, the sun slowly rising over the horizon.
The world was still and calm.
And she held him close, praying silently that one day, one day, those nightmares wouldn't haunt him anymore.
____
The air was thick with the stench of rot and old blood.
There were corpses littered everywhere, enough to make a small disgusting hill.
Most of the walkers were weeks, some even days old, their bodies bloated or torn, caked in dried gore and rot.
The street looked like something out of a nightmare, a war zone where the losing side had already been long forgotten and now only the clean up remained.
But Leo's community was undeterred.
His men, easily identifiable by their masks, worked with the people, dragging corpses, hoisting limp bodies into piles, or hauling them onto flatbed trucks that rumbled slowly down the street.
The rumble of engines mixed with the scrapping of metal and the soft squelch of decaying flesh being shifted from pavement to car.
It was grueling work, but none of them complained.
The neighborhood was being reclaimed, one blood-soaked street at a time.
Further down the block, construction crews were already making progress on a new stretch of wall and the digging of a moat.
Others were laying brick, their gloves streaked with mortar as they stacked and sealed the bricks together.
The goal was clear: expand the territory, fortify the perimeter, and convert dead neighborhoods into living land.
Inside the cleared zones, others were preparing the ground.
Pickaxes and shovels bit into overgrown lawns and cracked driveways, churning up soil that hadn't been touched in months.
Rows were being marked out for planting.
Old yards, once choked with weeds and broken furniture, were now measured, dug, and composted.
Compost made from walker-free remains, ashes, bone dust, and old food scraps was being dumped in by wheelbarrow to revitalize the soil.
Food would grow here, real food, not just scavenged canned food and bartered jerky.
Leo stood near the center of it all, watching as his people worked.
His coat flapped gently in the wind, his mask on, as he gave out orders and assessed their progress.
A clipboard in one hand, a walkie in the other, his eyes scanned every movement with military precision.
One of his men, Shield, approached from behind, his own mask still on, as always.
"Block D's been cleared," he reported simply. "We'll finish fortifying our weak points by nightfall. Falcon squad is sweeping the east side now, no casualties."
Leo nodded, satisfied.
"Good. We'll move the kids into House Twelve once it's cleaned out and prepped. I want scouts on lookout until we get proper watch towers up."
Shield nodded before asking a question that was on his mind.
"How's our food situation?"
Leo took a moment to look through his clipboard before answering.
"Good for now, but if we're going to have more people, then we're going to need a way for us to grow our own food, not just scavenge convenience stores or wait for delivery from other points," Leo finished, his voice firm.
Shield gave a short nod of acknowledgement and continued his report.
"We've got three more buildings with potential for roof gardens. I'll assign a few of the guys to start preparing compost bins with the kids once they finish their classes."
Leo paused, his eyes drifting to a group of children in the distance being watched over by their caregivers.
The kids were learning and working at the same time, painting and writing on makeshift signs on old pieces of plywood.
One little girl was trying to draw a smiling flower, though the paintbrush was too thick and the flower looked more like a messy, golden blob.
Still, she smiled like it was a masterpiece.
While they would have loved for the kids to just be kids, this world would not allow them to have that kind of privilege.
It made something in Leo's chest tighten.
"…Keep them away from the cleanup," Leo spoke after a beat. "They don't need to see more bodies than they already have, teach them self-defense first and go from there."
Shield didn't argue. "Understood."
With that, he turned and disappeared into the crowd, leaving Leo to stare out over the street, now more a work site than a killing field.
The smell still lingered.
It always did, no matter how many corpses they removed or how many times they burned the earth clean.
The rot clung to memory.
He pulled the walkie up to his mouth, thumb pressing down on the call button.
"This is Commander, status report on Falcon squad?"
A burst of static, then Falcon's voice came through.
"We're sweeping Eastward past the burned-out gas station. Cleared a dozen walkers and found an old pharmacy with usable supplies."
Leo exhaled, relieved. "Any sign of movement nearby? Raiders, strays, anything out of place?"
"Nothing, everything looks clear. We're heading to that cul-de-sac next, the one with the blue house."
"Copy that, check the basements too. We'll need more storage if we're expanding our territory."
"Roger."
Leo lowered the walkie just as another masked man approached, this one dragging behind him an old handcart filled with bundled tools and wires.
"Hey, boss," he said, lifting the cart handles to show off the load. "We got the last of the copper and salvaged it from the old wreckage. Gonna try to reroute some power to the southern grid."
"Make sure our medical building has priority," Leo said without hesitation. "I want heat and light there by nightfall, then the homes are next ."
"Roger!"
As the man wheeled the cart away, Leo rubbed the back of his neck, finally taking a moment to sit on a nearby concrete step.
His muscles ached, and even with the mask covering most of his face, the tiredness in his posture said it all.
Hopefully, the others were having a good time.
____
Hound was not having a good time.
"Put your weapons down, Hermano! And make sure that dog of yours doesn't do anything stupid!"
Not in the least.
He had just pinpointed the Vatos' location, marking their position with a quick scan of the street layout in his head.
He was about to fall back, regroup with the others, and report in when one of the Vato's own member almost got himself sneaked by a fucking walker.
The poor bastard never saw it coming.
He was too busy laughing with another guy, not even holding his weapon properly as he did.
So now here he was, surrounded.
He slowly put down his walker, bloodied knife, and his gun onto the ground, making sure to show he was cooperating.
Coco was beside him, letting out loud and threatening growls at the men surrounding them.
He petted her gently to calm her down before slowly standing back up.
Coco's growl dropped to a low rumble, her ears pinned back and her eyes locked on the people around them, ready to tear into one of their throats if they so much as touch her human.
The tension in the air was thick enough to taste, metallic and sharp, like blood and sweat under the sun.
The Vatos gang wasn't small.
There were at least eight of them, all armed, some with handguns, others with knives, a couple with homemade weapons crafted from pipes and broken tools.
Their leader stood at the front, a tall, heavy-set man with a shaved head and a scowl that could crack stone.
But they weren't as confident as they looked.
Even now, Hound could see the slight shifting of their feet, the tightening grip on weapons, the way their eyes flicked between him and Coco.
They didn't like the silence, and they didn't like how calm he looked with a dozen barrels and blades pointed his way.
And they sure as hell didn't like the mask.
The leader squinted at him, then spat on the ground.
"You deaf or somethin'? I said Who the hell are you! How did you find us!? What do you want!? You alone?!"
Hound remained still for a moment longer, head tilted slightly.
Coco stopped growling, but her body stayed tense, like a coiled spring ready to snap.
Finally, Hound lifted his head just enough for his voice to be heard.
"…Name's Hound."
The Vatos leader flinched, not visibly, but Hound saw it. A shift in posture, a flicker of unease, and a few of the others exchanged wary glances.
Hound continued, his tone calm, but trying to be friendly.
"I've split up with my group after an… incident our dumbass caused."
The leader narrowed his eyes. "So you're not alone."
Hound didn't respond right away, and that only made the gang even more on edge.
When he finally nodded once, the sound of safeties clicking off followed immediately.
Most were aimed at him, but he didn't care about that, what he cared about was that some of them were aiming at his dog.
"I'm not here to cause any trouble, but the moment one of you even thinks about pulling the trigger… You won't like what happens next."
The statement hung in the air like a loaded gun.
The leader's lip curled, but he didn't move forward.
Something in the way Hound stood, relaxed, balanced, like he was waiting, was setting off every survival instinct in the man's body.
"You trying to intimidate us, masked man?" he growled, voice pitched louder than necessary.
"No." Hound's answer came immediately. "If I wanted to intimidate you, I wouldn't be talking."
Another beat of quiet.
Then a dry chuckle slipped from one of the older gang members standing in the back.
"Shit… I think he's telling the truth, Felipe."
One of the younger guys near the back, the one he had saved, actually backed up a step, his eyes widening.
Felipe gritted his teeth, clearly debating whether to push the issue or not.
"Alright, alright," he said, forcing a mocking grin. "So what, you here to offer us a deal, Mister Hound? Because clearly you were watching us when you saved our boy, or you just here to measure up our graves?"
Hound didn't flinch, his response was instant.
"You have survivors in your group, filled with sick elderly, and it's clear to me you need all the help you can get."
Felipe's grin quickly disappeared.
"We're offering safety, food, and medicine for the sick."
"And what's in it for you, huh? You're obviously not offering us all this for free."
The tension was suffocating now as they stared the man down, but he appeared unaffected by the pressure they were trying to put on him.
Then a voice piped up behind the Vatos, old but strong.
"Felipe, enough." An older man stepped out from behind Felipe.
"Stay out of this old man, this is between me and hi-"
"I said enough!"
That shut him up.
The man's eyes were sharp and experienced, as they were fixed on Hound's mask.
"We've heard of you, from those who pass through our turf looking for their family. They told us of a group who helped others, a group who wore masks that would make demons weep."
He looked Hound up and down, frowning.
"You work for the Dragon."
Hound didn't confirm it with words, but the silence was enough.
The old man turned to Felipe, speaking firmly. "If he's telling the truth, we'd be fools to start a needless war."
Felipe spat again, clearly still burning, but he backed down.
"Fine," he growled before turning toward the masked man. "But you so much as twitch wrong, I'll feed your dog your own hands."
Coco snarled at that, her teeth bared.
Hound gave a slow, deliberate nod while trying to calm Coco down.
"Go back to your people," the old man said. "Tell him we're willing to talk, but only if they come with medicine."
"…I'll pass it along," Hound replied, backing away slowly, not turning his back until Coco was beside him.
As they walked off, the Vatos gang watched silently, more uncertain now than ever.
"And thank you for saving my son! …He's the only family I have left." The man called out, sincerely thanking him.
And Hound…
Hound just clicked his radio.
____
Rick impatiently paced back and forth in place, unable to stop himself.
"Are you sure Hound is close?"
He was met with a deadpan stare by an expressionless dragon mask.
"He'll be back soon."
Hawk sounded like a man being asked this a hundred times before.
Still, Rick didn't stop pacing.
He paced like a caged animal, boots crunching softly over gravel as he turned again and again, eyes flicking toward the city with every passing second.
The late afternoon sun hung low, casting long shadows around him and the others who waited in silence.
"How long is it going to take?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else.
Hawk, leaning against their car, gave a lazy shrug beneath the layers of tactical gear.
"Was that supposed to make me feel better?" Rick shot back with a glare.
"No."
Rick sighed and just resumed pacing, arms folded tight across his chest.
A few yards away, Glenn's group sat in their car, watching Rick as they exchanged quiet glances.
The one with the blonde hair turned to the only other woman in the group.
"That's Lori's husband?" She asked, her face full of disbelief.
"Didn't even know she had one. She never mentioned him, and I thought Shane was her husband."
Glenn, who was quietly listening, asked a question that was going through his mind.
"Did anyone ask if Shane was actually her husband, or did we all just assume he was?"
No one had an answer to that.
A low whistle came from behind them. Merle sat staring at the masked men while sharpening a knife.
"Damn, bitch must've thought he was dead."
"Don't call his wife that," Andrea snapped, but got a smug smirk in response.
"I'll stop when she stops being one, sweet cheeks~"
If looks could kill…
They watched as Rick continued pacing, tense and restless.
Like a man who hadn't slept in days and didn't care if he ever did.
There was a weight on him, the kind of weight that came from carrying a family on your shoulders even when you didn't know where they were.
Off to the side, near the edge of the road, Doc and Hound stood half-hidden in the shade of an old billboard.
Hound and Coco had returned a few minutes ago without a word, slipping in as silently as a shadow, not bothering to announce themselves.
He and Doc said nothing as they watched Rick unravel.
"He's a mess," Doc murmured.
Hound gave the smallest nod in agreement.
"He's a husband and a father. I'm surprised he's not a bigger mess."
They stood in silence a little longer, watching Rick's steps dig a shallow path in the cement.
Finally, Hound tilted his head toward the convoy and began walking.
And just like that, Rick froze mid-step, eyes snapping toward him.
"You're back."
Hound didn't say anything, he just opened the door of the car to let his K-9 in first before entering himself.
Rick followed without another word, because now, finally, they were going to Glenn's camp.
Over on the other group's side.
"Wait… there are three of them!?"