First Encounter

Hinato shot out from behind the opening before his nerve could rot away completely. Both hammers clutched in shaking fists, his knuckles bone-white. He didn’t think—couldn’t. He just swung. Wild. Desperate. The first hammer smashed into the creature’s shoulder with a sound so sharp it cut through the silence like glass shattering. Bone splintered, but it didn’t drop.

The doppelgänger twisted toward him too fast. Too fluid. Too inhuman.

Hinato’s stomach flipped. His knees screamed to buckle. Fear thundered through his ribs like it wanted him on the ground. But he forced himself forward anyway, teeth grit, dragging his own body with the stubbornness of someone too scared to stop. He swung the second hammer across its ribs, a strike born more of panic than precision. The impact rattled up his arms, his breath stuttering in ragged bursts, eyes stretched wide with something that wasn’t bravery.

He didn’t feel strong. He didn’t feel brave. He felt like prey trying to wear the mask of a predator, shaking so hard the mask nearly split in two.

The thing shrieked, a sound wet and hollow, like lungs trying to speak without air. Then it lunged.

Hinato ducked too late. Claws grazed his sleeve, ripping fabric, whisper-close to skin. His breath left him in a broken gasp, terror burning hot and raw in his throat. He shoved upward with one hammer, slamming it under the doppelgänger’s jaw. The crack reverberated in his bones. He didn’t stop—he hacked blindly with the other, hammering at its side, anything to keep it from folding him into its arms.

Every swing was jagged, unsteady. Too wide. Too rushed. His grip slipped on the slick handles, sweat stinging the raw skin of his palms. His arms shook from the weight, from the fear.

And still, it wouldn’t fall.

“Why won’t you—just—go—down!” Hinato’s voice cracked open, half rage, half sob, the words tearing through him like broken glass.

He threw both hammers at once, slamming them into its head with every ounce of fear and fury left inside him. The crack resounded, sick and final.

The black substance it was made of finally spilled out. Not the soft hiss of mist he’d come to expect, but a spray—thick, wet, the color too close to blood. It splattered across his hands, his shirt, his face. Hot. Metallic. Wrong.

The body crumpled. Twitching. Joints spasming. Still smiling with his mother’s mouth.

Hinato staggered back, nearly stumbling, both hammers dragging low in his grip. His arms trembled so hard he thought his bones might splinter next. His chest felt hollowed out, air scraping through in shallow bursts. Fear crawled up his throat with claws of its own, choking, refusing to let him go.

The doppelgänger twitched one last time, and then—silence. Heavy. Pressed in from every direction until it was suffocating.

Hinato’s entire body shook. He couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t hold himself still no matter how hard he bit down on the inside of his cheek.

Behind him, Kage hadn’t spoken a word. But Hinato felt it—the weight of his stare, wide and searching, the kind of gaze that saw more than Hinato wanted anyone to.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.

Because if Kage saw his face—saw the blood, the trembling, the breaking—he’d know. He’d know the truth that thundered louder than any scream inside Hinato’s skull:

He doesn’t want to do this.

Not the killing. Not the surviving. Not the world that demanded either.

And yet, here he was.

Kage stepped toward Hinato, regret written across his face, the weight of uselessness hanging heavy on his shoulders. He said nothing of it. Instead, he came to stand beside him, where Hinato stared blankly at the twisted body he’d just destroyed.

“Hinato.” Kage’s voice was careful.

“Hm.” The reply was hollow, his eyes still locked on the creature.

“Hinato.” The second time was firmer, enough to pull him back. Hinato finally looked up.

“We have to keep moving.”

The lost glaze in his eyes shifted, sharpened into something present again. He gave a short nod. “Right. Let’s go.”

He turned and led the way out of the shop, never once checking if Kage followed him into the city of broken souls and festering decay.

They walked. Not in any strict direction—just the one Hinato’s gut kept pulling him toward. It wasn’t a straight line. Sometimes alleys, sometimes streets split by cracks that looked like spiderwebs.

Every so often, they stopped. Hinato was always the one to call for breaks. Only then would Kage sink down too, as if admitting he needed it was some kind of sin. He never asked for himself. Never complained.

The days blurred like that.

One afternoon, when Hinato’s ankle gave a sharp jolt, Kage slowed without being asked. He didn’t say anything, didn’t look at him—just adjusted his pace so Hinato wouldn’t feel like he was dragging behind.

Another day, when the wind kicked ash down the street, Kage tugged a scrap of cloth from his sleeve and pressed it into Hinato’s hand. Hinato almost asked where he got it, but Kage’s expression warned him not to.

Sometimes, Hinato would wake in the night and find Kage already awake, back to him, staring at the black horizon as if keeping watch over something he didn’t trust Hinato to see.

Kage hadn’t said a word since they left the konbini. The silence between them wasn’t empty—it pressed down like weight, heavy and unsaid.

Hinato told himself it didn’t matter. That he could put up with it—at least until they found more food and water. But every time his eyes slipped sideways, Kage just looked… sad.

Not loud about it. Not even obvious. Just the way he chewed too slow, like the crackers had turned to dust in his mouth. The way his gaze never lingered on Hinato for long, like it hurt to be caught staring. The way he kept his hands busy with nothing—twisting straps, folding and unfolding wrappers—because silence pressed heavier on him than it did on Hinato.

Hinato wanted to ignore it. He told himself he could. But watching Kage shrink into himself day after day felt worse than the hunger gnawing at his own stomach.

By the third night, when they crawled into the shell of a blue truck they’d chosen as shelter, Hinato couldn’t take it anymore.

Kage sat against the door, chewing quietly on a stale cracker he’d found in a crumpled sleeve of packaging. Crumbs clung to his fingertips. His eyes never lifted from the dark.

Hinato shifted, hammers set carefully aside so the metal wouldn’t clatter. His voice broke the air like glass.

“I’m not mad at you.”

Kage blinked, startled out of his silence. “Huh?”

Hinato leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, gaze heavy but steady.

“This world… it’s the kind where if you don’t fight, you get swallowed whole. But not everyone’s built for violence. For some people, it’s… sickening. Traumatizing.” His jaw clenched. “That doesn’t make you weak. Doesn’t make you useless.”

Kage’s hands stilled in his lap. He looked small in the truck’s shadow, smaller than he’d ever let on.

Hinato’s voice dropped lower, raw at the edges. “I told you I’d protect you. And the only reason I was able to push that hard back there… the only reason I didn’t fold—was because you were standing there. Because I knew I wasn’t alone.”

The words sat between them, heavier than the silence had been.

Kage stared down at the crumbs in his hands, then let them fall. When he finally looked up, his eyes shone—not with tears, but something steadier. “Hinato…”

Hinato looked away, jaw set. “Don’t… don’t start thanking me. Just don’t feel like you have to apologize for being human.”

The truck settled around them, frame groaning in the wind. For the first time in days, the silence felt less like a void and more like something they could sit in together.

After that, their journey became easier. Not easy—nothing in this creature-infested world was easy—but easier. Almost enjoyable, in a way, if you squinted hard enough.

They still had problems. The bag they carried was falling apart, seams straining with every step. They hadn’t been able to avoid the monsters as cleanly as they had in the first week. And food… food was running out. They were running on willpower more than anything else now, each meal smaller than the last.

It was during Hinato’s last shift on the night watch, when the horizon just barely split with pale light, that he saw them. Shapes moving down the street.

Not creatures. Not twisted shadows.

Humans.

Breathing. Alive.

As they got closer, Hinato could see more—the way some of the figures tilted their heads to the person beside them, the way their eyes darted around, sharp and restless, scanning for danger in the same way he always did when looking out for Kage.

Still watching, he distractedly tapped Kage awake.

Kage stirred, lifting his head from where it had been resting on Hinato’s lap. His eyes were bleary, half-dreaming.

“Humans,” Hinato said.

Kage’s eyes snapped wide. “Humans. Really?”

Hinato nodded, glancing back to where the group was gathering near the mouth of an alley. Their backpacks caught his attention—deflated, sagging against their shoulders.

They must be going to fill them. Which meant they knew a place. A place with supplies.

Hinato and Kage had been searching nonstop for food and water, but nothing they’d found had been enough. Even when they rationed carefully, it never carried them as far as they hoped. Lately, Kage had started slipping parts of his own portion to Hinato when he thought he wouldn’t notice.

So the thought of a chance at something real—something more than scraps—sparked something reckless in Hinato.

He turned to Kage with a grin. “We’re gonna follow them.”

Kage stared like he’d lost his mind. “We’re gonna—what? They could be insane, Hinato. For all we know—Hinato!” His whisper was sharp, incredulous.

But it didn’t matter. Hinato was already grabbing his things, sliding off the truck bed as quietly as possible.

Kage deadpanned, then sighed and began gathering his own things quickly, resigned to following.

They kept their distance as they trailed the group. Hinato may have acted rashly, but he wasn’t stupid. They didn’t know anything about these people. He’d read enough stories—worlds like this twisted people, turned survivors into hunters.

And besides, showing up out of nowhere with weapons in hand? That could end badly, fast. The way those people carried themselves, their own weapons in hand, said they weren’t here to play.

They eventually come to a department store, sure to hold what Hinato and Kage have been looking for.

They wait a few minutes after the last of the group had gone in to enter themselves.

The glass doors of the department store had been shattered long ago, jagged teeth still clinging to the frame. Inside, the air smelled of dust, mold, and something sour that had once been sweet. They crept in anyway.

They stepped inside with caution—not just because of the chance of running into other humans, but because big places like this were magnets. The kind of places creatures could swarm without warning.

It looked empty enough at first glance. Too empty. But Hinato knew better. Stragglers always lingered.

The shelves near the entrance were stripped—snacks, bottled tea, candy. Empty wrappers crumpled on the ground, proof that others had come before.

“Here,” Kage whispered, pointing.

They moved deeper until they found it—the canned goods aisle. The signs still hung overhead, letters half peeled but readable.

Rows of small silver cans lined one shelf, some toppled but most intact. Hinato crouched, fingers brushing the familiar blue-and-white label; Mackerel simmered in miso. He turned one over in his palm, hearing the weight slosh inside. Real food. Protein.

Next to it tuna cans stacked in neat threes, their ring pulls still sealed. A little further down—sardines, smaller cans with pictures of silver fish stamped across the tops.

Kage drifted toward the far end of the aisle. His pale fingers hesitated over a square tin. Spam. Pink block meat. The English letters stamped across the can looked strange here, tucked between sardines and corned beef.

He held it up, eyebrows raised. “It lasts forever, right?”

Hinato huffed a laugh, quiet but real. “Forever’s long gone. But yeah—it’ll do. Grab as many as you can find.”

While Kage grabbed all the spam he could find and shoved it into the nylon bag they’d swiped from the konbini, Hinato moved down the aisle, arms filling with canned fish. He dropped each one into the bag with a dull clink of metal against metal.

It wasn’t much—not for a store this size—but it was still better than the scraps they’d been surviving on. Beggars can’t be choosers, Hinato reminded himself.

Then, at the end of the shelf, bright colors caught his eye—wrappers half-faded under dust. Instant noodles. He snatched up a handful, tearing one open with his teeth just to check. Dry, brittle, the flavor packet still sealed. Not ideal. But you could eat them like chips if you had to. His stomach grumbled at the thought.

He carried the armful over and dumped them in the bag alongside the cans. Kage raised a brow but said nothing, just pulled the straps tight to make space.

“Better than nothing,” Hinato muttered.

Kage’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile but didn’t let it happen.

It was as Hinato dropped the last pack in that he spoke the next order of business. “We need to find a backpack.”

Kage didn’t even argue, just nodded. His shoulders already knew what Hinato’s words meant—he’d been the one carrying their flimsy nylon bag all week.

They moved on together, stepping quiet, every sound magnified in the empty store. Their eyes kept darting to the ceiling, to the long aisles that could hide anything. Places like this felt too big, too hollow, like they were waiting to be filled with something worse than shadows.

The clothing section was ransacked—coats shredded, shoes scattered. But tucked near the back, past toppled racks, Hinato spotted a display of school gear that had survived better than the rest.

He crossed fast, scanning, hands shoving aside a mess of pencil cases and lunch boxes until he saw them: backpacks, half-collapsed under dust. A couple torn, zippers busted, straps frayed. But two looked intact. One black, one blue.

“Jackpot,” Hinato said under his breath.

Kage came up beside him, brushing dirt off the black one, tugging the zipper experimentally. It worked. Relief softened his face, just a little.

Hinato grabbed the blue one and slung it over his shoulder, testing the weight. It sat better than the nylon bag ever did. “This’ll do.”

“More than do,” Kage replied quietly, already transferring the spam, fish, and noodles into the sturdier bag. His movements were careful, efficient, like he’d been waiting for this.

Hinato kept watch while he worked, hammers heavy in his hands, every creak in the shelves putting his teeth on edge. But when Kage finally zipped the pack closed and hefted it onto his back, the sight was grounding. Like they weren’t just scavengers anymore—they were travelers. Survivors with something that might last.

Hinato exhaled, low. “Alright. Let’s move before the place wakes up.”

Kage nodded. Shoulders squared under the new weight. And together, they slipped back into the aisles, a little less desperate than before.

They slipped back outside, careful steps echoing in the quiet. The streets looked familiar, like he’d walked them before, but stripped bare, wrong in a way that unsettled him.

Hinato kept his eyes on the store entrance. “We’re gonna follow them when they come out.”

Kage’s head snapped toward him, eyes wide. “What?”

Hinato didn’t repeat himself. He knew Kage had heard him. “I’ve got a feeling they’ll get us where we need to go.”

He turned then, meeting Kage’s gaze. Maybe to reassure him. Maybe just to show he wasn’t moving from this choice. He couldn’t tell which.

Kage searched his face for a long second before finally nodding. “Ok.”

Hinato looked away first, back to the dark storefront. He wondered what Kage had found in his expression—because even he wasn’t sure what he’d been showing.

The silence stretched between them, not tense, just waiting. They stayed like that until movement at the door broke it.

The group of strangers emerged from the store, bags heavier, shoulders weighed down in a way Hinato recognized—people carrying survival the way you’d carry guilt. Their eyes swept the street, restless, cautious, each glance too fast, too sharp.

Hinato nudged Kage’s sleeve. No words. Just the signal: We’re moving.

They trailed at a distance, careful enough to keep to the shadows but close enough not to lose them. Every scuff of their shoes on the pavement sounded too loud. Every breath carried like it wanted to betray them.

Kage’s fingers brushed the strap of the nylon bag over his shoulder, fidgeting like he wanted to wring the nerves out of himself. Hinato walked steady, or tried to, but his grip on the hammers kept slipping, palms sweating.

The city felt different when they weren’t wandering blind. Purpose shifted the streets, bent them into lines that led somewhere. Somewhere the strangers knew and they didn’t.

Hinato’s chest pulled tight with the kind of hope that hurt. If these people had somewhere to return to, somewhere they stored enough food to risk making trips like this… it had to mean there was shelter. Maybe safety. Maybe.

They turned corners, ducked through narrow alleys, the group always a step ahead. Hinato made Kage stop with him once, pressing back against the damp brick as a pair of creatures limped by. Their movements wrong, jagged. The kind of sight that left his stomach threatening to fold in on itself.

Kage was breathing hard by the time the strangers slowed again. Not panicked—just sharp, uneven pulls like he hadn’t realized how long he’d been holding his breath.

The group stopped in front of a building—tall, skeletal, but alive. Not like the husks around it. Windows broken but patched, doors reinforced with wood and metal. The kind of place that had been claimed. Defended.

Hinato’s heart kicked hard against his ribs.

They crouched out of sight across the street, watching as the strangers shifted their bags and knocked once, twice. The door opened a crack, then wider. The people inside looked them over, checked them, then let them slip into the warmth beyond.

When the door shut, silence pressed in again.

Hinato stayed crouched, staring. The thought of stepping up to that door should’ve been easy. It wasn’t. His hands trembled just thinking about it. What if they weren’t welcome? What if they were turned away? What if all the quiet, steady walking that led them here ended in a slammed door and nothing?

Kage was the one to break the silence this time. His voice low, tight. “What do we do?”

Hinato swallowed. His throat felt raw. “We wait.”

So they did. Minutes stretched like hours. Both of them crouched in the shadows, the air heavy with damp and rot. Every once in a while, Hinato caught himself glancing at Kage—at the tired set of his shoulders, the way his hands gripped the strap of the bag like he thought it might vanish.

Hinato told himself it didn’t matter. That he could put up with the ache in his chest. But Kage looked so small there, folded into himself against the dark. Too small to keep doing this alone.

When another pair of people approached the building and slipped inside, Hinato’s jaw set. Decision crawled up his spine.

He rose, the weight of the hammers dragging at his sides. “Come on,” he muttered.

Kage stood quick, as if afraid he’d be left behind. They crossed the street together, hearts hammering louder than their footsteps.

The closer they got, the more Hinato’s chest tightened. His reflection wavered in the dirty glass. He knocked. Once. Twice.

The silence on the other side pressed heavy—then the door cracked. A sliver of light. A sharp pair of eyes studying them through it.

“Tests,” a voice said, flat, steady. “Wait.”

Hinato swallowed again, throat burning. He gripped the hammers tighter, shoulders tense. The moment stretched, heavy with all the weight of the choice he’d already made.

Behind him, Kage shifted close enough their arms brushed. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to.

The silence on the other side pressed heavy—then the door cracked. A sliver of light. A sharp pair of eyes studying them through it.

“Tests,” a voice said, flat, steady. “Wait.”

Hinato swallowed, throat burning. His fingers twitched around the hammer grips, but he didn’t raise them. He held still.

The door opened wider, just enough for hands to reach through. Latex gloves, flashlight beam. They started with Kage—chin tilted up, light speared across his eyes, pupils caught in the harsh white. The swab came next, scraping the inside of his cheek. Kage didn’t flinch, didn’t protest. He only darted a nervous glance at Hinato before stepping back.

Hinato braced himself as they turned the light on him. Too close. Too sharp. The brightness stung. For one horrible second, he thought maybe they’d see something—the thing—in him. That whatever the Calamity left behind would be written plain in his eyes.

But the light passed. The swab scraped his cheek, clinical, impersonal. They stepped back behind the door. The crack shut, leaving them outside again.

Hinato clenched his fists around the hammers until his nails bit his palms. His chest heaved with the kind of breath that wasn’t quite relief. Not yet.

Kage shifted closer. His sleeve brushed Hinato’s. His voice was the smallest whisper. “They’ll let us in.”

Hinato wanted to believe it. He wanted to hold onto that thread. But the silence dragged long. Every second stretched, heavy with doubt.

Finally, the lock clicked. The door opened.

A girl stepped forward—short purple bob, bangs cutting across her forehead, eyes sharp and unblinking. The shape from his vision. She studied them like they were puzzles with missing pieces.

“Human,” she confirmed at last. Her voice was steady, practiced. “Both of them.”

The door opened wider. Warmth spilled out—light, voices, the smell of bleach and food. A world still alive inside.

Kage let out a shaky breath, so faint Hinato almost missed it.

Hinato didn’t move right away. He stared past the girl into the building’s hollow-lit lobby, and for the first time in too long, his hands trembled for a reason other than fighting.

Then he stepped forward