The Third Floor Had Issues

New chapter is live.

Settle in, take your time, and let's see what waits in the dark 🖤

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Evan returned to the warden's office and finally gave the room a careful look.

A walnut desk faced the door, almost unchanged from before the world ended.

In front of it sat a clear glass coffee table and a black leather couch. Three iron filing cabinets stood side by side against the wall, their tops buried under a thick layer of dust.

In the open space at the center of the office, an indoor golf set waited in perfect silence.

Golf balls were scattered across the floor. Clubs had spilled from a black bag and lay at odd angles, making the whole thing look as if someone had abandoned it mid-game.

Evan stepped over the golf balls and circled to the desk.

He picked up the framed photograph on one corner and lifted an eyebrow.

Only one person was in the picture. She wore the same corrections uniform as the guards from yesterday, though the shoulder patch and badge on her chest were different.

No question about it. A woman.

Tanned skin. Full lips. Early thirties, maybe. In the picture, she smiled at the camera with every tooth showing.

"Huh."

Evan looked at the photograph, then turned toward the one-way glass looking into the deputy warden's office.

Then he looked back at the photograph.

For one second, he had the distinct feeling he understood something.

The classic office-scandal setup in his head had just spun all the way around.

"People really do know how to make the third floor interesting," Evan muttered, wearing the sort of smile that needed no explanation.

The Remington's muzzle angled toward the floor as Evan dropped into the heavy leather chair.

Soft.

Comfortable.

The second he sat, the cushion swallowed him.

He had barely started to relax.

Then every nerve in his body screamed.

"Shit!"

Evan exploded out of the chair with everything he had. For one desperate instant, Strength Lv. 10 felt like it had been wrung for one hundred and twenty percent of its value.

He did not stand so much as launch himself.

He landed on the clear coffee table in front of the desk.

Even after he escaped, remembering what had just happened made cold sweat burst across his back.

He clutched himself with both hands and backed away two full steps.

Only after Evan moved did the thing under the desk crawl out.

A female walker in purple lingerie dragged herself into view.

The fabric tore as she twisted, exposing skin far paler than any living body should have had. Black stockings still clung to her legs, and a pair of black heels scraped across the floor.

There was barely enough fabric left elsewhere to count as clothing.

Evan stared at her, then at the photograph, and realization hit him late.

"Was that the warden?"

"No. No, that's not her. Different face. Younger. Better shape."

"She was under the desk, which means..."

He sucked in a sharp breath.

For the third time in as many minutes, Evan had the horrifying sense that he understood far too much about this office.

He looked at the walker. He looked at the one-way glass. Then he looked at the walker again.

The thought that had just turned over in his head did a full reversal.

"I hate that this isn't even hard to believe."

"Was she the deputy warden?"

Evan's jaw clenched.

The moment he had sat down, the dead woman had lunged up and tried to bite him.

His wooden armor protected his lower legs. It did not protect the parts he was now holding with both hands.

If she had landed that bite...

A violent shiver ran through him.

Having it and choosing not to use it was completely different from not having it at all.

Whether he turned or not would have been a secondary concern. Evan had no intention of becoming the first man in the apocalypse to be ruined that way.

Antibiotics could fix a lot of things.

They probably could not fix that.

What then? Carve a replacement out of wood?

The image alone made Evan's skin crawl.

He had faced the second Blood Moon and dozens of Berserkers without looking like this.

Right now, though, fear crawled up his spine, and a chill started in his stomach before dropping straight down.

"Fuck you."

"Open your mouth. Come on. Open it."

After that first burst of shock, anger flooded in.

Evan strode forward, shoved the Remington's barrel against the walker's mouth, and shouted in her face.

The walker did not hesitate. She bit down on the barrel with a wet snap.

Evan drove the muzzle deeper.

Bang.

The walker dropped with a heavy thud. The back of her skull opened in a blooming hole.

One shot was not enough.

Evan stepped in and fired twice more into the corpse.

Bang. Bang.

Only then did he lift a shaking hand and wipe the cold sweat from his brow.

"Of course 7 Days to Die didn't suddenly get polite," he muttered. "So this is where the game hid the surprise."

From a certain angle, it did count as hiding.

Then Evan noticed something else.

"Wait."

"If all this started while they were doing that, then where did the warden go?"

Evan frowned and carried the Remington back to the desk.

He stopped beside it.

In the faint reflection from the glass doors of the wooden bookcase behind the desk, he saw another shape beneath the desk, head tilted to one side as if listening.

This time, Evan laughed from pure irritation.

He knocked the stock of the shotgun against the desktop.

"If you've got the nerve for that kind of office entertainment, you've got the nerve to come out. Don't hide down there like I can't see you."

The dead warden had barely raised her head when Evan grabbed a fistful of hair and dragged her toward the stairs.

In his hand, she moved like a broken doll, unable to resist at all.

He hauled her to the stairwell and kicked her hard in the backside.

The walker tumbled down the stairs in a twisted heap.

Evan spread his arms and jumped from nine steps up with a ridiculous battle cry.

He landed on the landing and crushed the dead warden's head beneath his boot.

He ground his heel down twice before he finally exhaled, his face settling into a satisfied, almost saintly calm.

"There."

"Much better."

For one shining second, Evan looked as serene as a monk who had reached enlightenment. No one in the world had the right to question his moral character.

Back in the office, he kicked the cabinets and swept the barrel under the couch.

Only after he confirmed there were no more walkers waiting to threaten his future bloodline did he finally loosen his grip on the Remington.

At the desk, he tried the drawer.

Click.

It did not budge.

Evan paused.

Click.

The drawer came open by force.

A bright heap of adult toys and supplies stared back at him. Evan used the shotgun barrel to push them aside with obvious disgust.

"A whole prison under your control, and you still used fake ones?"

"Were the inmates dead to you?"

The words left his mouth before he processed them.

Then his expression shifted.

"Well. They are now."

Beneath the colorful mess inside the drawer, a black muzzle pointed up at him.

It belonged to a small pistol, compact enough to fit easily inside a cute little handbag.

Evan tucked it into his pocket without much ceremony. Carol could use it later.

Besides that, he found a few unopened packs of expired food, two boxes of coffee capsules, and a magnetic keycard marked for the warden's access.

On the wall beside the office entrance hung an overhead structural map of the Prison.

Evan studied it and rubbed his chin.

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