Apocalypse: After Reanimation, I Became The Queen-Chapter 81: _ A System?

Even if I wanted to believe Vic was some harmless zombie who’s suddenly sprouted a conscience and a TED Talk-level vocabulary, there’s still one enormous, putrid, undead problem:

He looks like hell chewed him up and forgot to spit him out.

I mean, how are we supposed to walk around with that? He’s got an exposed cheekbone, a patchy scalp, and a left eye that jiggles like it’s hanging on a wish. If we run into strangers, even if we don’t shoot him, they will. Out of fear, out of reflex, or out of basic goddamn instinct.

"You can’t be serious," I mutter, my pistol still clenched tight. "Even if we don’t put a bullet in him, someone else will. We’ll walk into the wrong alley and boom—Vic’s brain soup. We’re not just risking ourselves. We’re making him a target."

Benji shrugs, wiping his face with his grimy sleeve. "We’ll cross that bridge when we get there."

They all can’t be serious right now. They make me seem like a bad guy whenever I try to be the rational guy in the group... As expected of a leader.

Dom breaks away from his frozen stance like he just remembered his legs work. He rushes forward and tackles Vic in a hug, arms thrown around his brother’s rotten frame.

"My God, Vic. I thought—I thought you were gone." Dom croaks while his voice shakes.

Vic huffs out something between a laugh and a cough. "I was, bro. Still kinda am."

Damn right.

The way Dom clings to him, it hits something raw inside me. Because yeah, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss the guy. But missing someone and trusting what they’ve are two different hells.

Dom pulls back just enough to stare into Vic’s sunken eyes. "How, man? How are you... you?"

Well, that was one thing I was very much interested in knowing. How?

Vic tilts his head, as if listening to something only he can hear. "I’m not sure. But there’s this... voice. Like a machine. It calls itself The Silent Requiem System 3.0. Says it’s responsible for bringing me back."

The silence that falls is so thick that it’s almost physical.

I squint. "The what?"

"The Silent Requiem?" Trish repeats, frowning like she’s trying to do algebra on a hangover. "What the hell is that? A cult? A virus?"

Dom lets go of Vic slowly, as if just realizing he hugged something that technically qualifies as a corpse. "Wait... is it in your head now? Like, controlling you?"

Vic shrugs. "No clue. It doesn’t tell me to kill or anything. It’s like... guidance. Updates. Patch notes, maybe? Think of it as a GPS for my... existence."

Seriously?!

"That’s comforting," I deadpan. "Our friend is running on zombie Windows."

Trish laughs despite herself, then sobers up fast. "Okay. This is above my pay grade. And I don’t even get paid."

Benji scratches his head. "So, we just... roll with it? Like, ’Hey, my buddy’s running on Undead OS but at least he still remembers my birthday’?"

"Better than rolling with a Vic-sicle," Dom mutters.

Nobody laughs this time.

"Look," Trish says finally. "We’ll figure out this freaky software nonsense later. Right now, we need to find salvageable clothes from the cannibal base so Vic doesn’t keep looking like a haunted scarecrow. Then we’ve gotta find Lucas before the cannibals take the supplies."

Benji raises a hand and cuts in. "Hey, hey, hey... What supplies? Who’s Lucas?"

Oh, right. He missed a lot.

We fill him in in the fastest and messiest way possible. The cave. Discovering Lucas. The supply stash we are going to risk our lives to locate and the cannibals’ betrayal.

Not that we trusted them anyway.

Benji takes it all in, face darkening with every word. "Shit... Then we should hurry to the city before we lose the trail."

I nod, but before we move, we’ve got one task left: Operation Dress-Up Dead Guy.

*****

We raid the abandoned cannibal base with caution. The place smells like death, wet leather, and something disturbingly sweet like someone cooked syrup and toenails in the same pot.

Trish finds a laundry shack half-burned but still full of old clothes. She chucks a pile of rags at Vic.

"No offense," she says, eyeing his half-flesh-half-bone torso. "But if we’re gonna let you walk beside us, you need to wear something that doesn’t scream ’I eat children.’"

Vic nods and shuffles behind a tarp.

A few awkward minutes later, he steps out in an incompatible outfit that makes him look like a rejected theater prop: oversized hoodie, black cargo pants cinched with a fraying belt, and combat boots two sizes too big. At least the hood hides most of his face.

He raises his hands. "Better?"

"Like... 12%," I grunt.

"Good enough," Trish sighs. "Let’s move."

******

The trek to the city is longer than I remember. Maybe it’s the reality of Vic’s existence trailing behind us. Or maybe it’s the shadow of everything we’ve lost—Kyle especially.

He died at the start of this mission. Just like that. One stupid ambush, one unlucky second. Now, he’s just a memory packed into the back of my brain like dried blood under a bandage.

Still, as we walk, something strange happens.

We talk.

Benji cracks a joke about Trish’s machete swinging like a drunk helicopter. Dom teases Vic for being the only guy who could come back from the dead and still dress like a thrift store exploded. Vic chuckles quietly.

I can’t argue that right now, he seems less of a corpse and more of a kid brother again.

And me?

I don’t laugh, but I let my grip on the pistol ease. Just a little. 𝙧𝙚𝙚𝔀𝒆𝓫𝓷𝙤𝓿𝒆𝙡.𝒄𝙤𝓶

Maybe things aren’t going to go as bad as I think.

****

We’re about an hour from the city when Vic suddenly stumbles, almost collapsing to the floor in a thud.

"Hey—whoa, you good?" Dom’s already at his side, catching him before he faceplants into the dirt.

Vic shakes his head, wobbling. "I’m fine. I’m... I just need..."

He collapses.

"Vic!" Benji drops to his knees beside him, patting his face. "Shit, are you seizing?"

"Vic!" Dom exclaims, gripping his brother’s shoulders.

Out of the blue, Vic’s eyes snap open, but they’re different. They are glassy, unfocused, and filled with what I can only name as ’hunger’. He lets out a gruff growl, pushing Dom away with surprising force.​

"Back off!" Vic snarls, his voice, despite sounding like its former self is a distorted echoing version.

We freeze, the atmosphere filled with tension. Vic’s body shakes as he clutches his head, muttering incoherently.​

"I’m... sorry," he gasps, his voice returning to normal. "I don’t know what came over me."

The group exchanges uneasy glances. While Vic’s apology seems sincere, the incident leaves us shaken.

What the hell was that?

I might just know what it is.

Or at least, I have a theory. The way his eyes glowed, the way he moved—it wasn’t just a seizure. It was hunger. Primal, insatiable hunger.​

"You’re not telling us everything," I say accusingly.

Vic looks up, guilt etched into his decaying features. "I... I feel something. A pull. Like... like I’m starving."

He blinks slowly, but something about the way his eyes scan us slowly and calculating makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. His nostrils flare like he’s caught a scent in the air, and for a second, I swear to God he looks at Trish’s neck like it’s a roast.

He then proceeds to scratch at his head before he fervently shakes his head. "Do... do you have food?"

Food?

Is he craving for regular human food or the zombie kind right now? I can’t decide.

"Nothing’s on us right now. Those fucking cannibals stole them all. But I’m sure we’ll find something when we are back in the city." Trish replies apologetically.

Vic tries to smile but hell, it’s a fucking fake one. And for a second, I think his teeth are just a little too sharp.

"S-sure." He stutters.

Dom places a hand on Vic’s shoulder. "We’ll figure it out. Together."

I want to believe him. I really do. But the image of Vic’s glowing eyes is burned into my mind.

Trish breaks the tension by stepping forward. "We need to keep moving. Lucas and the supplies won’t wait."

Benji nods. "Let’s go."

As we continue our journey, the atmosphere is tense. Vic walks at the back, hood pulled low, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Dom stays close to him as the protective brother that he is.

Those two used to be the dummies of the group. I’ve never seen them so serious and composed.

Benji and Trish lead the way, weapons at the ready. I bring up the rear with my eyes constantly flicking to Vic.​

I love Vic, but I’m sorry, I don’t trust this new him.

"Patch notes," he said earlier. Who the hell says that after coming back from the dead?