Chapter 10: Other survivors

Chapter 10: Chapter 10: Other survivors ’Please... awaken. Please...’ Betty clenched the green marble tightly in her hand, her fingers trembling with hope. With a determined breath, she crushed it. The marble crumbled into powder, the shards warm and gritty against her skin. A soft hiss escaped as green mist leaked from her palm, curling up her wrist like smoke. A sudden jolt ran through her body. Her breath hitched. Her muscles tensed—flexing, pulsing with raw power. For a moment, she felt like she could crush a human skull with a single squeeze. Eyes wide, she staggered back and ducked into the nearest shop, heart pounding. Inside, she knelt behind a dusty shelf and examined herself, turning her arms this way and that. "...My body isn’t glowing like in the novel," she muttered, brows furrowed. "Does that mean I only got strength?" "Yep," Calista’s voice chirped casually in her ear, "but since you’ve got a trace of phoenix blood in you, the strength you received is way more than a normal person would." Betty paused, her mouth forming a small ’o’ of realization. ’So that’s why it feels like I could tear through steel... or punt a zombie into orbit.’ Her hand curled into a fist, and the air around her seemed to shift—her knuckles cracked effortlessly. Suddenly— "THUP." The store lights blinked out. Darkness swallowed everything whole. "...Oh, great," Betty muttered, rubbing her temple. Her voice echoed slightly in the silence. "Good luck was getting that core. Bad luck is this..." She squinted into the pitch black. ’Now I need to find a flashlight before something finds me.’ Betty looked around the darkened shop, the faint outlines of tools and shelves barely visible in the shadows. It was a hardware store—filled with hammers, wires, screws... but no light. After a few minutes of cautious searching, she finally spotted a desk in the corner. Rubbing her temples, she opened its drawer. Her eyes lit up. A flashlight. "Jackpot," she whispered, quickly flipping it on. A bright beam cut through the darkness, revealing the dust dancing in the air. ’Now it’s time to loot everything I need.’ Without wasting a second, she stepped out of the hardware store and bolted toward the mall’s second floor. Her footsteps echoed on the empty stairwell, boots hitting metal. This level was quieter. Too quiet. Food and vegetable shops lined both sides, their shelves shadowed behind half-open shutters. Not a single groan. No movement. No foul smell. ’Why is it so silent here...? It’s weird. Everywhere else was crawling with zombies.’ Betty slowed down, her senses on high alert. She crouched slightly as she neared a small grocery shop, her hand hovering near the knife strapped to her waist. Her trusty iron rod had bent during a previous fight—she had no choice but to ditch it. Betty moved quickly, picking up fruits and vegetables one by one and pressing them gently against the phoenix mark on her hand. Each one vanished with a soft shimmer, swallowed by the space. Apple. Tomato. Onion. Potato. Gone. Within minutes, the entire produce shop was empty. Betty dusted her hands off and grinned with satisfaction. ’Perfect. Stocked up. Now... time to find some new clothes.’ With her flashlight in hand, she jogged up to the third floor of the mall. The silence still hung heavy, but her steps were lighter now—more confident. She slipped into a random clothing store. Her light swept over the racks. Suits. Dress shirts. Jeans. Leather belts. All men’s clothing. She let out a dramatic sigh. "Of course." Turning toward the exit, she paused—then slowly looked back at the rows of men’s suits. A slow smirk spread across her face. ’Wait a second... this is actually genius. Betty, you’re a certified 300+ IQ mastermind.’ With a grin, she rubbed her palms together like a villain hatching a plan and grabbed a black men’s suit off the rack. Holding it up, she stood in front of the mirror. Her expression froze. "..." The shirt hung so loose it looked like she was wearing her dad’s funeral clothes. Two more people her size could’ve fit in it. Her lips twitched. ’Tch. I forgot I’m fun-sized.’ She tossed the shirt aside with a huff and started digging through the racks for a smaller size. ’Still, this might work. If I dress like a guy, no one will suspect me. That freak family won’t recognize me at a glance. And the last thing I need is to end up in some lab as a test subject like the original FL in this body.’ She held up a slightly smaller jacket, this one with a dark hood. ’Perfect. Now let’s find something that screams "don’t mess with me" and also "totally not a girl."’ Standing before the cracked mirror, Betty stared at her reflection. A tall figure in a black jacket, face hidden beneath a deep hood. Black pants hugged her legs, tucked neatly into polished combat boots. The dim flashlight added an eerie edge to her silhouette. She slowly pulled back the hood. A grin spread across her face as she leaned closer, striking dramatic poses with her hands on her hips and chest puffed out. "Damn," she whispered. "Look at me. No man can compete. I’m too handsome for this apocalypse." She threw a wink at her reflection, flexing playfully. But then her gaze shifted upward—to her long, messy hair spilling over her shoulders. The grin faded. With a sigh, she pulled a small knife from her belt and raised it toward her hair. "Here goes nothing..." Snip. Slice. Tug. Strands of hair began falling to the dusty floor. "Ugh—ow, ow, it hurts! Why are knives not made for haircuts?!" She hissed through her teeth, wincing each time the blade caught a tangle. Finally, she stepped back to inspect her new look. Short. Jagged. Crooked. Slightly uneven. It looked like a teenager who hadn’t seen a barber in months... but it worked. She tilted her head, smirking. "Good enough. Rough. Edgy. Boyish. This should fool anyone unless they’re up close." Tugging the hood back over her head, she gave the mirror one last cocky nod. Betty quietly descended the dim stairwell toward the ground floor of the mall. Her boots made soft thuds against the dusty steps. She paused, her eyes narrowing as a faint beam of light flickered ahead. ’Is that... a flashlight?’ she thought, quickly ducking behind the railing. Her fingers tightened around the knife at her waist. Voices echoed from below. "Bro, we already emptied all the shops we needed. Let’s go now," an irritated voice snapped. "We need more, Ethan. We can’t live off that little food," came a cold reply, older and more commanding. Betty leaned forward slightly, her eyes catching the shapes of two people. The one speaking now wore a black business suit. A pistol gleamed in his gloved hand as he scanned the shadows. Ethan—the younger one, judging by his tone—sighed, clearly exhausted. "Tch. Brother, it’s more than enough. Henry’s been waiting outside for two hours already." "Shhh," the man in the suit—David—held up a hand, silencing him. His voice dropped into a steely whisper. "There’s someone here." He turned sharply, raising his pistol toward the upper corner of the mall. "Come out. I’ll give you ten seconds," he said coldly, finger tightening around the trigger. "Or I’ll shoot."