My Job? Weaving Armour For Undead In Apocalypse
Chapter 34: Blackout

Chapter 34: Blackout

"We were clearly the target," Nero said grimly, his voice low and tight. A solemn weight hung in the air, thick with unspoken dread.

Suddenly, Merek’s expression shifted. It had already been darkened by the death of two wraiths, but now a deeper shadow passed over his features.

Without a word, he spun on his heel and stormed toward the kitchen, his boots pounding against the tile.

The moment he entered, a sickening snarl erupted. Dozens of zombies turned from the blood-streaked freezers, their sunken eyes locking onto him. In an instant, they surged forward.

But Merek simply raised a single finger.

The effect was immediate and eerie. Every zombie dropped to their knees, bowing low with their heads pressed to the blood-speckled floor, arms outstretched as though in reverence to a king. The air grew cold. Still.

Merek’s eyes swept over the room, wide and trembling. Every freezer door gaped open, its contents ravaged. Blood stains trailed across the counters and walls like grotesque finger paintings.

Worse still, the power cords had been sliced clean, their frayed ends sparking feebly. Whatever remained of the food was now spoiled—contaminated by death.

Felicity stepped in behind him. Her breath hitched.

"I’m going to kill whoever did this," she whispered, voice trembling with fury.

Nero’s fists clenched at his sides. "We’ve got over a hundred people packed into the gym. The rations we stored there won’t last more than three days, even if we go sparingly. And—"

Boom!

The explosion rumbled from far beyond the high school walls. Yet the building quivered with the shockwave, and the bright ceiling bulbs flickered—then died, casting the halls in darkness.

"Was that the district’s power plant?" Fred asked, stepping out from the cafeteria. In the distance, a rising plume of smoke stained the sky like a warning.

"A blackout," Nero muttered grimly. "We’ll need torches and—"

"No." Merek’s voice sliced through the air like steel. "Our priority is getting to White Shop Camp. If we stay here, we’ll die. Torches can wait—we need to check the gym now. If someone’s targeting us, what makes you think they won’t go for those powerless people ?"

That silenced them. Unease settled like dust. No one moved for a moment.

Then Nero exhaled heavily and nodded, following the others. Felicity remained still, lost in her own storm of thoughts.

....

Minutes Later

Three buses screeched to a halt before the gym’s short stairway, forming a crude wall with their metal flanks.

The gym door was opened, and out stepped Professor David, Carla, and over a dozen others. Relief washed over their faces—relief that they now had a means of transport, that escape might still be possible.

Felicity was the first to speak. She stood before Professor David, her voice low.

"The food is gone."

The professor froze mid-step. The crowd behind him fell silent.

"What?" David turned and peered through the bus windows, hoping for a mistake.

But she wasn’t wrong. The seats inside were empty. The food that should have been there—gone.

"Someone sabotaged everything," Felicity said. "And they probably know where we are. That means we don’t have time. We need to move—now."

Merek leaned casually against the side of a bus, arms crossed. "Each of these can hold thirty-five comfortably. Push them to the limit, and we’re looking at forty-five tops. I’m with her. We can’t wait around."

When Nero echoed the sentiment, the tension in the crowd softened slightly. His voice, unlike Merek’s, had guided and soothed them through each tragedy. He was warm. Merek, on the other hand, was known for coldly ignoring their feelings.

Still, the truth lingered heavy in the air. Electricity was gone. Fear was rising. Professor David ran a hand through his gray hair and looked at the buses again.

"They’re mostly steel. They’ll withstand some zombie strikes," he muttered. "But the front bumpers won’t hold, and the windshields are too big. Any infected could break through in seconds."

His words brought a chill. Felicity and the others immediately thought of the Giant Armoured Stage-1, whose single punch could crush half a bus, or the Type Two Stage-1—a blur of blades and speed that could slash through the windshield and slaughter everyone inside in the blink of an eye.

"Where are we supposed to find materials strong enough to reinforce them? Or tools to weld anything?" a university student near the back asked, despair bleeding through his words.

"You won’t need any of that," Merek said coolly. Every head turned toward him. "Just bring me as many essence cores as you can find, and I’ll handle the modifications."

Silence.

Then, came a sharp voice, Fred’s. "You expect us to hand over our cores? Let me guess—you’ll eat them to power up while we run around doing your work?"

Merek didn’t flinch. "Exactly, Sherlock," he said, his voice calm, but his eyes flaring. "Especially after losing two of my wraiths thanks to this mess. You’re damn right I want you to work."

The simmering anger in his voice was unmistakable. But then he turned away, his tone cooling.

"I don’t need the cores for myself. Not right now. But I do need them for this. If you want a shot at getting to White Shop alive, then fetch them."

"How many?" Professor David asked.

Merek paused. "Two hundred. Or more. As many as you can bring."

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Two hundred? It felt impossible. Like a scam.

And yet—

"We’ll get them," Felicity said. Her voice didn’t waver. Her eyes locked with Merek’s—sharp and... trusting. He stared back, and in that moment, he knew.

If he was bluffing, she wouldn’t let him live to regret breaking her trust.

His resilience, and his willingness to help, even when he had every chance to flee, unwittingly elevated him in her heart.

She didn’t say it aloud, didn’t even fully acknowledge it to herself, but the shift was undeniable.

Merek had lost two of his most capable wraiths—each one over five times stronger than an average man. That kind of loss would have shattered anyone else. None among them could have borne it, let alone stayed behind to help others.

After a short deliberation, Professor David began organizing the willing into small hunting teams, tasking them with gathering essence cores from the surrounding area.

With determined efficiency, he grouped them, briefed them, and sent them off. Eventually, he too departed, leading a small party of three, trusting Merek and his so-called "knights" to watch over the gym in their absence.

With a weary sigh, Merek climbed to the top of one of the buses and sat cross-legged, his legs dangling off the edge.

Though to the casual observer he seemed to be gazing blankly into the horizon, in truth, his attention was on the panel before his eyes—fixed on the new skill he got from the Type One Stage-1 zombie.

[Incite: An unclassified skill that allows you to manipulate the intentions of others through your voice. It is most effective when provoking or aggravating emotions. However, the closer someone is to your heart, the weaker the skill’s influence becomes.]

A slow smile tugged at his lips.

"An unclassified skill..." he murmured. "My Telekinesis was a Stage-1 skill from the beginning. Felicity’s teleportation, Tevin’s bone manipulation, Nero’s flame conjuration—each seems like Stage-1 right out of the gate. It’s like we were given a bonus package."

That’s what it seemed like. Still, Merek couldn’t shake the uncertainty. Was it truly a common trait among those with defined ’jobs’—to begin with a Stage-1 skill?

Or was there a deeper pattern he hadn’t seen yet?

His thoughts drifted toward the others in the gym. Not all of them had manifested their abilities yet. Not all had jobs. And those that did? They weren’t always strong.

It probably had to do with the heart. Some were too afraid.

As the evening wind brushed against him and the fading light cast long shadows across the school grounds, Merek narrowed his eyes slightly, his focus now on how to gain more souls.

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