Heather sat alone at the dining table, a full glass of water resting untouched in front of her.
It was clear now—it hadn't been Heather who asked Samantha that Would You Rather question. Someone, or something, had possessed her. Samantha knew it. That's why she didn't confront her mother. Instead, she turned toward the stairs, hoping they could both have space to process.
"Wait," Heather called out, stopping her mid-step.
"Mom?"
Heather forced a smile through her bitter expression, trying to reassure her daughter. "It's all over now, okay?"
But it wasn't over. Samantha knew it. Just moments ago, Heather's body—unwilling or not—had physically stopped her from escaping.
Samantha hesitated. Should she tell her the truth?
"…Okay," she lied. She didn't want to add more weight to Heather's already heavy heart.
"You're so strong, Sam… You know that, right?"
Samantha gave a small, fake smile in return.
Heather took a breath, then asked hesitantly, "Before Nick… did he say anything? I mean—any last words?"
Samantha's head throbbed. The memory surfaced with jarring force.
"RUN!"
"Please. Run for me... won't you?"
"Run away, Sam… tell your mother I loved her."
"And remember… I love you, Sam."
"Argh…" she winced, clutching her forehead as the pain surged.
"I'm sorry, Sam—"
"No, no—it's fine." She steadied her breathing, then answered, "He… he said he loved us. I think he said that."
Heather's tears welled up. "Sounds like Nick…"
"I'll head upstairs for a bit. Is that okay?"
"Yeah… yeah, of course."
Heather lifted the glass and downed the water like it was liquor.
Up in her room, everything looked the same—but it felt off. The air was heavy. The walls too quiet. She didn't lie down. Instead, she sat on the edge of her bed, elbows on her knees, head in her hands.
"Run for me… won't you?"
"You're so stupid, Dad," she muttered aloud.
The next moment, she was at her computer, pulling up Google Maps. Heather's voice—when possessed—mentioned the zombie apocalypse would take place right there in Chicago. If there was anything she could learn from her father's leadership last game, it was that knowledge of the area could save lives.
"…Target in front… down the street an IKEA… Walmart left of that…" she whispered, scrolling and zooming. She spent hours memorizing landmarks, supply stores, and major buildings. She jotted down key notes and stuck them to her shirt—if she woke up in the same clothes again, the notes might still be there when the game began.
If escape wasn't possible for her, then it wasn't possible for others either. Her stupid, selfless dad would've tried to save everyone. But he's not here anymore.
So now, she would.
—
At Starbucks, Liam walked back into the store he'd just quit.
"Changed your mind, Dye?" his manager asked without looking up from the register, clearly overworked. The place was severely understaffed especially after Liam's resignation.
Liam ignored him, heading to the farthest table in the café, where three people sat.
Caitlyn's face lit up when she spotted him, though she quickly tempered her expression, remembering what he'd been through.
"You came," she said softly.
"Yeah. Yeah, I did."
"So… how are you holding up? Is it… too early to ask that?"
"I'm fine."
"Oh, good. Um—take a seat!" She motioned to the empty chair beside her.
Liam sat. He didn't mind Caitlyn. She wasn't malicious—just a little clingy.
"Must've been insane, seeing your roommate jump out the window like that," said Lydia Ryder, the extravagantly dressed blonde across the table, adorned in flashy accessories and zero tact.
"Lydia!" Caitlyn snapped, scandalized.
"Yeah," Liam replied calmly. "It was insane."
"So… what? I heard he's always the attention seeking type. Low self-esteem?"
"Lydia!" Caitlyn tried again, glaring.
"What? I'm just asking."
She turned to Liam with a feigned smile. "Sorry, was that hurtful?" She extended a hand for a fake apology handshake.
"That's okay," Liam said, not shaking it.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Caitlyn asked gently, watching his face.
"No. I don't."
"So you just came for coffee?" The comment came from Jason Noir Quinn, the well-dressed student with sharp features and glasses. He had the classic overachiever look and bore a striking resemblance to a younger Alex Quinn—his father.
"Yeah. Just wanted a drink."
Jason was second only to Liam academically. He had a reputation for being cold and direct, though rumors said he was a giant nerd in private. He harbored a crush on Caitlyn, and Liam—who Caitlyn adored—was the unavoidable object of his envy.
Still, Jason stayed civil. His respect for Liam likely stemmed from both his upbringing and personal code.
"Have you ordered yet?" Jason asked.
"Not yet."
"I'll get it for you! What do you want?" Caitlyn stood up eagerly.
"No, really. I'll order later."
"I don't mind! I want another cake anyway—"
"Please," Liam said firmly. "I'll handle it."
She sat down, surprised by the insistence.
"If you're not ordering now, why are you really here?" Lydia asked, still unfiltered.
Liam ignored the glare Caitlyn gave her and looked at the group.
"I just have one question for you guys."
Jason leaned forward. "Shoot."
Liam's voice was calm, and his eyes were apathetic as usual.
"Would you rather spend a night in a zombie apocalypse here in Chicago—or spend a night sailing on a pirate ship in the Pacific Ocean filled with sea monsters?"