Hans watched the training queue tick down into completion.
"Forty minutes for the DASF," he calculated. "Fifty for the two Missile Infantries. Shouldn’t be too long."
He paced around the room before using his comms.
"Kenji, do you copy?"
"Commander."
"Bring the documents over to my previous room. You know where it is, right?"
"Understood, Commander. Kenji, out."
Hans took a good look around once again and saw the cracks on the walls. Though little, a web of such cracks spanned from the bed he was in.
It looked hideous, and the falling fragments didn’t help Hans either. He raised his index finger and curled it inward.
Two taps. Two dull thuds.
"Nothing’s changing," Hans was relieved. "If that broke the wall, I’d be damned."
He sighed and turned to the exit.
The metallic door creaked open.
The corridor was quieter than before. Not because the guards had left, but because the soldiers outside were trying to be.
Hans stepped out and glanced back once. The room was no different to a normal bedroom from the old world until one noticed the damage.
Hairline fractures ran across the concrete. Dust still drifted in the air, slow and lazy.
He walked toward the large intersection at the corridor’s center. Vents bent at worrisome angles, but the welds held. Somehow, the air conditioning and water pipes still worked.
Whoever welded these needed a raise, Hans mused. Not like they could make use of that thing now.
Two guards nervously approached Hans and wondered how powerful their Commander has become.
Hans watched their shivering limbs and laughed.
"You’ve worked hard," he pointed toward the exit. "Lead the way."
The two guards nodded and stepped forward. One paced two meters away while the next followed after.
Hans distanced himself too, following their unspoken protocol.
These soldiers... he shook his head. Still too strict even when the place is all safe?
Was it really necessary? Look at that guy, he almost slipped stepping into that staircase.
The entire procedure lasted for two minutes. Upon arriving at the now thoroughly cleaned manager’s office, the two soldiers gathered at the door and waited for Hans to arrive.
"At ease," he ordered. "Stay here and watch the basement entrance."
"Yes, Commander!"
Hans’s boots loudly echoed on the narrow and empty corridors. His mind started to wander while treading through the spotless floor.
The number of workers.
Security guards patrolling left and right.
And the manager’s smirking face counting the wealth he had amassed.
A torn feeling swept over Hans’s heart. The old world may have indeed been hard and rough to him, but at least he didn’t have to think about military operations, colony management, and future planning with his system.
All it took was the muscle memory to keep on doing the same thing everyday—wake up, eat, play, work, play again, eat, and sleep.
It was a cycle that had plagued him for so long that even until two months in the apocalypse, a trace of such habits whispered near his ears day and night.
"Going to these places," Hans’s gaze landed on the empty dispenser. "I should be careful."
He yawned, his muscles stretching as a reaction.
The pristine tiles already cracked by the previous fat zombie cracked even more. Hans pulled back his body and scratched his head when he saw the damage that has been done.
"Am I so powerful now?"
------
Commander: Hans Flemmens
Rank: 3 - Company Leader
Tier: 0 - 80% Synchronization Rate
Axes: Somatic, Perception, Psychic
------
Tier 0 and an eighty percent Synchronization Rate. Somatic, Perception, and Psychic Axes. System, what do these terms mean?
[ Commander, please review the intel from Tyrus’s Project HELIX notes. ]
"Will it kill you if you tell it to me?" Hans clenched his fist.
[ It is important for the Commander to read them by himself. ]
"Fine, you win."
He harrumphed, then increased his strides and pacing towards his previous Commander’s Room.
What he didn’t expect was for the concrete walkway to crack in distress as he strengthened his legs. By the time he pushed his feet, his figure shot through.
"Fuck!"
He grunted, forcefully breaking his momentum by extending his left leg forward. The sequence of events had been too much for him.
The cracked walls. A cracked tile. And now even the concrete.
A resigned expression planted on his face. He lifted his vision upward. The spiraling clouds hung around the sky right above the office building, refusing to fade away.
"What happened to the clouds above? Why did it become like that?"
Hans questioned.
Little did he know the culprit was nobody but himself.
"Commander," an Army Soldier’s voice called out. "The documents has been delivered to your room. Sentries have been moved as well."
"Good work," Hans nodded. "If somebody looks for me, tell them I’m not available and is quite busy."
"Understood, Commander!"
The Army Soldier saluted, maintaining his stance until Hans’s figure vanished into the stairwell.
Hans crossed the short distance from the lobby into the stairwell. The path hit him with a familiar smell.
Tiles, stale air, and that faint cleaning chemical wafting out from the maintenance room.
For a second, his mind filled the space on its own.
Workers in uniform walking past him, eyes half-dead from the routine.
Security guards pacing left and right as if the apartment building was a kingdom. And the manager behind the desk wearing a smirk that never meant kindness.
Into the stairwell, children dashed with no care of their lives—too loud and too energetic. They ran down the hallways, slapped elevator buttons, and laughed loudly in the middle of their pranks.
Hans’s mouth twitched, wondering why these visions were flashing into his mind.
As he willed, the image collapsed.
The lobby was empty. No more voices from arguments. No more footsteps from people who hurried. No more complaints from the tenants.
Only his boots echoed as he walked past the dark stairwell and the hallways.
"Going to these places," he muttered. "Is my mind playing a trick on me?"