Izuku Midoriya | Zombie Apocalypsis

They normally didn't come to this part of the city. Too far from the camp, it was hard to know when a zone was really clean from clickers, or occupied with another survivors.

The buildings that still stood were gutted, windows shattered, concrete cracked, the streets outside overgrown with weeds pushing up through asphalt. Izuku adjusted the grip on his gun as he stepped into the next building on his route, boots crunching against debris. They had split up, hopefully they would finish exploring the area before nightfall.

The air inside was stale and damp, carrying the faint scent of mold. Every sound seemed too loud—the distant drip of water from a broken pipe, the groan of the floorboards beneath his weight, the soft swish of fabric as he shifted his pack. He paused near the entrance, waiting, listening, making sure nothing stirred in the silence. Then, satisfied enough, he clicked on his flashlight and swept the beam across the hallway.

Paper curled yellow on the walls, fragments of old posters clinging in patches. He let the light linger for a moment on a door, then moved forward, the muzzle of his pistol following the glow. His nerves were steady, though he kept every sense sharpened. After ten years of surviving, it was routine now—check every corner, don’t linger too long, and never assume a place was truly empty.

He ducked into a side room, crouching to rifle through a toppled cabinet. Empty. His breath left him in a quiet sigh. Food, medicine, batteries—anything would help, but most buildings this close to the heart of the city had been stripped long ago. Still, you never knew. Sometimes a drawer or crawlspace turned up something worth the trouble.

“C’mon… just one thing,” he muttered under his breath, like a prayer meant only for himself. His flashlight beam caught on something metallic under a desk, and for a second his pulse quickened. But when he reached for it, it was nothing more than an empty can, rusted through the bottom. He set it aside, exhaling through his nose.

The group would be waiting for them. It wasn't hus turn to patrol, but they didn’t have much, and he’d volunteered to check this stretch of the district because he couldn’t stand sitting idle when everyone’s stomachs were hollow. He thought of them—faces gathered around the meager fire, their silhouettes flickering against concrete walls. He thought of the children especially, how their laughter had grown rarer over the years. If he could find something—anything—it would be worth the risk.

He straightened and moved deeper into the building. His light swept across a collapsed staircase, catching on broken glass, the shadows stretching long across the walls. He didn’t hear the footsteps behind him. He didn’t hear anything at all—just the sudden, sharp crack against the side of his skull, and the world tilted violently.

Pain flared, white-hot, and then his body went slack, darkness swallowing him whole.

---

When Izuku came to, the first thing he felt was pain. A throbbing ache that radiated from the side of his head down to the base of his skull, every heartbeat a pounding reminder of the blow that had dropped him. His vision swam as he blinked against the dim light, shapes swimming into focus—the jagged lines of a ceiling, beams exposed, paint long peeled away.

He tried to sit up, only to be pulled back down by the bite of rope cutting into his wrists. His arms were wrenched behind him, tied so tight his fingers were already tingling from lack of circulation. His ankles were bound too, pressing awkwardly against the rough floor. His breathing stuttered before he forced it even, biting back the urge to panic. He’d learned long ago that panic only made the knots feel tighter.

Izuku tested the restraints anyway, twisting his wrists, flexing his shoulders. Nothing gave. Whoever had tied him knew their knots. His weapons were gone—pistol, knife, even the spare blade he kept tucked into his boot. They’d stripped him clean.

The room was dark, the only light spilling in through a gap in boarded-up windows. Dust hung in the air like ash, glowing faintly in the moonlight. He could hear faint sounds beyond the walls—wind pushing against the building, a distant groan of metal—but nothing close. Nothing human. Not yet.

He shut his eyes for a moment, focusing. Where were the others? Had they made it back to camp? Had they even realized he was missing? A knot twisted in his chest at the thought of them waiting, wondering, but he shoved it down. Right now, it didn’t matter. Right now, survival came first.

Then the silence shifted.

A creak, low and deliberate, echoed across the floor. Izuku’s eyes snapped open, his head turning toward the sound. A shadow peeled itself from the corner of the room, steps slow and measured, deliberate in their approach. His heart hammered in his chest, adrenaline flooding back into his veins.

He swallowed hard, forcing his voice past the dryness in his throat. “...Who are you?” His voice came rough, but steady enough. He kept his eyes locked on the figure as it drew closer, trying to read posture, intent, anything that might tell him what he was dealing with. Raider? Scavenger? He'd been almost certain no other group was located here... but could his information have been wrong? They'd been trespassing on someone else's territory?

“I’m not here to cause trouble,” he added quickly, the words tumbling out before the silence could crush him. “If this is about supplies… I don’t have much. Any, actually, you already took everything....” He winced slightly at how desperate it sounded, but his mind was already racing through possibilities, cataloguing details, trying to find an opening.

He flexed his wrists again, though the ropes didn’t budge. His jaw clenched. “You don't need to kill me... You shouldn't." His voice cracked for an instant, then hardened as he forced his chin up, meeting their gaze directly. “I'm not alone. My group will come looking for me. We didn't come to fight, but if you provoke us—"

The figure’s steps halted in the half-light, dust swirling between them. Izuku’s breath caught, every nerve in his body screaming to move, to fight, to run—but all he could do was watch, heart hammering, and wait.