The next door down was Room 210, its door hanging slightly off its hinges, the wood scarred with deep claw marks, but the damage looked old.

  Miles pressed his ear against it and heard nothing but silence inside. He eased the door open slowly, his M17 held ready.

  The room was neat but abandoned, with a few personal items left scattered on the desk.

  After searching thoroughly-checking under the bed, behind the curtains, and inside every drawer-and finding nothing useful beyond a pack of matches tucked in a desk drawer, he moved on to the next room.

  Room 211 stood closed, its door solid and unmarked. He tested the knob, it was locked tight, with no signs of force or damage.

  Pressing his ear against the wood, he listened closely.

  Through the door came clear sounds of someone showering, the steady rush of water.

  Then.. A voice, low and cautious.

  "What was that?"

  A second voice, quieter.

  "Did you notice? Someone tried to open the door."

  The first voice replied with caution and warning tone to other.

  "Someone outside.. Rick get your bat ready."

  Then, the second voice replied.

  "I get the bat, you look at what is it."

  Listening to the conversation of the people inside, Miles smile but shook his head.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  "Mmh, so they're alive," he murmured to himself.

  Although Miles didn't know most of his neighbors who were also boarding here while attending the nearby college, he'd run into them from time to time in the hallway or at the building's small laundry room.

  Their faces were familiar, even if their names weren't, just fellow students trying to get by before everything went wrong.

  'I'll clear the floor first.' he thought, making sure to keep his movements quiet so as not to alarm them further.

  He stepped back, giving the room a wide berth, then continued checking the final room on the end of the corridor.

  Room 212.

  Its door was slightly ajar, and as he approached, he saw no signs of disturbance, no claw marks, no forced entry.

  He pressed his ear against it briefly, heard only silence, then eased it open fully.

  The room was tidy but empty, with a few belongings left behind.

  A stack of textbooks on the desk, a folded blanket on the bed, and a small bag of non-perishable snacks in the closet.

  After confirming the room was completely clear of any threats, Miles walked back to his room 209.

  The door was half destroyed with flipped over damaged study desk wedged near the entrance.

  The 3 bodies of the Cursed, which he first killed lay sprawl on the floor alongside with the Level 2 Agile Cursed.

  "What a mess." He muttered with a soft laugh, "Now, where can I live." Although he'd kept up with regular exercise before this apocalypse disaster, clearing two entire floors had pushed him to his limit.

  He leaned against the wall for a moment, catching his breath and wiping sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand.

  The adrenaline that had kept him going was fading fast, leaving nothing but bone-deep tiredness in its wake.

  "I'll settle in 206 for now," He decided, pushing himself off the wall and heading back out into the hallway.

  Even though the room was messy with overturned furniture and broken glass, it was clear of threats, unlike with his own room which is currently in ruins, it was the best option he had.

  He'd clean it up enough to make a safe space to rest, then figure out his next move once he'd gotten some much needed sleep.

  He made his way back to Room 206, pushing the door open with his shoulder and stepping inside carefully.

  The overturned chairs and tables were still scattered across the floor, and broken glass crunched under his boots as he moved further in.

  The dark blood streaks on the walls were a stark reminder of what had happened here, but he pushed the thought aside right now, all he needed was a place to rest.

  After locking the door, he walked to the bed -what was left of it, anyway, with one leg broken and the sheets pulled halfway off. He didn't bother fixing it up or clearing away the nearby debris.

  "I'll clean later,"he mumbled, his voice thick with weariness.

  He kicked off his boots and collapsed onto the mattress, not even bothering to take off his tactical gear.

  The cool fabric of his shirt was still damp with sweat, but he didn't care. His muscles ached all over, and every breath felt like it took more effort than the last.

  Miles propped his M17 against the wall within arm's reach, then let his head fall back onto the lumpy pillow. The room was dim, only a sliver of gray light coming through the boarded up window.

  Outside, he could hear the distant, familiar sounds of the city faint shuffling, the occasional low growl, but none of it seemed urgent anymore.

  His eyes drifted closed almost immediately, and within seconds, deep, even breathing filled the quiet room.

  [Weapon Tutorial: Training Stage 5 - Final Fire Position.]

  [Author's Note: His Weapon Tutorial is automatically activated once, he slept.]

  Weapon Tutorial Stages:

  1. Firearm Handling

  2. Firearm Manipulation/Operation

  3. Firearm Control

  4. Firearm Precision

  5. Final Fire Position

  6. ???

  ↓

  Etc...