- Not all saviors wear capes. Some don’t wear anything flashy at all.

  - Watch for the ones who don’t introduce themselves.

  - Power doesn’t always arrive with fanfare.

  ---

  Two weeks. Two goddamn weeks of clearing and scavenging and nearly dying and being yelled at by Gail.

  We were beginning to think this was our life now. Wake up. Train. Kill zombies. Scavenge. Repeat. We were like some twisted sitcom cast with murder montages instead of laugh tracks.

  But finally, finally, Gail called us in, looked at us like a disappointed gym coach, and gave us the best news ever:

  “Training’s over. You’re decent now.”

  (Except Harun. Poor guy still had to train. Gail was probably trying to turn him into Rocky Balboa. Or Hercules' bigger cousin.)

  Alex had Fortress duties, making sure that every room can have electricity. Gail was busy turning Harun into a T-1000.

  That left Jules and me to head back to the other side of Cleveland for a supply run. We had a rhythm by now, banter, clear buildings, banter, loot, banter, run. It was almost fun. Until it wasn’t.

  We didn’t even notice we were being corralled until it was too late.

  Two groups of zombies. Coming in from opposite sides.

  Group One: A Leader. A Variant dog, another Fido, though this one looked leaner, meaner, maybe a Max or Hachiko? ...and three normies.

  Group Two: Another Leader. Five normal ones.

  “Oh good,” I said, pulling out my axe and one of my throwing knives. “It’s a party.”

  Jules gave me a quick glance, her pistol in hand. “Remind me never to RSVP again.”

  Then it started.

  I dove into motion, adrenaline kicking in like a performance-enhancing drug with no FDA approval. The world slowed. Every breath felt like a choice. I ducked a swipe from a normie, kicked it into the other, and swung my axe down Hachiko's neck. Bad dog.

  I grabbed a fist-sized rock and threw it at the Leader, stunning him, giving me ample time to deal with the three normies.

  Jules held her own, mostly. She wasn’t a hand-to-hand fighter like Gail, and didn’t improvise like I did. But she could aim, move, and make decisions fast.

  She fought a Normie one-on-one with a knife and a pistol, like the Gun Fu you see in movies. She cut the arms that tried to grab her, followed by a bullet to its temple.

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  She then charged at and shot a Leader in the throat and followed it with a kick that knocked over two normies.

  But we were outnumbered.

  She didn’t see the one behind her.

  “Jules!” I shouted, already too far to get to her.

  She turned, too late.

  A gunshot cracked the air.

  The zombie that lunged at her dropped, a hole in its skull the size of a golf ball.

  Jules and I froze. We looked up.

  A figure. Rooftop. Then gone.

  We didn’t speak. Just moved.

  We eliminated the last two normies that she knocked down before he headed to the building.

  We climbed the fire escape, scrambling over loose steps, adrenaline now flavored with confusion. When we got to the top…

  The smell hit first. Burnt gunpowder and rotting flesh. A pile of Variant corpses, eight? Nine? All with bullet wounds that screamed precision.

  Near the edge of the rooftop, a single sniper casing.

  And taped to it, an actual sticky note.

  Jules picked it up, read it aloud.

  ---

  Elliot: Inefficient, but creative.

  Jules: Sloppy awareness.

  "I don’t know you two, but I know enough, like your names."

  "See you around."

  - Jonah

  ---

  We stared at the note. Then at each other.

  I blinked. “Did we just get performance reviews?”

  Jules raised an eyebrow. “From someone who wasn’t even in the room.”

  “Someone who saved your life.”

  “Someone who’s been watching us.”

  She looked around, trying to catch another glimpse. But there was nothing. Just the faint shimmer of Cleveland heat and a few pigeons looking vaguely judgmental.

  “Jonah,” I said slowly. “Do you know a Jonah?”

  “Nope,” she said. “Do you?”

  “Nope. But apparently he knows us.”

  We pocketed the note. Didn’t talk much after that.

  Not because we were scared.

  But because whoever Jonah was…

  He didn’t need an introduction.

  He already made his presence known.

  Quietly. Sharply.

  And I had a feeling… we'd be seeing him again.

  Eventually.

  ---

  When we got back to the Fortress, the first thing I did was collapse face-first on the couch.

  The second thing I did was lift my head, hold up the sticky note like it was some ancient scroll, and say, “We made a friend.”

  Alex, mid-soldering something that looked suspiciously like a landmine, didn’t look up. “Did you bring back canned goods or sarcasm?”

  “Both,” Jules said, handing over two bags filled with books, batteries, and bandages, food, and more.

  Gail was already frowning from the corner, wiping down a knife that didn’t look like it needed wiping. “Explain.”

  So we did. The ambush. The two groups of zombies. The sniper shot. The rooftop. The pile of dead variants. The note.

  Gail took the sticky square from my hand and read it in silence. His brow twitched only slightly at “Elliot: Inefficient.” (I’ll take that as a compliment.)

  Alex finally stopped what she was doing and walked over, reading over his shoulder.

  “Jonah,” she murmured. “Who the hell names themselves on a sticky note?”

  “Someone with enough bullets to waste one,” I said, “and the aim to make it count.”

  Gail grunted, which either meant he was concerned or constipated. With him, it was a fine line.

  “He knew our names,” Jules added, crossing her arms. “That’s the part I keep coming back to. Not just faces. Names.”

  “That means he’s seen us multiple times,” Alex said. “Tracked us. Watched us. Learned our patterns.”

  "Wouldn't a better explanation would be that he heard me call Jules by her name, and heard Jules call me by my name? Occam's Razor, Alex." I say, with a smirk.

  "Occam's Razor, Alex" Alex repeats me with a mocking tone. "I'll show you what a razor looks like."

  Harun peeked from the kitchen doorway, holding a spoon like a wand. “Did he leave snacks too, or just ominous messages?”

  “Just the message,” I said. “And like… thirty pounds of dead variants.”

  Gail turned the sticky note over. Nothing on the back. Just the casual handwriting of someone who considered this an ordinary Tuesday.

  “He’s skilled,” Gail finally said. “Better than anyone I’ve seen since… maybe the Unity Group snipers.”

  That made all of us go quiet.

  I don't know about you but if Gail starts verbally compliments someone? They deserve it.

  If Gail had Batman's combat skills, then Jonah had Batman's sneaking skills.

  Jokes aside, we know two things.

  One: he was out there.

  Two: we didn’t know if he was on our side.

  “He saved Jules,” Alex pointed out.

  “Could’ve let the zombie take her and stayed hidden,” I agreed. “But he didn’t.”

  “Which means he wants us to know he exists,” Gail said. “This note wasn’t for information. It was a message.”

  “Message received,” I said, tapping the casing we’d brought with us. “Loud and clear. Well—quiet and clear.”

  Harun raised a hand. “Do we send a note back?”

  “No,” Gail said instantly.

  “I mean like… not literally,” Harun said, slightly wounded. “But are we… trying to find him? Avoid him? What?”

  We all looked at Gail.

  “We treat him like a neutral,” he said. “Not a threat. Not an ally. Until proven otherwise.”

  Alex looked down at the note again. “‘I know enough, like your names.’ That’s some serial killer phrasing.”

  “Inefficient, but creative,” I muttered.

  “What?” Gail asked.

  “That’s what he called me. Inefficient, but creative.” I grinned. “Honestly? I’m flattered.”

  “He called me sloppy,” Jules added, dry.

  Harun pointed his spoon at her. “That’s kinda accurate though.”

  Jules narrowed her eyes. “I will yeet you with this chair.”

  “I think I like Jonah,” Harun whispered behind the spoon.

  Gail sighed and tacked the sticky note to the map wall.

  A new pin. A new question mark.

  Whoever Jonah was…

  He was watching.

  And now?

  We were watching back.