We broke into a five-room apartment next to 888 Plaza, a small neighborhood complex with a 7-Eleven, a food court and a supermarket that would cover our daily needs. This would be our new base of operations.

  The unit was on the second floor, a corner flat at the end of the corridor. It made for a defensible position if it ever came to that, and if we had to bail, our boosted strength and dexterity meant we could survive a jump. Not that it seemed necessary, I’d yet to see any mobs climb stairs or move past the ground floor.

  We spent the next hour cleaning up the place, sweeping glass and clearing out trash until it almost felt livable again.

  As we tidied, I couldn’t help but wonder what happened to the family that lived here. It was clearly a home, cozy and renovated nicely. They had two kids from the looks of it. That meant they were doing well. Above average.

  Had they died fighting mobs? Or were they just… gone, like everyone else?

  We’d seen signs of other survivors in the area from observing burned armor, barricaded units, the occasional house light still on, but no one seemed willing to talk. Even at the food court or supermarket, people kept to themselves.

  God… how long has it been? Have we already split into factions? So soon?

  We’d spent the earlier part of the day grinding around the neighborhood. We'd drive, stop, fight and move on. Now that we’d left the jungle zones behind and returned to the residential blocks, the mobs were changing again. No longer twisted animals, but warped humans, flesh fused with metal, with just enough of their old selves left to be disturbing.

  We fought zooming cyclists wielding pipes and machetes, blasting music from speakers embedded in their torsos and heads. Their legs and backs had merged into their bicycles, making them half-man, half-machines.

  They whooped and hollered, trying to overwhelm us with noise more than anything else. The loud techno music did have an auditory effect on us. We were hit with a debuff called Dazed. It made us dizzy but once we knocked them over, they were helpless. It was almost comical. Shawn had enough after the third ambush. He climbed back into the Grave Digger, floored the accelerator, and turned the street into a scrapyard while Siva and I looked on half in awe and half in horror, at what could only be described as vehicular homicide.

  We won. Again. But somehow, it didn’t feel like much of a victory. I worried we were getting too used to this too fast. Killing didn’t seem like a big deal anymore and that was wrong. No. We had to find a balance, and fast.

  With the house tidied, we unpacked what we’d looted from the supermarket earlier. Food, drinks, and odds and ends were laid out in neat stacks. I took more of the “crafting” stuff like duct tape, glue and wires. Things that might come in handy later.

  After a moment’s thought, I made to exit the flat, “I want to check on someone I saw earlier,” I said. “Siva, come with me?”

  Shawn waved us off from the kitchen. “Dinner’ll be ready when you get back.”

  As Siva and I walked the short distance to the mall, he asked, “Who are we looking for, exactly?”

  “There’s this old Indian guy sitting outside a closed mobile phone shop,” I said. “You know the one near the plaza entrance? He’s got a parrot in a cage. Back in the real world, that’s a fortune teller. You usually only see them in Little India. He seemed… out of place here.”

  Siva frowned but nodded. “You think he’s an NPC? You know how I feel about… talking to one of them.”

  “I know,” I said. “You can hang back. Just keep a lookout while I talk to him.”

  The night air still hung heavy as we reached the mall and circled the outer walkway.

  I was getting used to it though, the weight of the air, the way it pressed down on your skin.

  The elderly Indian man sat on a faded plastic chair, a cigarette glowing between his fingers. Beside him was a small rectangular wooden table, and beyond that, a tall perch held a wooden cage where a green-and-yellow budgie paced restlessly from one end to the other.

  A deck of cards lay neatly on the table. An empty chair faced him.

  “Erm… hello,” I said, easing myself into the empty chair.

  The old man turned slowly, his neck creaking like old wood. Then he smiled and it was so warm and so human, that it caught me off guard. Deep wrinkles folded across his face, each one etched with years of work and weather. His yellowed teeth and calloused fingers told the story of a man who’d spent his life doing hard, honest labor.

  I’d known men like him back at the shipyard.

  Why did the system make him a fortune teller?

  Because he’s Indian? That’s… borderline racist.

  “Hello, young man. Welcome and have a seat,” he said even though I was already sitting.

  His voice carried a thick, exaggerated Indian accent.

  Yup. Definitely racist. My dad would’ve been so offended.

  Siva turned when the old man spoke, caught my eye, and rolled his.

  “Er… so how does this work?” I asked.

  Without a word, the old man fanned the deck of cards face-down across the table.

  It wasn’t a normal deck, I realized the artwork on the backs was ornate and gilded. A tarot deck.

  He reached over and unlatched the birdcage. The small green budgie hopped out, strutted across the table, then climbed his arm and perched on his shoulder, nibbling gently at his ear.

  “You can ask three questions,” the old man said, his tone almost ceremonial. “And my friend here will choose your fortune.” He gestured toward the bird.

  I shuddered, unbidden as flashes of feathers, blood, and screams from Bird Paradise cutting through my mind.

  I gulped and steadied my thoughts. Here goes.

  “Ok. What is this world, and how did we even get here?”

  The budgie hopped down from his shoulder and onto the table, landing right on the spread of cards. It took a few quick steps before bending over and plucking one in its beak, carrying it to the old man.

  He took it carefully, glanced at the image, and gave a grim smile before setting it face-up on the table.

  It was The Moon.

  The artwork showed a pale woman gazing down from a silver sky, two beasts howling beneath her as a narrow path wound toward the horizon.

  “The Moon,” the old man said softly. “Illusion and uncertainty. The path ahead and before is hidden, and not all that shines is truth.”

  I stared at the card, the flickering mall lights catching on its glossy surface. For a second, I thought I saw the moon’s surface ripple like it was alive, before I blinked and it was gone.

  That was as much of a non-answer as it gets.

  “One more question for tonight, my friend,” the old man said with that same warm smile.

  “What? I thought you said three?”

  “My friend, you asked two questions just now.” His tone was kind and patient, the sort you use with a child who doesn’t yet understand the rules. He even put a hand on my shoulder, gentle but firm.

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  I groaned and covered my eyes with my hand. Fine. Make it count.

  I was about to ask how we could get out of this world when Siva suddenly spoke up.

  “Is my sister alive?” he asked quietly.

  The words hit like a gunshot in the still night.

  I turned sharply and just stared at him.

  Siva wasn’t looking at me, his eyes were locked on the old man, unblinking.

  The fortune-teller gave a low, almost amused chuckle. “Tonight is not your time for questions, my child,” he said, voice soft but carrying that same weight as before. “Tonight is for your friend. Come back tomorrow, and you may ask me then.”

  Siva hesitated, his shoulders tensing before he finally turned away.

  I… I thought his sister was dead. I remembered him mentioning something about her when we first met.

  No. I thought back to our conversation. I had assumed she was dead. He never actually said it. Had he been carrying that weight all this time? Why didn’t he say anything?

  “Your question, my friend. The night waits for no man, and no man should ever let the night wait,” the fortune-teller nudged me. His budgie hopped forward and headbutted my hand.

  That’s… another bullshit fortune cookie line. This was a waste of time. But… I wondered. I never even thought about asking about Amira. I’d already made peace with her being gone.

  Did I even want confirmation?

  I slowly exhaled the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding, and asked,

  “Is Siva’s sister alive?”

  Siva turned sharply and glared at me. He looked furious.

  Then his expression softened and he nodded a silent thanks.

  The bird took a few steps back, scanning the spread, before plucking a card between its beak and handing it to its master.

  The old man looked at it, then turned it over with quiet gravity.

  The Fool.

  The card showed a young man standing at the edge of a cliff, a satchel slung over his shoulder with a small white dog at his feet. Behind him stretched an open sky, vast, endless, and full of light.

  The old man’s expression softened as he studied it. “The Fool,” he murmured, almost fondly. “A traveler. Unburdened by the past, untouched by fear. He walks a road he cannot see, trusting only that each step will lead him where he must go.”

  He looked up at me, eyes glinting like dark glass in the dim light. “Faith, my friend. Not the kind whispered in temples or shouted in prayer, but the kind you carry when there’s nothing else left. That is what keeps him alive.”

  The bird chirped once, as if agreeing, before hopping back to its cage.

  I didn’t know what to say. Faith. It sounded so simple and yet, it felt heavier than anything I’d ever carried.

  The fortune-teller smiled again, lines deepening around his eyes. “That is all for tonight.”

  I thanked the man, though what I really wanted to do was flip his table and scatter his cards across the road. All he’d given me were cryptic lines and vague mysticism. But what was I expecting, really? It had been a gamble from the start and I’d known that too.

  As we walked back toward our base, I finally asked, “You… never mentioned your sister might be alive. I thought she died. I’m sorry.”

  He was silent for a while. I thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, softly, almost like he was talking to himself, he said, “She left our party early on. She was approached by this guy… an NPC, I think. He offered her a quest and said it would earn us a lot of gold, enough to upgrade properly. Without fighting.”

  He swallowed hard, eyes distant.

  “I wanted to follow, but he said I was too young. She was older than me. She told me to wait. That she’d be back soon. Just a day or two.”

  He gave a shaky breath. “I waited. And waited.”

  His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “I waited until the food ran out. That’s when I knew she wasn’t coming back. The quest required her to leave the party, so I couldn’t reach out to her even if I wanted to.”

  He sniffled, a quiet, fragile sound. His eyes glistened in the faint light.

  I stopped walking and placed a hand on his shoulder.

  “Siva, look at me.”

  He hesitated but finally met my gaze.

  “If she’s alive, I promise you, we’ll find her. If I do nothing else in this fucked-up world, I’ll help you find her.”

  And I meant it.

  “You’re a selfish bastard…”

  The words echoed from somewhere deep in memory. Not now. Not this time.

  Siva nodded, managing a small, tired smile. We walked the rest of the way back in silence.

  Nothing breaks a somber mood like having a good meal and a grinning idiot waiting for you. That’s what met us when we reached our base.

  The smell hit us first. It was rich, spicy and comforting. On the table sat a full spread of steaming biryani rice with chicken curry, fried okra, fried papadums and lime pickle. Mango lassi waited in mismatched glasses, cold and inviting. It felt like we’d walked into a high-end Indian restaurant instead of a looted flat.

  And behind it all stood Shawn, wearing a “Kiss the Chef” apron.

  “How? We were only gone a few minutes,” I said, staring at the feast.

  “Don’t question the magic, baby,” Shawn replied smoothly as he sat down. He paused, reading our faces. “Who died?”

  I nearly punched him, worried what that might do to Siva, but Shawn kept going.

  “No, seriously. Who died? You know I can bring them back, right?”

  And that did it. Siva burst out laughing, and I followed soon after.

  It was the best meal we’d had since everything fell apart. As we ate, Shawn held court, recounting his romantic misadventures with women twice his age and half his patience. Despite myself, I laughed harder than I had in days. For a little while, it almost felt like life again.

  Once the dishes were cleared, it was back to business.

  We gathered around the table, our minimaps open in our HUDs, studying the two remaining Crimson Zones. The first was Woodlands Checkpoint, once the busiest land border in the world. The second was Causeway Point, the massive shopping complex that loomed nearby.

  Causeway Point was closer, but its Crimson Zone outline pulsed wider, sprawling and uneven, like a spreading infection. The Checkpoint, though large, seemed more contained. I knew most of its operations were limited to the first two levels, with the upper floors being mostly office space.

  We weighed the options.

  Two zones, both close enough to each other that choosing one over the other would not make a big difference to our travel time. Causeway Point however, promised chaos from too many confined spaces and too many blind corners. The Checkpoint, at least, had clearer sight lines and chokepoints we could control.

  We decided to head for Woodlands Checkpoint after a quick rest.

  The moonlight filtered weakly through the mist as we rolled into the Woodlands Checkpoint bus bays.

  This place was normally alive with a constant stream of engines, footsteps and impatient horns as hundreds of thousands crossed between Singapore and Malaysia daily. Now, it was empty.

  The silence felt wrong. It felt obscene. We’d seen plenty of wrongs before, but this… this was different. It felt wrong in a way I couldn’t name.

  We got out of the truck. The sound of our boots against the concrete echoed back at us, far too loud. I looked at the long rows of empty bus lanes and the unmoving gantries, the dull metal gleam of barriers that once rattled all day long. Everything looked preserved and untouched… but hollow.

  It was creepy. And somehow, it was sad.

  This had been a symbol of movement, of connection. Now it was just another graveyard of routines that would never come back.

  We made our way up the escalator toward the main departure hall. The metal steps moved silently under our weight, still running somehow. When we reached the top, the shutters were drawn down tight across the entire hall.

  That was odd.

  To the right, a narrow glassed-off section, the kind customs officers used for side entry stood slightly ajar. A single strip light inside flickered faintly, the stuttering glow painting the corridor beyond in uneven pulses.

  “That’s… not ominous at all,” Shawn muttered. “Guys, I think I forgot my passport.”

  We hesitated at the threshold. The air inside was stale and dry, like the place had been sealed for too long. We took one last look around and stepped in.

  The glass door closed behind us with a soft click.

  Our HUDs chimed in unison.

  [Crimson Zone Engaged]

  The sound was small but final.

  We were locked in.

  The corridor was narrow, no windows, only the hum of dying fluorescent lights above us. Each step sounded too loud. The air smelled of rust and old electronics.

  An elevator waited at the far end. We noticed a glass door adjacent to the elevator that led to the departure hall. I tried it but it was locked. The elevator doors opened with a slow and reluctant chime.

  Only one button glowed. Floor Six.

  We looked at each other. No one said it, but we all felt the prickling sensation that something was off.

  The doors shut, sealing us inside.

  The ride up was quiet except for the faint hum of the motor. The floor counter didn’t move smoothly, it jerked and stuttered before just... dying.

  When the doors finally opened, we were first relieved there wasn't any mobs waiting for us. But then, we stepped into what looked like a control room. Tables and chairs were scattered, some were overturned. Coffee cups sat fossilized in dried stains.

  And on the far wall sat a massive CCTV display.

  Twenty-four monitors arranged in a six-by-four grid, each showing a different part of the checkpoint.

  Every single screen was filled with movement.

  There were crowds and shuffling shapes. The motion was wrong. Unhuman like, jerky and uneven, like broken marionettes being tugged by invisible strings.

  They weren’t travelers.

  They were zombies.

  Thousands of them, packed shoulder to shoulder, trapped in the departure halls below. They didn’t charge or claw at each other. They just wandered. Bumping. Turning. Drifting.

  It was almost peaceful, in the most horrible way imaginable.

  “What in the Night of the Living Dead…” Shawn muttered under his breath.

  Siva gasped, mouth opened. He started rubbing the back of his neck.

  Our HUDs pinged in unison.

  [Crimson Zone Objective: Escape the Checkpoint.]

  That was it? Just escape? No big boss fight? Just... Escape?

  We stared at one another then back at the monitors.

  The feeds flickered as several cameras changed angles. In several frames, the metal shutters that sealed the halls began to roll upward, slow and grinding. The sound must have been deafening down there.

  And as the steel gates lifted, the zombies stirred.

  They turned as one, faces tilting upward, milky eyes catching the fluorescent light.

  Then they started moving out to the escalators we just used, though most of them lingered in the halls.

  On the screens, the Exit signs above the gates flickered to life in cold neon green, pulsing like heartbeats.

  That was our way out. Through the horde.

  Siva and I turned to Shawn in perfect synchrony.

  He raised both hands immediately. “What? Why are you looking at me like that? No. No fuck no. I can’t control that much undead! I can only control what I, we, the party, killed!”

  No one said anything. The monitors buzzed softly in the silence.

  Below, the crowd of dead commuters shuffled any which way, moving closer to the escalators, filling out the arrival-departure halls and ultimately blocking our one way out, one step at a time.

  Haunting Singapore: Ancient Spirits, Modern Tales | Royal Road, an ongoing anthology series that reimagines local myths through a modern lens.