Leveling up in Dystopia

Chapter 7, Moral Dilemma.

The blue screen flickered before Shihab’s eyes.

The system notification said:

[Query Detected: Family Status.

Answer: - ALIVE.

Condition: Location data restricted. Complete task to unlock.]

Shihab’s breath hitched. His fingers trembled as he reached out, as if he could physically grasp the words. "Where are they?" he demanded, his voice rough with exhaustion.

The system pulsed, indifferent to his desperation.

A new message appeared:

[Task Acceptance Required

Objective: Acquire 50,000 credits from Metro Bank vault.

Reward: Coordinates of family.

Penalty for refusal: Data purged permanently.]

His stomach twisted. Stealing. The word alone felt like poison. His mother’s voice echoed in his memory: "We do not take what isn’t ours, even in hunger."

"But this isn’t for me," he muttered, clenching his fists. "It’s for them."

A metallic taste filled his mouth< he’d bitten his cheek. The system waited, unmoving.

As he opened his mouth to respond, a guttural snarl ripped through the air.

Shihab spun, his weapon raised, but too late a decaying hand grabbed his ankle. He kicked hard, the zombie’s jaw snapping shut on empty air as he blasted its skull apart.

Then the streets moved.

From alleyways, shattered storefronts, even sewer grates, they came hundreds of hollow-eyed, shambling figures, their moans merging into a chorus of hunger.

He fired, rounds punching through rotting flesh, but for every one that fell, three more took its place. A clawed hand grazed his shoulder, another snagging his backpack. Panic spiked.

With a final spray of bullets, Shihab turned and ran.

The zombies gave chase, a tidal wave of death. He vaulted over a collapsed fence, slid under a half-raised garage door, and burst into an abandoned house, slamming the door behind him.

Silence.

Panting, he pressed his ear to the wood. Scratching. Moaning. Then blessedly fading footsteps. They’d lost him.

Slumping against the wall, Shihab exhaled. Moonlight bled through broken curtains, illuminating a child’s crayon drawing still taped to the fridge. A family, smiling.

The system’s text reappeared, glowing accusingly in the dark.

[Task Status: Pending

Time remaining: 11:59:59…]

Outside, the dead still wandered.

Inside, a different kind of corruption whispered.

The abandoned house creaked as Shihab shouldered his way back inside, his arms laden with scavenged supplies canned beans, bottled water, and a few packets of crackers he'd found in a shattered convenience store. The two little girls, Aisha and Rima, looked up from their makeshift bed of blankets, their eyes widening at the sight of food.

"You came back," Aisha whispered, her small voice filled with relief.

Shihab knelt and set the supplies down in front of them. "Of course I did."

Rima, the younger of the two, immediately tore into a packet of crackers, her tiny hands shaking. "Thank you, thank you," she mumbled between hungry bites.

Aisha ate more slowly, watching Shihab as he sat against the wall, his weapon resting across his knees. His face was shadowed, his usual sharp focus dulled by something heavier than exhaustion.

She swallowed her last bite and tilted her head. "Why are you sad?"

Shihab blinked, surprised by the question. He hesitated, then sighed. "I have to do something... bad. To find my family."

Rima paused mid-chew. "Bad?"

"Stealing," he admitted, the word bitter on his tongue.

Aisha's face scrunched up in disapproval. "Stealing is wrong. My mama said so."

Rima nodded vigorously. "Only bad people steal."

Shihab closed his eyes for a moment. They were right. He knew they were right. But the system's offer, his family's location burned in his mind.

Aisha reached out, her small fingers brushing his arm. "You’re a good person. You saved us. You don’t have to do bad things."

Rima crawled closer, resting her head against his side. "We’ll help you find them another way."

Something in his chest cracked. These children, who had lost everything, still clung to what was right. How could he do any less?

He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders easing. "You’re right," he murmured, ruffling Rima’s hair. "No stealing. We’ll find another way."

Aisha grinned, relief bright in her eyes. "Good. Because we need you to stay you."

Shihab managed a small smile. For the first time since the system’s demand, the gnawing guilt in his gut eased.

Outside, the wind howled through the empty streets.

But inside, for now, there was warmth.