The Undead Roommate

Chapter 4: Domestic Tensions

"Open the door! We’re not asking again!"

The voice outside was metallic, distorted by the static of a radio-headset. Kewin’s breath hitched. He looked at Antang, whose chest was glowing a blinding, impossible gold. The air in the room tasted like ozone and burnt hair.

"What are you doing?" Kewin hissed, backing away from the door.

Antang didn't look at him. His eyes were wide, glowing with a soft, pulsing light that matched his chest. "Scrambling. If they see us, they see only a dead room. No life signs. No heat. Just… rot."

"You can do that? Make us invisible?"

"I am a filter, Kewin. I bend the light around us."

"That sounds like a hell of a lot more than just 'scrubbing dishes'."

"I am… efficient."

A heavy thud shook the door frame. Dust rained from the ceiling.

"Three seconds! Two—!"

Antang lunged, not toward the door, but toward Kewin. He slammed his body against Kewin’s, pinning him against the kitchen counter. His hands were ice-cold, yet the core in his chest burned with a feverish intensity.

"Don't breathe," Antang whispered, his face inches from Kewin’s.

"You're freezing," Kewin choked out, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"Hush. They are looking for a pulse. I am hiding yours."

The door exploded inward. Splinters flew across the room like shrapnel. A figure in heavy tactical armor stepped through the threshold, rifle raised, scanning the room with a thermal visor.

Kewin held his breath until his lungs burned. Antang pressed his forehead against Kewin’s shoulder, his grip tightening. It was an awkward, desperate embrace, but Kewin couldn't help but notice the way Antang’s thumb traced a soothing, rhythmic pattern over his shoulder blade.

"Nothing here, Chief," the soldier grunted, his voice muffled behind a mask. "Just rotting furniture and old trash."

"Check the pantry," the Chief’s voice crackled from the hallway.

"I’m telling you, it’s empty. The air is stagnant. Nothing breathing in here."

"Fine. Move to the next unit. We don't have all day."

The soldier turned, his heavy boots crunching on the broken wood of the door. He didn't look twice at the kitchen. He didn't see the man and the monster trembling in the dark.

As the footsteps faded, the gold light in Antang’s chest dimmed back to a soft, pulsating blue. Antang pulled away, his eyes losing that terrifying, lucid clarity, replaced by his usual, dull-milky haze.

"You okay?" Antang asked, his voice returning to that gravelly, wet rasp.

Kewin slumped against the counter, sliding down to the floor. He wiped sweat from his eyes. "You almost got us killed. Again."

"But I saved us. Also, the sink is still dirty."

Kewin laughed, a jagged, hysterical sound. "You're joking, right? You almost turned us into Swiss cheese, and you're thinking about the sink?"

"Order," Antang said, picking up the sponge. "It keeps the logic from fraying."

"You're a weirdo, Antang."

"You are a scavenger. We are… an unusual pair."

Kewin watched him work. It was supposed to be terrifying, watching a corpse obsessively clean a plate, but the adrenaline had left him feeling strangely hollowed out—and wired.

"What was that?" Kewin asked, pointing to the spot where Antang had held him. "The way you… masked us?"

"Advanced structural manipulation," Antang murmured, scrubbing a spot of dried bean sauce. "I told you. I am an iteration."

"And the way you grabbed me? It felt… personal."

Antang stopped scrubbing. He turned, the bioluminescent blue light reflecting in his sightless eyes. "You are my keeper, Kewin. If you break, the logic fails. I protect the assets."

"Assets? I’m an asset now?"

"You are the one who provides the batteries. You are the one who keeps the room quiet. Yes. You are a high-value asset."

"Is that all?" Kewin felt a strange sting of disappointment. He stood up, walking toward the pantry to check his remaining supplies.

A sudden, sharp crash came from the window. A man in a tattered hoodie leaped through the broken glass, a jagged piece of rebar clutched in his hand. He was thin, desperate, his eyes wide with the frantic mania of the starving.

"Food!" the intruder shrieked, lunging at the kitchen table.

Kewin barely had time to reach for his knife, but he didn't need to.

Antang moved. It wasn't human speed. It was a blur of gray flesh and shifting light. He crossed the kitchen in a fraction of a second, his hand clamping over the intruder’s wrist.

The intruder screamed as the rebar clattered to the floor. "Get off me! You’re—you’re a dead thing!"

"I am a tenant," Antang rasped, his voice shifting into that low, metallic vibration. "And you are trespassing."

"Antang, wait! Don't—" Kewin started, but he stopped.

Antang didn't tear the man apart. Instead, he simply looked at him, his chest light pulsing a rhythmic, blinding strobe. The intruder’s eyes rolled back, his body twitching as if hit by a taser. He crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

"I didn't kill him," Antang said, turning back to Kewin. "He will wake up in an hour. He will have forgotten how he got here."

"How?" Kewin whispered, his hands shaking.

"I edited his short-term memory," Antang said casually, tossing the dirty sponge into the sink. "It is very efficient."

Kewin stared at him. The line between roommate and weapon had completely vanished.

"Antang," Kewin said, stepping closer. "Are you even human? Were you ever?"

Antang reached out, his cold, stiff fingers gently brushing a stray hair from Kewin’s forehead. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through Kewin’s spine.

"I remember labs," Antang whispered, his voice trembling. "I remember the smell of antiseptic and the sound of machines. But mostly… I remember the feeling of being empty. Until I found your door."

"And now?"

Antang stepped into his personal space, the blue glow of his chest casting long, dancing shadows on the walls. "Now, I am full."

Kewin didn't move. He should have been terrified. He should have been running for the hallway. Instead, he found himself leaning forward, the proximity between them heavy, electric, and completely insane.

"We have to leave this place," Kewin whispered, his voice barely audible. "The militia. The looters. They’re going to keep coming."

"Then we go together," Antang said, his fingers trailing down to Kewin’s pulse point on his neck. He felt the rapid, uneven thrum of Kewin's heartbeat. "You provide the batteries. I provide the protection. We will find the source of the rewrite."

"And if we find it?"

Antang leaned closer, his face mere inches from Kewin’s. "Then we decide if the world is worth a reboot."

A sudden, rhythmic thumping started again at the front door. This time, it wasn't the militia. It was a rhythmic, scratching sound, like hundreds of fingers tapping in unison.

"They're back," Kewin whispered. "The scavengers. The ones who follow the light."

Antang turned toward the door, his eyes flashing a fierce, defiant crimson. "Let them come. I have finally figured out how to use you as a capacitor."

"A what?" Kewin asked, but Antang didn't answer. He grabbed Kewin’s hand, his grip crushing, and pulled him toward the back of the apartment, deeper into the darkness.

"Hold on," Antang rasped. "The floor is about to disappear."