First, I'd like to formally blame fortheloveofb and their fic 'Pull Me Out So I Can Catch My Breathe' on ao3 for creating such a damn need that I went and made a zombie fic, thank — a good read, btw. Second, I'd like to formally blame kacchas for texting me zombie plots at 11pm, convincing me to indeed write it, and then proceed to share docs as we both write our au's — thank bb, you're my motivation. Comments and reviews are appreciated as always, 3


The world didn't end in a bang, or a whisper, but rather, one scream at a time.

She knows of others, all of the countless others, but remembers her scream being one of the first.

Ochako remembers it going a little something like this ; the world enduring a slow downfall, society crumbling within months, and the semblance of peace lost practically overnight. It was a drastic change from normalcy, the practice of life and living the same as it always was, to widespread panic, misunderstandings and eventual tragedy.

She remembers people acting… strange; there really was no other way to describe it. They would walk down the road, eyes lidded and forward as they'd wander, no destination in mind, not a care in the world. They were often left alone to their own devices because, albeit awkward, there wasn't anything really wrong. One person in particular she recalls standing out to her one day; a neighbor from down the way acting with the same strange behavior as the others, mindless, wandering. She remembers on their face the blank stare they gave her when she spoke to them, eyes full of something she couldn't quite place, the nerves that crawled down her spine in the shared silence, and how intensely they watched her walk away when she did.

That same night, when walking by her parents' bedroom, she catches briefly the news of what sounded like a cannibalism case. It drew her in, and she finds herself set next to her parents watching the story as it unfolded. A murder, especially one of that nature, close to home was uncommon. She reeled, hand quick to cover her mouth as the images changed.

There was blood; so, so much blood and, not that she was ever curious, Ochako saw firsthand what the inside of a body truly looked like, the victim's neck all but gone. Her mother wonders why they thought it necessary to show any of this live on television, her voice soft and shaken as she spoke; Ochako remembers how she gripped her shoulder tightly, wrapping her in a warm, protective embrace and when they showed the face of the person responsible, Ochako was suddenly thankful she was sitting in her mother's arms.

The neighbor from earlier.

This can't be happening , but it was, right in front of her and suddenly she forgot how to breathe. That… that could have been me . It wasn't certain, but a part of her knew it was true. It was hours before that she encountered this same man responsible for what now haunted her mind as she trudged out of her parent's room, hours before that she approached him, friendly and inviting, a question burning on her lips. Hours before that she felt the same nerves that plagued her now as he just watched her with what she now identified as raged hunger (or something akin to it), and she can't help but wonder what would have happened had she not walked away.

Ochako remembers this moment, the victims, as the first true scream.

She thought she would be numb to the feeling of apprehension, of fear and anxiety the more cases that made public. She wasn't, and a part of her didn't think she ever would be. It wasn't right, whatever it was, and sure as hell wasn't normal and the world's sense of what was had since been long gone, thrown out the window and locked thereafter. No one would walk the streets alone -or without something to fend off one another, windows and doors were sealed tight behind lock and key, and if at all possible, homes were occupied at all times.

It started off as one man; one case, one freak accident still not fully understood and then it turned into something more; more cases, more culprits, and more similarities. It was worth looking into, someone decided, and when they finally stumbled upon the source of it all, it's much, much too late.

A cure. For cancer, of all things.

It was ironic in a way, how progressive ingenuity meant to better, to save, the lives of those suffering inevitably became humanity's downfall. The disease itself was a terrifying concept, to those susceptible and even more to those successful in contracting it. They were exposed to the initial cure once it was made available and it showed promising signs of recovery; many thrived from treatments, ridding their lives of the uncertainty that was forced upon them.

There were rejections, as with any experimental medicine, and at first glance it seemed the patients were no worse for the wear; studies shown they weren't getting better, but they also weren't getting worse. Or at least, that's what they thought.

Weeks went by and the epidemic spread, by means of cannibalism and immune failure of those treated who'd held out longer than the rest. Whatever this was wasn't normal. But it didn't matter because this, widespread panic, distrust and fear of what may come next was their new way of life.

Their new normal.

Towns were deserted, cities fell, and those unable to escape or defend waited for those who could save them —her and her parents included .

Ochako shakes her head, ridding her mind of the images. They are fresh, even three years later and they still hurt but she survives through the pain, just like she survives everything else. Her hand runs across the stone wall beside her; it's cracked in some places, falling apart in other but it holds, sturdy and unrelenting. It stands tall against her height, a staggering twenty foot difference, and Ochako wonders in her travels just how long it took to create.

She imagines on the other side there's a breeze that spreads across the land, tainted in the stench of undead and debris but a breeze all the same. The air is stagnant within the wall, stale with an abundance of bodies and smells but its breathable, and considering the alternative, a godsend. Ochako looks to the ground, one foot in front of the other.

The ground is covered in only dirt, broken pieces of stone, and rocks, grass unable to sustain life. There were once patches scattered across Yuuei, the sanctuary, but they'd long been trampled over, forced into the ground by the weight atop them. Ochako is lucky if she spots a rogue flower, defeating all odds and surviving —like the rest of them. Uraraka closes her eyes briefly.

Its peaceful today, she decides.

Beyond the wall and sounds of the compound are the unmistakable shrieks and groans of those infected. She sometimes hears them in place of what is actually there, replaying in her mind as if someone looped it on repeat, many sleepless nights and tired days the result. Today is not a day for fear to overcome her, for it to take the reins and steer her against her better judgement because, as she walks along the beaten path, she knows she's safe. They're safe.

And nothing like what happened before has to happen again.

Ochako turns the first corner of many, watching with interest men, women and teens strapped to the teeth with guns and ammunition, heading for the center meet point, she's sure. They're runners, and it looks as though they've just returned —by the gear they're holding, she figures it was a search and seizure mission, information gathered from these paramount to their survival. She studies their body language; shoulders straight, backs tall, eyes straight forward and confidence in stride.

A small smile finds its way into her features, twisting on the corner of pursed lips. They were in high spirits despite their expressionless facades, a definite tell tale of a success in mission. Eyes rise above, the sun casting a shine onto chocolate irises. Those were important, essential to their way of life; they meant nothing however, if more lives were lost than saved.

As her eyes fall downward, watching as the last runner ducks around the corner in pursuit of their squad, she finds a newfound confidence in her own steps, with the knowledge of not only a successful mission, but something much more invaluable.

No casualties.

Success was not a rarity in these times; supplies (no matter the amount) are often retrieved, new areas found and intelligence gathered, and on very, very rare cases, survivors located and liberated. Casualties were almost as common as their triumphs, a definite in their world of uncertainty and almost expected of every mission outside of the compound.

One mission would prove to defy all odds though, success in task and success in survival. These were as common as finding those trapped in the dead zone free of bites, free from the consequence of coming into contact with the undead —becoming undead themselves. It was often celebrated, these feats and Ochako idly wondered if that was the reason behind the gathering today.

She shakes her head, dismissing the thought entirely. That wouldn't make sense, and it wouldn't; the runners ahead had only returned fairly recent, this gathering called upon, Ochako suspected, earlier than their arrival. No, this was in regard to something else, and while that should have raised many red flags, Ochako couldn't find a reason to worry more than she already did.

There was a mission success, a complete success.

No doubt it would be celebrated later.

Paced steps turned into long strides and into a run. She runs with the knowledge of at least something to be happy about when she's likely to be bombarded with news of anything but and it fuels her, gives her a drive and suddenly she's face to face with people she knows, people she recognizes and people she doesn't. Despite the number, she notes with sadness it's a lot less than before, reminding her that the day is peaceful, but just as dreadful as always.

Ochako walks towards the makeshift stage, finding a place beside a friend as she waits. "Good morning, Shouto," she says through the cacophony of voices surrounding them. His smile towards her is small but warm all the same, a nod in her direction enough to affirm she was heard. "There are quite a few new faces," she mumbles to herself, not at all expecting him, or anyone for that matter, to have heard. "Liberated," Shouto begins, garnering her attention despite how low he kept his voice, "two squads earlier, this lot was found with little supplies and cornered by hoard."

He twists his head to his left, Ochako's eyes following his movements. In total there are six, tucked safely together against the closest building; two girls sat on the step nearest the front, one cradling the other's head as she hid from the world in her own hands. Ochako notices they are covered in dried blood, the bright scarlet a vast contrast to her own short, darkened hair and yet strikingly similar to the boy against the building to her comforter's right. His features are soft in comparison to his hardened definition, despite what Ochako knew he'd been through, watching closely the girl who remains calm and collected, somehow as lively as her rose hair.

Behind them sits two boys of similar build; one whose hair was as yellow as the sun itself, cross-stitched in black, mirroring the boy's to his left. Ochako smiles warmly, her heart full as she watches them. They're laughing. It's refreshing to see if nothing else, happiness and laughter and the facade of normalcy still alive and thriving in these times, forced or otherwise.

"It's impressive, having survived with little resources, taking on a hoard and saving another." Ochako hums in agreement, looking over the group; that explains it, she muses, understanding now how one could be so broken in the presence of five who exude strength. Her heart went out to the girl, remembering briefly the maelstrom of emotions she faced when put in a similar position.

It'll get easier, I promise.

"It's more than likely that they have him to thank; he was at the forefront when they were found." Shouto recalls, his eyes lingering over the group until they come across the boy in question. He wasn't hard to find, standing at the top of their pyramid, eyes shifting from left, to right, to left again. He was a seasoned survivor, Ochako decides, evident by how he watched over his group and still everything around him. "More than likely," she mumbles, unable to look away, even as crimson meets chocolate.

They are unreadable, secured behind a wall of ice and stone but they remind her of rubies, of something so precious but tainted in so much red -the red of anger, of grief, of death and of duty. Uraraka can't look away, doesn't want too, even as he dismisses her. It's only when Shouto nudges her arm that she rips her eyes away, in favor of the man standing behind the podium.

"For those of you that don't know me, my name is Shouta Aizawa; nice to see you've all survived another day." His words drawl on the edge of sleep and indifference, but they are not without concern; this Ochako knows to be the truth. He scratches at the scar just beneath his eye as he studies the faces staring up at him, lingering on Ochako and Shouto briefly. Her eyes fall downcast, remembering just how the scar got there in the first place. "We've lost a lot of good people as of late, and it's likely that we will continue to do so."

His voice teeters along the edge of sadness and sorrow, and Uraraka expects the worst, wondering if even the pending celebration of a success can lift the spirits after what he may say next. "With that being said, we're working towards increasing our level of useful intelligence and decreasing the number of casualties, our first test run an overall success." Waves of voices wash over the silence, questions and hums of confusion crashing over one another. Ochako glances over at Shouto, brows furrowed and he only shrugs, just as unaware it seemed.

So they wait, voices hushed by the wave of the Aizawa's hand.

"This was only made possible with the assistance and dedication of the runners before us, without whom we'd have never gotten on our hands on the tech needed," he begins, turning to grab the contents on the table behind him, "and the ingenuity of our very own Mei Hatsume." Tight locks of pink bounce with her every step as she climbs her way onto the stage. Ochako recognizes her right away; a sweet girl with the ambition to take on the world at every turn. With the look of unfiltered excitement she wore on her face, it seems she did just that.

"Thanks, Shouta!" Mei sings, faltering none as all eyes fled to her. "Alright, listen up! See this right here? They're Bluetooth earwigs, rigged to one of many burner phones we've accumulated and each set with a GPS tracker and signal booster of my own design. With these, we can track your location in real time, giving us the ability to map off sectors, dead zones and anything else we come in contact with because apparently, satellites still function in this shithole."

"There are still some kinks, but the last few runs prove well worth it." Mei was elated; Ochako could tell just in the way she bounced on her toes and had she really accomplished what she thought, it was clearly well deserved. Another way to stay safe.

Ochako, tuned out from the rest of the announcement, idly wondered how things would have been had this tech been available to runners before them; how many in need of liberation could have been saved? How many casualties spared? Could she have saved them? Saved him ? Half-moons dig deep into her skin, tighter and tighter until she feels warmth around them, squeezing in reassurance. She finds Shouto staring at her, concern and understanding swimming in his eyes and he squeezes again, knowing her thoughts and willing them away completely.

We have it now, and it'll make all the difference.

When she looks back to Aizawa, Mei having stepped down from her speech, in his hand holding the key to the difference, she smiles. "Every runner has a squad, every squad an overwatch, every overwatch a duty; guide and protect." The words ring in her ears, louder and louder until they're drowning in the resonance of cheers; she tries to listen, to hear the sound beyond the wall that's undoubtedly there but she can't, because there is hope that suffocates it until it's gone, if only for that short time. In that hope there's a message:

We can survive. We will survive.

Ochako's heard it, loud and clear.