The world had ended three years ago, but for me, nothing much had changed. While the others panicked, fled, or fought to survive, I merely adapted.

The difference between the living and the dead, in the end, was a lot less than most people realized. They both bled. They both screamed, sometimes. And they both died in the same satisfying way.

At least, that's how I had always seen it.

Before the virus, before the world crumbled into chaos, I had been different from most people. I could feel it in the way I moved through the world, the way I looked at others, the way I never really connected to the emotions that seemed to drive everyone else.

I knew I was broken. But I had learned to play the part. I was careful, methodical even. No one ever suspected that the quiet man next door, the one who smiled politely and kept to himself, was the same man behind the headlines.

I had a system. I had rules. I chose my targets carefully, made sure never to leave a trace. I never let myself get sloppy, never let the thrill of the kill overtake my sense of control.

It wasn't just about the violence for me---it was about mastery. Mastery over life and death, over the weak, fragile creatures that walked the earth around me, unaware of the predator in their midst.

But then, everything changed.

When the virus hit, the cities fell in weeks. Society crumbled, and the dead started walking. It was chaos---exactly the kind of chaos I had always avoided, carefully sidestepping attention while others were caught in the frenzy.

I watched as the world dissolved, but unlike the others, I wasn't afraid. For the first time, I felt something close to freedom.

In the early days, people were too consumed with surviving to notice what I was doing. It wasn't hard to find stragglers---people lost in the panic, too scared or too stupid to stay safe.

The same streets I had once used to slip away unnoticed became my hunting ground. And soon, I discovered that killing a zombie wasn't all that different from killing a human. You just had to be more precise.

The only difference was the smell.

The undead had this rotting, sickly odor that clung to them like decay itself. But I got used to it. After a while, it didn't even register. I became good at it---at killing them. Good enough that people started to notice.

That's when they started calling me a hero.

***

I remember the first time I entered the settlement. It was an old factory complex, repurposed and fortified by survivors who had banded together to create some semblance of order in the chaos. I didn't plan on staying. I never liked being around large groups of people---too much attention, too many risks. But I needed supplies, and the settlement had them.

I walked through the gates covered in blood and grime, dragging a pack of scavenged weapons behind me. The guards at the gate looked at me like I was some kind of legend---whispering about the man who could clear out entire streets of the dead on his own.

They called me "The Butcher."

I found it amusing.

Inside, it wasn't much better. The survivors gathered around me, wide-eyed, whispering stories of my supposed heroism, of how I had saved people out in the wild, cleared nests of the infected, and even taken down entire hordes by myself. None of it was true, of course. But I didn't correct them.

Why would I?

I let them believe what they wanted. It was easier that way. If they saw me as a hero, it kept them from asking too many questions. It kept them from seeing the truth---that I didn't kill to protect anyone.

I killed because I enjoyed it.

Because I was good at it.

Still, being in the settlement had its perks. They fed me, gave me a room, treated me like some kind of savior. And as long as I didn't stay too long, I could slip back out into the world whenever I needed to hunt.

***

Three months after I arrived, the settlement faced its first real threat.

A massive horde had been spotted moving toward the walls---a shambling, moaning sea of the dead, thousands of them drawn by the noise and the scent of life inside. Panic spread through the settlement like wildfire. They weren't prepared for something this big.

None of them were.

I wasn't either. But I didn't care.

I could have slipped away then. Could have let the settlement fall. But something kept me there. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the challenge. Or maybe, just maybe, I wanted to see if I could actually be the hero they thought I was.

The plan was simple. The others would hold the gates, and I would sneak out and try to thin the horde from the rear. They didn't know what I was capable of.

They didn't know that I had done this before---not with the undead, but with people. Back in the world that had existed before, I had learned how to handle groups of prey, how to divide and conquer, how to create chaos and pick them off one by one.

The dead weren't all that different.

I moved through the outskirts of the horde like a ghost, silent and deadly. With a blade in one hand and a makeshift spear in the other, I started cutting them down.

It was slow at first, deliberate, but as the horde began to notice me, the chaos spread. They turned toward me, drawn by the noise, by the movement, by the scent of fresh blood.

That's when the real killing started.

I lost track of time as I worked my way through them, slicing and stabbing, crushing skulls and severing limbs. It was just like before---just like the times I had stalked the streets, hunting my prey in the dead of night. The only difference now was that the prey couldn't scream.

***

By the time I returned to the settlement, the horde had been stopped. The gates held, and the few undead that had reached the walls had been dealt with by the guards. But it was me they celebrated. It was me they hailed as the hero who had saved them.

I stood there, covered in blood and gore, listening to their cheers, feeling something close to satisfaction. Not because I had saved them, but because I had proved something to myself. I could do this. I could be the person they thought I was. And no one would ever know the truth.

***

But there was one person who did.

Her name was Sarah. She was one of the settlement's leaders, a sharp, no-nonsense woman who had survived the apocalypse by being smarter and tougher than everyone else around her.

From the moment I arrived, I could tell she was different. She didn't buy into the hero worship like the others. She was cautious, always watching, always calculating.

And she was watching me.

At first, I didn't think much of it. People had always been curious about me, about the things I did. But Sarah wasn't just curious.

She was suspicious. I could see it in the way she looked at me, the way she questioned my past, the way she kept a distance while everyone else crowded around.

She wasn't afraid of me. She was figuring me out.

I knew I had to be careful. I couldn't let her get too close. But at the same time, I couldn't leave. Not yet. Not until I was ready. So I played the part. I acted the hero. I did everything they expected of me. And for a while, it worked.

But then, Sarah found out the truth.

***

It started with a patrol. A group of scouts had gone missing in the outskirts, and Sarah asked me to join her in searching for them. I didn't like the idea, but I couldn't refuse without raising suspicion. So I went with her, out into the wild, where the dead still roamed and the old world lay in ruins.

We found the scouts, or what was left of them. Torn apart, devoured by the horde. But something else was wrong. Something Sarah noticed that I hadn't.

"These weren't just killed by the dead," she said, crouching next to one of the bodies. "Look at the wounds."

I didn't want to look. I didn't need to. I knew what she had found. Human wounds. Knife wounds.

She stood up, fixing me with a look that cut through the layers of deception I had carefully built around myself. "This wasn't the horde, was it?"

I didn't answer.

I didn't have to.

She already knew.

***

What happened next was inevitable.

I killed her. I didn't want to, not really. Sarah was smart. She could have been useful. But I couldn't let her expose me. I couldn't let her ruin everything I had built here.

So I did what I always did. I waited until we were far enough from the settlement, far enough that no one would hear. Then I slit her throat.

It was quick, clean, just like the others. But it didn't feel the same. For the first time in a long time, I felt something close to regret. Not for killing her, but for losing the challenge she had presented.

She was the first person in years who had seen through my act, who had come close to understanding what I truly was. And now, she is gone.

After I killed her, I buried her body deep in the woods, where no one would ever find her. I returned to the settlement alone, telling the others that we had been separated during the search, that Sarah had been overrun by the horde while I had fought to escape.

They believed me. Of course, they did. I was the hero, after all. The Butcher who saved them all. But something had changed. In their eyes, in the way they looked at me. It wasn't just awe or admiration anymore. It was something darker---something closer to fear.

Maybe it was because Sarah was gone, and they didn't know how to deal with the loss of a leader. Maybe it was because the truth was starting to seep through the cracks in the story I had built.

Or maybe it was because they had finally begun to see me for what I really was.

A monster.

***

Over the next few weeks, things started to unravel. The settlement grew quieter, more tense. The people who had once cheered my name now avoided me, their eyes darting away whenever I passed. I could feel their suspicion, their unease. They didn't know what had happened to Sarah, but they knew something was wrong.

I tried to carry on as I always had, slipping in and out of the settlement, killing the undead, bringing back supplies, playing the role of the hero. But it wasn't the same. The thrill was gone. The satisfaction I had once felt from hunting and killing, from being the predator in a world of prey, was fading.

Because now, they were watching me.

It wasn't just one or two people---it was everyone. The guards at the gate, the survivors in the streets, even the children. They all watched me with the same haunted look in their eyes, like they knew. Like they were waiting for something to happen. For me to slip up.

And I knew that when I did, they would turn on me.

***

It didn't take long.

The breaking point came one night, during a storm. The rain was pounding down, drumming against the metal roofs of the settlement, turning the streets to mud. I was in my room, sharpening my blade, trying to ignore the voices outside my door.

Whispers.

Hushed, frantic conversations.

Plans being made.

I knew what they were talking about. They were planning to get rid of me.

I had seen it coming. Ever since Sarah's death, I had felt the tide turning. The hero worship was gone, replaced by doubt and fear. And fear, I knew, was dangerous. Fear made people do stupid things. Fear made them desperate.

That night, I decided I couldn't wait any longer.

***

I slipped out into the rain, moving through the shadows, avoiding the patrols. The settlement was on edge, the guards more alert than usual, but they weren't expecting me. They weren't expecting their hero to turn against them.

But I had no choice. If I wanted to survive, I had to kill them all.

I moved quickly, silently, cutting down the guards one by one. The storm covered the sounds of their deaths---the gurgle of blood, the thud of bodies hitting the ground. By the time I reached the main building, half the settlement's defenses were gone.

Inside, the leaders were gathered, huddled around a table, discussing their plan. They didn't even see me coming.

I killed them all.

***

By morning, the settlement was in chaos. The leaders were dead, the guards slaughtered, and the survivors were left to fend for themselves. Some tried to fight back, but most of them ran, fleeing into the wilderness, where the undead waited.

I stood in the center of it all, watching the destruction I had caused. The fires, the bodies, the screaming. It was chaos---pure, beautiful chaos.

But there was no satisfaction in it. No thrill.

Because now, there was no one left to fool.

***

The days that followed were a blur. I wandered through the ruins of the settlement, stepping over the corpses of the people who had once called me a hero.

The Butcher.

That's what they had called me, wasn't it?

But now, there was no one left to call me anything.

I had always been alone, even before the world ended. But now, for the first time, I truly felt it. The emptiness, the silence. There was no one left to watch, no one left to fear me. And without them, without their eyes on me, what was I?

I don't know anymore.

***

Weeks passed, and the settlement became a graveyard. The undead moved in, wandering through the streets, picking over the bones of the dead. I didn't fight them anymore.

I didn't hunt.

I didn't kill.

I just waited.

I didn't know what I was waiting for, exactly. Maybe I was waiting for the end---for the day when the undead would finally find me, when I would be forced to fight again. Or maybe I was waiting for something else. Something I couldn't name.

One night, as I sat in the ruins of the main building, staring at the empty table where the leaders had once sat, I heard a voice.

It was soft, barely a whisper, but it was there.

"Why?"

I looked up, but there was no one there. Just the empty room, the flickering shadows cast by the dying fire.

But the voice came again, louder this time.

"Why did you do it?"

I knew that voice.

It's Sarah.

***

For a moment, I thought I was losing my mind. I hadn't heard her voice in months---not since I had killed her. But now, it was there, clear as day, echoing through the empty building.

I stood up, scanning the room, my hand on my blade. But there was no one there. Just the shadows.

"Why did you do it?" she asked again.

I didn't answer.

I didn't need to.

I knew why I had done it. I had killed her because I had to. Because she had known too much. Because she had seen through me.

But now, standing in the ruins of the life I had built, I wondered if that was really the reason.

Had I killed her because she had seen through me? Or had I killed her because she was the only person who had ever come close to understanding me?

The voice didn't answer. It didn't need to.

Because I already knew the truth.

***

I left the settlement the next day.

I don't know where I went, or why I went there. Maybe I was looking for something---another settlement, another group of survivors. Another place where I could start over, where I could be the hero again.

But I knew, deep down, that there would never be another place like that. Because now, I couldn't fool myself anymore.

I wasn't a hero. I never had been.

I am a monster.

And monsters don't get happy endings.

***

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