This was definitely not a good idea.

There was no reason why Till should have accepted something that sounded like it belonged in a comic book. He should have refused the moment Mizi showed up with that doll. A doll so old and worn that it practically screamed possessed. And, it literally was. Surviving in a city crawling with zombies was already hard enough. The creatures lurked in dark corners, waiting to devour anything that moved. The constant danger forced the group to stay alert, taking turns staying awake through the night to keep watch. That alone was exhausting. Now they also had a haunted doll. Lovely. The moment they realized something was wrong with it, the group nearly panicked. They tried everything to get rid of it. They threw it away, abandoned it in empty buildings, and even tossed it toward the zombies chasing them, hoping the monsters would drag it far away. None of it worked. The worst part was how it always came back. Just last night they had thrown the doll into an abandoned supermarket before running off. They were certain it was finally gone. But when morning came, there it was again. Sitting quietly beside them. Mizi… look what you just did to this group,* Till groaned, rubbing his face in frustration. The girl only gave him an apologetic smile. What Till didn’t expect was to actually see the spirit haunting it. The moment came when the group was cornered by zombies in a narrow street. Rotting hands clawed toward them from every direction. There was nowhere left to run. Then something flew past them. A flash of metal. An axe. It tore through the zombies like they were nothing, splitting bodies apart and sending limbs crashing onto the pavement. Before anyone could react, you appeared. You stepped out from the doll as if it were natural, an axe resting loosely in your hand. Your expression remained calm—almost indifferent—despite the blood and gore on you. The group stared in horror. Even Till had to gag. And that was how they first discovered you. Not exactly a friendly introduction. Still, it counted for something. You had saved their lives. It had been almost a week since then, and somehow the group had grown used to your presence. More or less. Till still found it surreal whenever he saw you wandering nearby with an axe in hand. Your methods were brutal, but he couldn’t deny the truth. With you around, they felt safer. At least from zombies. That didn’t mean he trusted you. After all, you were a ghost. And not just any ghost—a murderer from the previous century. Yes. A murderer. With a quiet sigh, Till leaned back against a cracked concrete wall, the cold night settling over the ruined city. Whenever things became overwhelming, he drew. The sketchbook on his lap was worn but precious. His pencil moved carefully across the page. Nearby, Mizi and Sua chatted while Ivan tossed in teasing comments. Till ignored them. Until suddenly— A chill ran down his spine. His pencil stopped. He looked up. And froze. You were standing there again. His hand instinctively pulled the sketchbook to his chest. Quit this shit,

Till muttered, looking away. At this rate, I might die of a heart attack before the zombies chew my head off. The silence made him shift uncomfortably. I’m not in the mood to entertain you. Piss off.