The sky was still dark when Dean woke up. The clock read 4:00 AM.
With a quiet groan, he got out of bed and started his morning stretches, rolling his shoulders and loosening his muscles. His body was covered in old bullet wounds and scars, each one a reminder of the battles he had survived.
After a few minutes of stretching, he stepped outside and began his daily run around the field. The crisp air filled his lungs as his boots crunched against the soil. He kept a steady pace, weaving between the crops, the morning breeze cool against his sweat-drenched skin.
As the sun slowly began to rise, a pair of eyes watched him from the porch.
Sister Jill, one of the younger nuns, only twenty-five, had woken up early and stepped outside to get some fresh air. She had only intended to take a quick look at the land before going back inside—but then she saw him.
Dean's broad, muscular back glistened with sweat, the early sunlight highlighting every scar, every defined muscle on his body. The faint traces of bullet wounds and knife marks littered his torso, yet his movements were swift and precise, like a trained warrior.
Jill felt her face heat up as she instinctively did the sign of the cross.
Why does he look like a warrior from the Bible?
Dean slowed his pace and finally noticed her staring. He raised a brow, smirking slightly. "It's still early," he said. "You should rest up."
Jill quickly snapped out of it and shook her head. "I-I can't," she stuttered. "We should help with the field work. The sooner we contribute, the better."
Dean gave her a long look before nodding. "Suit yourself."
Morning Gatherings As the sun rose completely, everyone in the fortress slowly woke up.
The five nuns and the ten teenagers gathered outside after freshening up. Sister Agnes, their eldest, cleared her throat and spoke.
"We haven't properly introduced ourselves," she said. "I am Sister Agnes, and these are my sisters in faith: Sister Jill, Sister Maria, Sister Elaine, and Sister Becca."
The teenagers stepped forward as well, introducing themselves one by one:
Lucas (19) – A protective big brother figure to the younger ones.
Anna (18) – A sharp, observant girl with a quiet demeanor.
Jake (17) – The troublemaker, but has a good heart.
Sophia (17) – A natural leader among the teens.
Ryan (16) – Smart and tactical, but a bit shy.
Emily (16) – A bubbly, optimistic girl.
Noah (15) – The youngest, but quick on his feet.
Lily (15) – Fierce and independent.
Benji (15) – Clumsy but eager to prove himself.
Tina (15) – Small but tough.
After the introductions, Dean stepped forward, arms crossed. "This is Marcus," he said, nodding toward his best friend. "My right-hand man and my best friend. He's going to assign you jobs and train you to fight."
Marcus smirked, cracking his knuckles. "That's right. You're not just gonna sit around doing nothing. We have chores to do and skills to teach. Follow me."
Training Begins Marcus led the group around the fortress, showing them each station of their survival.
"This is the crop field," Marcus said, pointing to the vast stretch of farmland. "Everyone takes turns here. Crops need care, and that includes watering, weeding, and harvesting."
He led them to the barn, where the livestock was kept. "We have chickens, cows, and goats. Some of you will help feed and clean up after them."
Then they reached the garage. "Vehicles need maintenance. Learn how to refuel, check tires, and clean them regularly."
After that, Marcus took them to the training area.
He picked up a wooden bat and swung it through the air. "Now, about fighting zombies."
The teens and nuns listened intently.
"You can't just go around swinging like a maniac," Marcus explained. "Zombies are slow but strong. Aim for the head. A single good hit can take them down. If you panic and waste energy, you're dead."
He demonstrated with the bat on a training dummy, hitting its head clean off.
Sister Becca winced, but Lucas and Sophia nodded in understanding.
"Tomorrow, we'll start weapon training. For now, that's it. Let's take a lunch break."
Everyone gathered at the table inside the house, enjoying a meal prepared by Marcus's mother. The mood was lighter than before; for the first time in a while, the teens and nuns felt safe.
But as they ate, someone noticed something.
"Wait," Noah said, looking around. "Where's Dean?"
Marcus took a bite of his food and shrugged. "He has his own routine at this time. He's probably training again."
Curious, the group followed Marcus down into the bunker and through the halls until they reached a large private training room.
When they entered, they were left speechless.
Dean was in the center of the room, shirtless, his muscles tensed with each precise movement.
He wielded a machete, striking at a dummy with brutal efficiency. His movements were swift, deadly, and without hesitation. His muscles flexed with every swing, sweat dripping down his sculpted torso.
The teens watched in pure awe. Even Lucas, who prided himself on being tough, couldn't believe what he was seeing.
Sister Jill, standing near the back, felt her face grow warm again.
Dean's training wasn't just about strength—it was about control, precision, and raw survival instinct.
With a final brutal slash, he cleaved the dummy's head off, sending it flying across the room.
The room fell silent.
Dean exhaled slowly, wiping sweat off his brow. He finally noticed the group watching him.
"What?" he asked flatly.
The teens quickly shook their heads, still amazed.
Marcus grinned. "Nothing, man. Just giving the new guys a little inspiration."
Dean rolled his eyes, tossing the machete onto a nearby rack. "Tch. Whatever."
As the teens whispered among themselves about how badass Dean was, the camera focused on Sister Jill's face, her cheeks slightly pink.