This was a narrow stairwell, partially consumed by darkness. Shadows seemed to writhe like living things in the corners, only to be mercilessly crushed by hurried footsteps. The air was thick with an indescribable, bizarre odor—a mixture of decaying flesh and some unknown filth—accompanied by a series of suppressed, guttural growls echoing from above.
Three zombies. They had sensed the fresh, vibrant flesh downstairs, the intense heartbeat from moments ago drawing them like a war drum. Now, they were hurtling downwards with almost frantic abandon, using all fours, their bodies slamming against the walls and railings, like three out-of-control power drills, bits spinning wildly, thrown violently down the stairs, driven by nothing but the instinct to destroy and consume.
The foremost zombie had just reached a landing, about to twist its body to continue its downward plunge, when a black shadow, accompanied by a sharp whistling sound, whipped upwards from below. It was a foot, swift as a razor, striking first despite moving second, viciously and precisely kicking the zombie's jaw even before it could open its fetid mouth.
CRACK. A sickening sound of bone splintering. The immense force, like a high-pressure water jet hitting ripe fruit, instantly shattered the zombie's jaw and some of its teeth inwards. Its massive body was kicked upwards by the force, slamming against the wall, then sliding down like a pile of sludge. Though still twitching, it had become the most pathetic kind of zombie—the kind that couldn't even close its mouth.
"Sweet." Sam let out a low growl of primal satisfaction. He could feel the power contained in that kick, the sensation of shattering bone, the feeling of control as he sent a "monster" flying like trash. All the stress, frustration, and anger accumulated during the earlier crisis and fear seemed to find an outlet in that moment, exploding forth with that kick. He felt his blood burning. His shoes felt like they had a lot of gunk on them, but gunk? Hell, right now he just wanted to stomp more "gunk" under his feet.
"Hraaagh." The other two zombies, oblivious to their companion's gruesome fate, had only one instinct: to lunge at the living creature before them, radiating that enticing scent. They attacked from left and right, almost simultaneously reaching Sam, less than a meter away. Decayed claws, reeking of rot, swiped at his face, their fetid mouths snapping open wide—in the next second, it seemed they could easily tear the flesh from his neck.
The next second, Sam twisted his torso with an explosive power unimaginable for an ordinary person. His entire body spun rapidly like a top whipped with full force. This violent rotational force instantly transferred through his tensed muscles to his right leg, power flowing from his hips all the way to the tip of his foot.
With a side-spinning motion that left an afterimage, his right leg lashed out horizontally like a battle-axe. The air was brutally torn, emitting a sharp shriek. It was as if his leg itself was roaring.
The lunging zombie had no time to react before its head was viciously struck by the kick, which carried terrifying kinetic energy. It flew backwards, slamming hard against the low ceiling of the stairwell with a dull THUD. Its skull, which hadn't been touched by the previous kick, also fractured. It dropped, its head lolling at an unnatural angle, neck seemingly completely broken, only a flap of skin connecting the head that now looked like a deflated balloon.
The other zombie, ignoring its companion's gruesome demise, continued to snarl and charge forward with undiminished ferocity. But what met it was the rapidly enlarging, hard, cold butt of a pistol. Sam, at some point, had reversed his grip on his Glock, holding the barrel and slide, aiming the butt forward.
His arm muscles tensed instantly, and he smashed the pistol butt with all his might against the zombie's temple. With a sickening thud, the side of the zombie's head caved in.
Before the zombie could fall, Sam deftly flipped the pistol in his hand, instantly turning the muzzle around, aimed it at the caved-in temple, and pulled the trigger without hesitation. BANG.
Problem solved. Sam shook his hand, as if trying to fling off something invisible. His shoes were a disgusting mess, but he really didn't want to get his hands covered in that sticky, potentially virus-laden, disgusting gunk.
That distance of less than a meter had now become an eternally insurmountable chasm for those two zombies and Sam.
System Notification: Zombie Kill x3 Confirmed. Hope Points +15. Quest "Zombie Killer" Progress: 18/100.
"Alright, what to do next?" Sam stretched lazily, cracking his knuckles, as if he'd just finished a light warm-up. The brief, violent encounter seemed trivial to him.
But the increasingly loud banging sounds from downstairs shattered the momentary calm. THUD. THUD. THUD.—it sounded like the zombies trapped outside the security office had finally broken through that pitiful wooden door and were now surging towards the stairwell.
"Hmm… hungry. Let's find something to eat first." An intense, almost sudden wave of hunger washed over Sam. His enhanced body seemed to be desperately craving energy. He felt like he could easily devour five buckets of fried chicken right now, the kind where you even crunch the bones and swallow them.
"A supermarket or convenience store… After all, restaurants probably aren't open today." Sam whistled, completely ignoring the approaching threat from downstairs. He walked straight to the stairwell window and pushed open the dusty pane. This was the third floor, about seven or eight meters above the ground. He leaned out, looked down, confirmed there were no zombies gathered below for the moment, then took a deep breath, a grin of excitement spreading across his face, and leaped out.
The sensation of freefalling, the brief moment of weightlessness as his body plunged downwards against the rushing wind, sent his adrenaline soaring again—this freefall rush was absolutely exhilarating. THUMP. A heavy thud echoed as Sam landed solidly on his feet, knees slightly bent to absorb most of the impact. A very slight twinge of pain shot through his ankles but vanished almost instantly, as if it were just an illusion.
However, the loud landing sound was undoubtedly a signal flare in the darkness. Zombies lurking in nearby alleys and street shadows were immediately alerted. They followed the sound, snarling and stumbling, running towards Sam.
But Sam was in no mood to play 'kick the zombie head' with these 'enthusiastic' folks right now. The priority was to fill his stomach, and then… perhaps he could take a stroll to the liquor store, check out the "apocalypse discount specials."
He flickered, moving with a speed and agility far beyond that of an ordinary person, easily weaving through the zombies trying to pounce on him, deftly avoiding every scratch and bite. "Tsk," Sam thought idly as he ran, "if these guys didn't bite or eat people, they'd actually make perfect pets—enthusiastic, friendly, always rushing up to greet you with affection…"
The glass door of the convenience store was barricaded from the inside with several heavy beverage shelves and a pile of miscellaneous items. Faint, unsettling snarls and chaotic sounds could be heard from outside. But inside, a different kind of sickening "calm" permeated the air.
"Ha! This is fucking awesome!" a gruff male voice exclaimed. The speaker was a bald, heavily tattooed white man. He was currently squatting behind the cash register, excitedly grabbing a handful of crumpled bills, greedily counting them one by one, as if the apocalypse outside didn't concern him, only the money before him was real.
Not far from him, another accomplice with a buzz cut was pointing a pistol at a young female clerk cowering in the corner. The girl was wearing a convenience store uniform, her face streaked with tears and fear. The buzz-cut man's eyes were cloudy, filled with a disgusting anticipation and impatience. He licked his chapped lips, seemingly waiting for something. He was waiting for the pills he'd just popped to fully kick in, for that familiar chemical rush that could briefly get him 'up' to overwhelm his reason, and then… he could properly 'enjoy' the terrified little beauty before him. These days, without drugs, he could barely get hard.
As for the male clerk's corpse lying in a pool of blood in the corner? Oh, that was just inconvenient trash, dealt with casually and tossed aside so as not to disturb their 'pleasure'.
"Hey, I'm telling ya," the bald, tattooed man paused his money-counting, not even looking up as he reminded the buzz-cut man, his tone laced with a hint of annoyance from losing the earlier coin toss for 'first dibs', "remember to wear a rubber. I ain't fucking your jizz."
"Condoms? At a time like this? You can just suck it clean yourself later," the buzz-cut man sneered, but seeing the threatening glare from the bald guy, he immediately backed down, grinning obsequiously. "Just kidding, I know the rules, definitely gonna use one, definitely."
For them, today had truly been a fucked-up day. Just last night, they were getting high with their boss in the apartment, enjoying the fleeting bliss of drugs. But as soon as the high wore off, before the exhaustion and nausea had fully subsided, their boss had sent them out like dogs to buy him some sandwiches and cola. The two had grumbled and cursed their way downstairs, only to be met with a hellish scene—people on the street were like madmen, tearing at each other, blood and screams everywhere. At first, they thought they were still tripping, hallucinating, until a few "madmen" chased them for several blocks, forcing them to desperately flee into this convenience store, which was still open.
Of course, their boss was an idiot too, sending these two guys, armed and with a bag of drugs, downstairs to buy things.
Together with the unlucky male clerk, they had used all their strength to barricade the door. And then… looking at the young, pretty female clerk, the last vestiges of humanity in their drug-and-fear-twisted minds vanished. Killing the inconvenient male clerk, possessing the girl, having one last thrill before everything went to hell—this became the sole driving force of their zombie-like, primal-desire-driven bodies.
They no longer cared about what was happening to the outside world. They just wanted to seize this last bit of time before the apocalypse fully arrived to indulge in pleasure. After all, besides other drugged-up, drunken whores, they hadn't touched many 'clean' women in their lives. God knows if they already had AIDS or some other nasty disease; they'd never bothered to get checked at a hospital anyway. And with the world ending like this, who cared about that stuff anymore?
"Hello there."
A calm voice suddenly came from the doorway of the storeroom deep inside the convenience store.
The voice was like a stone dropped into stagnant water, instantly shattering the sickening "calm" within the store. The bald, tattooed man's money-counting froze mid-motion. The buzz-cut man pointing the gun at the female clerk also flinched. Both spun around in terror almost simultaneously, aiming their guns at the source of the voice—a tall man in a police uniform was leaning against the doorframe, calmly observing them. He glanced at the corpse on the floor, the hostage girl, and the two obviously agitated men, his face showing no expression, only a barely perceptible frown.
Even the cowering female clerk in the corner temporarily forgot her fear, looking with a mixture of shock and confusion at this police officer who had suddenly emerged from the "inside" of the store.
"Who the fuck are you?! Where did you crawl out from?!" the two men demanded almost in unison, their guns aimed steadily at Sam.
"Me?" Sam seemed completely unfazed by the two guns pointed at him, his tone as casual as if asking about the weather. "I'm a police officer. Relax." He even raised a finger to point at the badge on his chest, then began to walk, casually observing the two tense men while heading straight for the snack aisle. "Whoa, quite a variety of snacks for the year 2000… Beef jerky? I like this." He casually picked up a vacuum-sealed stick of beef jerky, tore open the package as if no one else was there, and began to chew, making soft munching sounds.
"Police?!" The bald man and the buzz-cut man exchanged a look, both seeing absurdity and a flicker of provoked aggression in each other's eyes. They seemed to remember past experiences of being dominated by the police, and perhaps trying to imitate lines they'd heard from cops they'd encountered before, the buzz-cut man yelled with false bravado, "Freeze! So what if you're a cop?! Hands up! Get on the ground! Hands behind your back! Now!"
"Pointing a gun at a police officer is a federal felony, you know." Sam said indistinctly, still chewing the beef jerky, his tone devoid of any emotion. "But… special circumstances today, I'll forgive you." He took a few more steps forward, stopping a short distance in front of them. "Excuse me, you're blocking the beverage cooler. I'd like to get a soda."
"Fuck! This guy's insane!" the bald man muttered under his breath, exchanging another look with the buzz-cut man. Both saw the killing intent in each other's eyes. They couldn't let this cop leave alive.
A vicious glint flashed in the buzz-cut man's eyes. He hesitated no longer and squeezed the trigger.
BANG.
The gunshot exploded in the small convenience store. The bullet shrieked towards Sam's chest. However—
The bullet seemed to transform into a leisurely strolling neighbor, merely nodding a greeting to Sam before whistling past his clothes—no. More accurately, in the instant the gun fired, perhaps even two-tenths of a second before the buzz-cut man's finger fully depressed the trigger, Sam's body had already shifted sideways with a speed and angle imperceptible to the naked eye, uncannily evading the bullet's trajectory.
This scene was completely beyond the two thugs' comprehension. Before the immense shock could fully register in their muddled brains, an irresistible, searing pain had already arrived.
Sam's figure appeared before the buzz-cut man like a phantom. He hadn't even seen Sam move, only felt his gun hand seized by a grip like an iron vise. The next second, CRACK. A sickening sound of bone breaking. His wrist was brutally snapped in the opposite direction. Before a scream of agony could escape his throat, a large hand had already clamped around his neck, lifting him clean off the ground.
The bald man beside him had just reacted, instinctively trying to raise his gun to shoot, when another whip-like kick, whistling through the air, viciously struck his gun hand. SNAP. The pistol flew from his grasp, clattering far away.
"Monster… No! Officer! Mercy! Don't kill me!" The bald man reacted almost instinctively. The moment his gun was kicked away, he displayed an astonishing survival instinct—he dropped to his knees with a thud, hands raised high above his head, his body shaking like a leaf. He had personally witnessed this cop choke his accomplice like a chicken, casually breaking his wrist with the other hand. How could he dare to resist.
And the female clerk in the corner, long terrified by this violent scene, had her hand clapped over her mouth, eyes wide, having forgotten even to breathe.
"Assaulting a police officer is also a felony." Sam looked impassively at the kneeling bald man, then glanced at the buzz-cut man in his grip, whose face was turning purple from suffocation and pain, eyes starting to roll back. "But like I said, I'm in a good mood today, feeling generous." He casually loosened his grip, dropping the buzz-cut man to the floor like a sack of garbage. The buzz-cut man immediately curled up, his throat emitting violent, choking coughs mixed with pained groans and desperate gasps for air.
"Illegal possession of a firearm, robbery, murder, attempted rape, assaulting a police officer…" Sam ticked off their crimes on his fingers, then said in a tone like delivering a final judgment, "…I'll sentence you two to ten seconds of imprisonment."
Saying this, Sam grabbed one in each hand, effortlessly hauling up the still-coughing buzz-cut man and the kneeling, begging bald man like a pair of chickens. Ignoring their struggles and wails, he dragged them directly towards the stairs leading to the second-floor window.
Only when they were dragged to the open second-floor window did the two vaguely understand what Sam meant by "imprisonment".
"No—! Don't—!" Their pleas had just begun when Sam ruthlessly threw them out the window.
Thump. Thump. Two heavy thuds of bodies hitting the ground, accompanied by the instantly attracted, more excited and greedy snarls of the zombie horde below, followed immediately by horrifying sounds of tearing flesh and agonized screams…
"Alright, sentenced you two… to ten seconds of intimate contact with your 'friends' outside." Sam clapped his hands, as if he'd just disposed of two bags of trash, and turned to walk down the stairs.
"Off… Officer…" The female clerk, still slumped in the corner, watched Sam walk towards her impassively, her voice trembling.
But Sam seemed not to see her at all, walking straight to the beverage cooler at the back of the convenience store, pulling open the glass door… Then, he let out a sigh of clear frustration:
"Damn… they don't even have a single Monster Energy drink here?!"