Morning came.
The soft glow of dawn bled through the cracked windows of the old burger joint, painting the dust in gold. I stretched, wincing as every muscle screamed in protest. My body felt like it had been chewed up and spit out. Hell, maybe it had—by fatigue, if not by teeth.
Last night, I barely made it to the upper floor before sleep slammed into me like a freight train. If I'd passed out outside, I wouldn't be breathing right now.
"Five days," I muttered, dragging myself upright. "Five more days and I'll have what I need."
My sword leaned against the wall, still slick with dried black blood. I wiped it down with a torn piece of fabric and strapped it across my back. Time to get to work.
And so I did. For five straight days, the town of Pine became my hunting ground. Every street, every alley, every abandoned store—I turned them all into killing floors. The method never changed: lure, isolate, kill. Again and again.
By the second day, the stench clung to me like a second skin. By the third, the blisters on my hands had burst and hardened into raw calluses. By the fourth, the nightmares started. Faces of the dead—empty eyes, gnashing teeth—blurring with faces of the living. People I couldn't save.
But I didn't stop. I couldn't.
Every walker I killed was another step toward control. Another soldier for my future army. And when I hit my hundredth kill, the system's notification rang sweet in my ears:
[Controlled Capacity Increased.]
That sound became my addiction. My reason to keep going.
Five days later…
The town was unrecognizable. What was once a quaint little place with diners and shops now looked like a battlefield. Streets carpeted with corpses. Windows smashed. Doors hanging by broken hinges. And me—standing in the middle of it all, drenched in blood and sweat, with the weight of exhaustion pressing down on my bones.
But it was worth it.
I checked the system panel, and my lips curled into a grin.
[Controlled Capacity: 150/150]
One hundred and fifty walkers under my command. My army. My monsters. My insurance policy against the chaos waiting to swallow the world whole.
"Daddy's proud," I muttered, my voice rough from days of silence. If anyone had heard me say that, they'd probably throw me off the nearest roof.
The panel flickered again, reminding me how much blood I'd spilled for those numbers. Five days of turning this town into a charnel house. Five days of dragging corpses into piles like I was some twisted garbage man.
My boots squelched in the gore-soaked pavement as I turned toward the sunset. The air smelled like a slaughterhouse that lost a fight with a dumpster fire. If I ever eat meat again, it'll be a miracle.
I chuckled dryly, the sound bouncing off the gutted storefronts.
"Five days. One hundred and fifty new pets. And somehow, I'm still single. Guess there apocalypse really does make dating hard."
Taylor's face flashed in my mind for a split second—the way she smiled before I left. The promise I made. A dinner. A real one. In a world where romance usually ends with someone's jugular getting chewed out.
"God, I hope she likes canned beans," I muttered, sheathing my blade.
My reflection caught in a broken shop window—blood-caked clothes, hollow eyes, beard rough around the edges. I looked like a man who lost a fight with a lawnmower and then decided to start a cult.
Perfect leader material.
As I turned toward my rendezvous point, the herd shifted in the distance—a ripple in the ocean of death. My controlled walkers. Obedient, and waiting. One hundred and fifty pairs of dead eyes staring into the void until I gave the word.
A thrill crawled down my spine.
The Federation was strong. But after this? After today?
It would be unstoppable.
As I stood there on the blood-soaked streets of Pine Town, a bitter truth clawed its way into my mind.
This… this was all my fault.
Because of my orders, because of my ambition to grow stronger, every soul in this town was gone. I could have saved them. I could have stormed in on the first day, cleared the walkers, and given them a chance to live. But I didn't. I chose power over mercy.
I prioritized building my army.
Now, the silence in these streets was deafening. Doors hung open like broken jaws, and the air reeked of death and rot. These weren't just walkers—they were people once. Families. Children. Survivors who fought to see another sunrise… and I condemned them.
But the system didn't care about guilt.
And neither could I.
[Controlled Capacity: 138 Slots Unlocked.]
That single notification made my stomach twist. A hundred slots. Which meant one thing: I had killed more than a thousand walkers—by myself. All through patience, strategy, and relentless grinding. Alley traps. Bottlenecks. Silent executions in the dark. I'd turned this town into my personal slaughterhouse.
And my reward? Power.
The controlled ones stood in front of me like loyal dogs waiting for orders. My original weapon-wielding walker was there, its bony fingers gripping a blood-stained pipe like it had done it all its life. But now… now I had two new monsters under my command.
One could unlock doors—like it remembered some fragment of its old life, twisting knobs with twitching fingers. The other? It could climb walls. Watching that thing scale a two-story building the first time nearly made me puke.
A disgusting combination… but a terrifyingly useful one.
I laughed—quiet at first, then louder. The kind of laugh that wasn't joy, but a desperate attempt to drown out the guilt. Because deep down, I knew this was just the beginning.
"An army of the dead," I whispered, staring at my horde.
"And it cost me a town."
System," I muttered under my breath, eyes locked on the shambling figures that obeyed my every thought,
"Order them to scatter… and start making noise."
[Command Accepted.]
Like puppets on invisible strings, my controlled walkers broke formation, lurching toward different streets in eerie synchronization. One smashed its rotting arms against a car hood, setting off a faint metallic thud. Another toppled a trash bin, sending cans rolling across the pavement. The rhythmic groans and crashes began to echo through the hollow streets—an unholy symphony meant to draw more of their kind.
Just like the Whisperers.
Just like herding cattle.
I watched from the rooftop of an abandoned diner, the setting sun staining the sky crimson, like the world itself was bleeding. The sound carried far, and soon the distant silhouettes started moving—dozens, then hundreds. They were coming.
Perfect.
"Two more days," I whispered, gripping the hilt of my bloodstained blade.
"Two more days, and I can finally go home."
My supplies were running thin. Two days' worth of food, maybe less if I wasn't careful. Water wasn't an issue—I found some in abandoned shops—but hunger gnawed at me like a relentless parasite. Every bite of stale bread tasted like ash in my mouth.
Still… it was worth it.
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