Dawn on the third day broke over New York with a dim, oppressive light, a dirty gray that barely penetrated the pall of smoke and dust hanging over the city. The growling outside was a hungry monster, louder, more insistent, punctuated by distant screams and the sound of structures collapsing. Inside the presidential suites, Thiago's group was beginning to awaken, their faces etched with fatigue and apprehension, but with a new layer of determination. The reality of the apocalypse had solidified in everyone's minds, and Thiago's leadership was the only anchor amidst the chaos.
Thiago, however, had already been up for hours. The night had been another vigil, his mind a whirlwind of strategies and calculations. He turned away from the window, where the heavy curtains still blocked the view of the hell outside, and focused on his mental vision.Status.The System's translucent interface formed before his eyes, displaying his attributes and progress to the next level.
Basic Information:
Name: Thiago.
Age: 21.
Location: New York, USA (Summer).
Recent Past: University student, studying IT.
Current Context: Reborn with memories of 20 years of apocalypse.
Level: 5.
Attributes (Total / Future Experience Bonus):
Strength: 8 / 3
Dexterity: 9/3
Constitution (Stamina): 8 / 3
Intelligence: 5 / 3
Wisdom: 8 / 3
Charisma (Leadership): 5 / 3
Personal Charisma: 3 / 3
Mana: 8 / 0
Attribute Points to Distribute: 0
Skills:
Information Technology (IT).
Notions of Urban Survival.
Weapons Expertise (Mastered).
Skills:
Sharpshooter (Acquired).
Weapon Master (Acquired).
Kills to next level: 05/1000000
Ten thousand kills. The number was colossal, a reminder of the scale of the task that awaited him. He had leveled quickly in the early days, but the progression would slow, requiring even greater effort. He needed more Mana, more attribute points, more skills to face the higher levels of zombies he knew were coming. The fight in the hotel lobby would be a test, an opportunity to accelerate his evolution.
He turned to his arsenal, methodically arranged on a makeshift table in the suite. Each weapon, each magazine, each bullet, was a tool of survival, an extension of his will. He picked up the empty 200-round drums from the M4A1, feeling the light weight of the hollow metal. With agile and precise movements, honed by his newly acquired Weapons Mastery and heightened Dexterity, he opened the ammunition boxes. The glint of brass and the metallic smell of gunpowder filled the air. He began inserting the rounds into the drums, alternating between 5.56mm for the Tier 2 and Tier 3, and the more powerful 7.62mm for the fearsome Tier 4, the soft click of each round falling into place. His mind, now more focused and efficient, calculated the exact number, the perfect distribution to optimize the load. Within minutes, the various drums were filled again, heavy and ready for action, a comforting sound of readiness.
Next came the MP5's extended clips. He removed them from the holsters on his legs, feeling the light weight of the empty magazines. He opened another box of ammunition, this time 9x19mm. With the same efficiency, he reloaded the clips, pushing the rounds down and back until they were firmly seated, the soft sound of metal and gunpowder filling the air. He knew every bullet counted, every reload an act of survival.
He inspected his tactical backpack, the Lorben Camouflage Military Trail Camping Trekking 80L Black, ensuring it was optimized for the upcoming combat. He removed the water bottles and protein bars he'd left for quick consumption, replacing them with more MP5 clips and M4A1 drums, and more boxes of ammunition. He left only two water bottles and a box of protein bars, the bare minimum for his own immediate survival. The rest of the space was for ammunition. Lots of ammunition. He felt the weight of the backpack on his back, a heavy but comforting burden.
Thiago adjusted his tactical vest, feeling the familiar weight of the Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols in their holsters, the MP5s strapped to his legs. He picked up the M4A1 rifle, a versatile model that could be chambered in the same barrel without needing to be changed for different calibers, including the 7.62mm. For longer, more accurate shots, the long barrel would be used, ready for Level 2 and Level 3. The katana, "THE KATANA, THE EMPEROR'S KATANA," was securely strapped to his waist, a silent reminder of his expertise and his connection to Hiroshi. He was ready.
The descent through the hotel floors was a lonely journey for Thiago, a gradual immersion into the heart of darkness. The upper floors, from the 49th to the 25th, which had been cleaned and barricaded, still reeked of disinfectant and an artificial calm, a stark contrast to what he knew awaited him below. With each floor he descended, the smell of decay intensified, mingling with the metallic odor of dried blood and the acrid smell of smoke seeping through the broken windows. The electricity failed in entire blocks, plunging the corridors into an eerie gloom, where only the beams of his tactical flashlight dared to penetrate.
The distant growl of the city, once a murmur, grew louder, more guttural, a chorus of terror that seemed to come from every direction. He could hear the shuffling of feet, the cracking of bones, the wet gurgling of infected throats. With each door he passed, the tension grew, the anticipation of encountering a hidden threat. He moved with the stealth of a predator, his steps light, his breathing controlled, his senses heightened to their fullest. Memories of the future, lessons learned the hard way, guided his every move.
By the time he reached the 10th floor, the chaos was palpable. Doors were broken down, furniture was overturned, dark stains on the carpet that he knew were dried blood. The zombies were more numerous, more aggressive, their movements more coordinated. He encountered Level 2 Moss Green, Level 3 Greenish Yellow, and even the occasional Level 4 Burnt Yellow, their crystals pulsing with an eerie light. Thiago picked them off with the same brutal efficiency, his shots silent and precise, the laser dots fixed on the foreheads of the undead. Their brains exploded, a black, rotting mass of brain matter, reeking of death, splattering the walls and carpet. He fluidly changed the barrels of his M4A1, inserted new clips of his MP5 with lightning speed, each movement an act of survival.
The descent to the ground floor was a plunge into hell. The smell of decay was suffocating, mingling with the stench of smoke and burning. The snarl of the horde was deafening, a chorus of a thousand voices of terror. Thiago approached the hotel's main lobby, his heart pounding in his chest, but his mind cold and calculating. He could hear the shuffling of feet, the cracking of bones, the wet gurgling of infected throats.
Peering through the lobby entrance, the scene was like a living nightmare. The vast space, once a symbol of luxury and opulence, was now a scene of carnage. The white marble floor was stained with dried blood and debris, the crystal chandeliers hung askew, some shattered, and the luxurious furniture was overturned, torn, and covered in a thick layer of dust and grime. The air was thick with the smell of death and decay, and the dim light filtering through the broken windows revealed the staggering silhouettes of hundreds of zombies.
They were everywhere. At the reception desk, in the center of the lobby, in the hallways leading to the event halls. They were the wedding guests, the convention doctors and surgeons, and the unsuspecting self-help seekers, all transformed into ravenous monsters. Level 0 White Zombies, Level 1 Pale Green Zombies, Level 2 Moss Green Zombies, Level 3 Greenish Yellow Zombies, and an alarming number of Level 4 Burnt Yellow Zombies, their crystals pulsing with an eerie light, a warning of their growing power. Some of them still wore formal attire, torn and soiled wedding dresses, elegant suits stained with blood and decay. It was a grotesque sight, a macabre reminder of the lives that had been lost.
Thiago moved cautiously, his eyes scanning the room, searching for a strategic vantage point. He noticed the reception desk, a massive dark wood structure, high enough to offer some cover. Then his eyes fell on something unexpected on top of the counter, half-hidden under a pile of crumpled papers: a cell phone and a manager's access card. The hotel's generator was still running for essential services, meaning the card could open electronic doors, a valuable asset for the future.
A plan formed in Thiago's mind with lightning speed. He grabbed his cell phone and card, tucking the latter into one of his vest pockets. With stealthy movements, he slipped behind the reception desk, the solid wood providing a solid barrier against the horde. He placed the cell phone in the middle of the lobby, where the sound would be amplified and attract the attention of all the zombies.
With the M4A1 already propped up on the tripod, its 5.56mm and 7.62mm barrels pointed at the zombie mob, Thiago positioned his Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols on the counter, within easy reach. The MP5s, with their clips extended, were strapped to his legs, and the magazines and cylinders of all the weapons, reloaded and ready, were arranged in a neat line, waiting to be used. He took a deep breath, feeling the familiarity of the cold metal against his hands, adrenaline pulsing through his veins.
He dialed the cell phone number in the lobby. The shrill ring echoed through the vast space, a sharp, unexpected sound that cut through the growling of the horde. For a moment, there was silence, a moment of confusion among the infected. And then, all hell broke loose.
It was a swarm of people, or what was left of them, pouring out of the doors of the event halls, the side corridors, and every corner of the lobby. They crawled, ran, and staggered toward the sound, their growls joining in a deafening chorus. Zombies of every level, a shapeless mass of decaying flesh and glowing crystals, advancing like a tide of death.
Thiago opened fire. The muffled sound of the silenced M4A1 was a steady, deadly rhythm. He fired in every direction, his eyes fixed on the crystals, his aim precise, fueled by his Sniper expertise. Hundreds of zombies—a chaotic mix of Level 0 White, Level 1 Pale Green, Level 2 Moss Green, Level 3 Greenish Yellow, and an alarming number of Level 4 Burnt Yellow—fell before him. Their brains exploded, a black, rotting, death-smelling brain mass splattering the walls, the floor, and the zombies themselves. Each well-placed headshot resulted in a shattered crystal, adding to his tally. He prioritized Level 2 and Level 3 with 5.56mm ammunition, and for Level 4, he quickly switched to 7.62mm ammunition, the devastating impact ensuring annihilation.
He changed the M4A1's barrels with impressive speed, the dull click of metal echoing in the lobby. When the rifle overheated, he reached for the Wilson Combat SFX9, firing with the same brutal precision, the laser dots dancing across the faces of the infected. The MP5s were used for quick bursts, clearing groups of zombies that got too close, the muffled sound of gunfire still lethal. Ammo, ammo, ammo. He fired relentlessly, his mind focused solely on annihilation, his body a killing machine.
The smell of gunpowder and blood filled the air, mingling with the stench of decay. The mountain of bodies in the lobby grew, a grotesque pile of flesh and crystals. Thiago felt exhausted, his muscles burning, but adrenaline drove him on. He was in his element, in the chaos he had lived through for twenty years.
When the last barrel of the M4A1 was empty, the MP5s' clips were dry, and the Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols were out of ammunition, Thiago stopped. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by his labored breathing and the distant growls of a few stray zombies still crawling in the corners of the lobby. He looked at the mountain of bodies before him. There were hundreds of them. But there were still a few missing. Only a few.
Level reached! Thiago is now Level 4. Thiago has gained 8 attribute points to distribute.
Without hesitation, Thiago drew "THE KATANA—THE EMPEROR'S KATANA" from its sheath. The blade, a steel that seemed to absorb light, gleamed with a deep, dark glow. The familiar weight, the perfect balance. He lunged forward, a silent ghost, his katana slicing through the air with lethal precision.
It was a brutal fight. The few remaining zombies, more resilient, more evolved, faced the blade with blind fury. Thiago moved like a deadly dance, his movements fluid, each strike an act of annihilation. He cut, pierced, dismembered with terrifying efficiency. His brain exploded, a black, rotting mass reeking of death, splattering the blade, his clothes, his face. He felt the impact, the resistance of flesh and bone, but the katana cut like butter. He spun, dodged, attacked, a blur of movement amidst the darkness and death. Each strike was an experience point, a step toward the next level.
Level reached! Thiago is now Level 5. Thiago has gained 8 attribute points to distribute.
Finally, the last zombie fell, its Burnt Yellow Level 4 crystal shattering with a dull crunch. Silence returned to the lobby, deeper now, thick with the smell of blood, gunpowder, and decay. Thiago stood in the middle of the lobby, his katana dripping with black blood, his body covered in blood and brain matter, a dark, imposing figure amidst the mountain of bodies. He was exhausted, but adrenaline still pumped through his veins.
He glanced at the System interface, which now displayed a new and impressive crystal count, the result of the carnage in the lobby.
Crystals Collected:
Level 0 White: 1500
Level 1 Pale Green: 750
Level 2 Moss Green: 500
Level 3 Yellow-Green: 250
Level 4 Burnt Yellow: 100
He barely had time to process the information. The sound of hurried footsteps echoed down the main staircase. The group had arrived.
Lucas, Gabriel, Sofia, their parents, Hiroshi, and his family all descended the stairs, their weapons drawn, their eyes scanning the lobby. What they saw froze them. The vast hotel lobby, once a symbol of luxury, was now a slaughterhouse. Hundreds of zombie bodies piled high, some still writhing in their final throes. And in the middle of it all, Thiago. Covered in blood, the katana in his hands dripping black blood, his eyes fixed on the horde he had annihilated.
The shock was palpable. Lucas's parents, Gabriel and Sofia, who had seen the chaos outside but never brutality on such a scale, were pale, their eyes wide with horror. Lucas and Gabriel, though accustomed to violence, had never witnessed anything like this. Sofia, with her pragmatic demeanor, felt a chill run down her spine, the image of Thiago, the predator, etched in her mind.
There, in that hall, amidst the mountain of bodies and the smell of death, they finally understood who Thiago was. He wasn't just a young college student with a premonition. He was a warrior, a survivor, a relentless force, capable of doing whatever it took to protect those he loved. The coldness in his eyes, the determination in his posture, the way he wielded the katana—all of it revealed a depth of experience they could barely fathom.
Mr. Hiroshi, with his deep, wise eyes, looked at Thiago with silent pity. He knew what Thiago was doing, the burden he carried. The pain of taking lives, of being the executioner, of being the only one to see hell and return to rewrite it. He knew the loneliness that accompanied such power, the isolation that came with knowledge. He knew that Thiago was carrying their pain, the darkness they could not see. That young man, covered in blood, was the embodiment of hope, but also of tragedy.
Thiago, oblivious to the looks of shock and pity, simply nodded to the group, his voice hoarse but firm. "It's done. The lobby is clear. Now, let's collect the crystals. And then, we'll go to the bunker. There's no time to waste."