The Other Side
The group's initial shock had faded, replaced by grim acceptance. The man in sunglasses' claims were undeniable now. This retinal projection tech—no external devices, no wires—was lightyears beyond anything they knew. Even if it was some twisted prank by a shadowy organization, they were unarmed civilians. Cooperation meant survival. Resistance meant pain.
"See the dialog box on the right? That's your mission log," the man rasped, licking cracked lips against the desert's dry bite. "It tells you what to do next. It's also your ticket home."
The word "home" snapped everyone to attention. Breath hitched. Ears strained.
Luo Yan glanced at his own panel's right side:
— [Incursion: Zombie Siege] (Survival).
Below it, a timer ticked down relentlessly. Just like before.
"Lucky break, rookies," the man continued, voice flat. "Survival's the easiest gig you'll get. Stay alive until the clock runs out. Then you walk away." He seemed done explaining. Tossing the mini-amplifier back to the pale tour guide, he strode down the cracked highway toward the distant city skyline.
A battered road sign rattled beside them, loose sheet metal clattering rhythmically in the wind:
WELCOME TO FORTUNE CITY.
Fortune City.
It wasn't so much a city as a sprawling entertainment complex dumped in the middle of a parched desert wasteland. By the time the exhausted group reached its outskirts under the noon sun, it was clear: this place belonged to the dead.
Hundreds of zombies shambled across the vast plaza fronting the main entrance. Like ragged, drunken ghouls. Some lurched after wind-tossed debris, drawn by the noise, rotten throats bubbling with guttural groans.
The nightmare, once confined to screens, was horrifyingly real. Faces drained of color. One woman stifled a scream behind a trembling hand.
"Sir!" A sharp voice cut through the fear. Jia Shuai—a university student council president, handsome and radiating practiced charisma. He'd spent the trek subtly maneuvering, gathering his fellow students, angling for control. "What's the plan now?" His eyes flickered with calculation.
"The plan?" The man in sunglasses turned, coolly assessing him. A finger wagged slowly. "Kid, you're confused. It's your plan. Not ours."
Jia Shuai stiffened. "What do you—?"
"Smart folks don't need everything spelled out." The man lit a cigarette. Instantly, shimmering blue grids enveloped him like digital scaffolding. They solidified into faded jungle camo combat fatigues. His gear was basic: a decent tactical vest, but his only weapon was a matte-black machete, barely half a meter long.
"One last freebie," he exhaled smoke. "Hit 100 points? Upgrade your Rank first. Boosts your stats. Might keep you breathing." He dropped the cigarette, crushed it under his boot, and stood. "Good luck out there, maggots." He gave a mocking, backwards thumbs-up without turning, then walked straight toward the shambling horde, machete held low.
"Damn it!" Jia Shuai ripped the flimsy tour company cap from his head and slammed it onto the asphalt. All that careful schmoozing, wasted. The veteran hadn't just refused help; he'd dumped them like trash.
Luo Yan watched, a cold smirk touching his lips. Idiot. Veterans aren't charity cases. Trying to play one? Asking to get buried.
"He… he just left us?" Panic rippled through the group as the man carved a brutal path through the zombies and vanished into the city's main entrance. "What do we do?"
"Everyone! Listen up!" Jia Shuai's voice snapped with authority. The panic paused. His leadership instincts kicked in, masking his own fear. "I have a plan." He'd already established himself; now was the time to seize command. "Those things are slow. Painfully slow. We need runners—fast ones—to draw the main horde away. The rest of us get inside. Clean."
Silence. The logic was sound. The question hung heavy: Who runs?
Seeing no volunteers, Jia Shuai sighed theatrically. "Alright. Everyone who isn't elderly or a child… we draw lots." He procured a handful of cotton swabs from the female students. Five were subtly marked with flecks of red nail polish.
The results were swift. Four men. One girl—a high schooler. She collapsed, sobbing hysterically. The flashy suit guy was also marked. He stared at the red-tipped swab, face purpling with rage. "Screw this!" He hurled it down. "Who the hell are you to send me out as bait while you waltz in?!"
Jia Shuai ignored the outburst, addressing the relieved majority. "Any objections to the draw? Should we redo it?" A chorus of frantic nos answered him. No one wanted to risk their safe spot.
"You see?" Jia Shuai turned back to the suit man, his smile chillingly pleasant. He stepped close, adjusting the man's collar with faux concern. Then, lightning-fast, he drove a vicious kick into the man's gut, dropping him. Jia Shuai grabbed his hair, yanking his head up. "I hate scumbags who break the rules," he hissed, venom dripping. "You blew your shot at being useful? Fine. Rot here. Bear! Miner! Trash this garbage!"
The suit man gaped, stunned. Before he could plead, two burly students—Bear and Miner—pounced. They pinned him, efficiently binding his wrists and ankles behind his back with climbing rope. Duct tape silenced his muffled screams.
Smooth, Luo Yan noted coldly. Classic divide and conquer. Make the majority complicit. Cement authority with fear. No wonder he clawed his way up later.
Jia Shuai dusted his hands. "Unfortunate. We're down a runner. That means extra effort for you four. Understood?" His smile was pure ice. The remaining chosen ones, including the trembling girl now scrambling to her feet, nodded frantically. Bait offered a chance. Being tied up here? A death sentence.
"Three… Two… One… GO!"
The four bolted from cover, scattering as planned. Flesh ignited the dead. A collective groan rose as hundreds of zombies lurched toward the movement.
"RUN! NOW! DRAW THEM INTO THE DESERT!" Jia Shuai yelled.
He'd miscalculated. Raw terror overrode instructions. The runners panicked, fleeing blindly, not checking if the horde followed. The high school girl stumbled into a dead-end alley. Ragged figures closed in. A single, blood-curdling scream tore through the air, then cut off abruptly.
"Morons!" Jia Shuai snarled, face tight. Hesitation meant death. "Change of plan! Everyone—MOVE! NOW! Follow me!" He shouted "follow me," but a deft maneuver—"helping" an older woman—put him squarely in the middle of the pack, not the front.
Luo Yan saw it all. Survivor tactics. Sacrifice the pawns, protect the king. No wonder he climbed so high.
The survivors needed no further urging. The plan was ash. Pure survival instinct took over. They erupted from cover in a chaotic, terrified stampede, sprinting across the hundred meters of open plaza toward the gaping maw of Fortune City's entrance.
The mass movement was a beacon. Hundreds of remaining zombies, drawn by the surge of living prey, turned as one. A rotting tide surged toward the scrambling humans.