The sky had completely darkened. A pale moon hung high above, stars glittered faintly, and a cool breeze swept across the plains, making the flowers and grass sway. On the surface, it resembled a tranquil summer night. But beneath that serenity lurked horror.
If only there weren't monsters roaming everywhere…
[Night has fallen. Monsters are now hunting.]
[Weak and helpless prey, hide well.]
As the system clock struck six, a scrolling announcement flashed across the public chat. A heavy silence fell, replaced almost instantly by panic.
> "It's starting!"
"Team up! Damn it, I'm terrified alone! I already wasted most of my bullets in the day!"
"Everyone drop coordinates! If you're nearby, gather quick!"
The screen filled with frantic messages. Then one stood out.
[John Carter]: "I've posted my coordinates. Anyone who can't hold out tonight, come here. We already have twenty people gathered. No other requirements—just unity, discipline, and upright values!"
The channel exploded.
> "Holy crap! Boss John Carter!"
"The one who drew the tank vehicle?"
"Boss, take me with you!"
"Count me in too!"
Others soon followed. [David Stone], another "boss," announced recruitment in the Black Mountain Mining Area, demanding at least one firearm per newcomer. Whispers spread—he was the one rumored to have drawn the Infinite Bullets M4A1.
Players clamored. Cling to the strong! Gather with the bosses!
Guna sat back, watching the chaos scroll past. He didn't type, didn't volunteer. Joining groups wasn't for him. Before crossing over, everyone here had been ordinary people. Fear pushed them to huddle together, but without law or structure, morality alone couldn't hold order. Sooner or later, greed, jealousy, and disputes over resources would fracture these groups. Internal strife was inevitable.
He wasn't about to gamble his survival on that. The lone wolf path was best for him.
But that didn't mean he wanted no ties at all. Appropriate connections, trading information, and careful deals could be valuable.
Opening the chat, he typed a short message:
[Advice: Don't wander tonight. Turn off your engines, recline your seats, and don't fire unless you have at least 200 rounds. Noise attracts zombies. They're drawn to sound like moths to flame.]
The effect was immediate. Panic quieted as caution set in.
> "Wait... is it really that bad?"
"Shit, I don't even dare to start my car now..."
"He's right. I fired today and a whole group came running. Nearly died. Be careful."
"Boss John Carter said only join if you can't hold on. Best to turtle it out yourself if possible!"
Then a scream rang out in the chat.
> "They're here!!!"
A crimson mist seeped across the plains, and shadows surged from the darkness. Terrifying roars echoed.
The zombies had arrived.
They weren't sluggish now. Under the mist's influence, they were faster, bloodthirsty, berserk. They sprinted across the wilderness, howling, clawing, seeking prey.
Through the firing port of his upgraded van, Guna watched. His gut tightened. Their numbers had multiplied tenfold compared to the day. Their speed, their strength—all heightened.
Gunfire soon cracked in the distance.
Bang! Bang! Bang-bang!
He crawled into the back, lifted the sniper rifle, and peered through the scope. Two kilometers away, a mobility scooter struggled under siege. Dozens of zombies swarmed it like ants on meat, pounding and clawing. The owner panicked, firing wildly, trying to drive off.
It was hopeless. The windows shattered, grotesque figures poured inside, and within seconds the screams ended in wet tearing sounds. Flesh shredded. Bones snapped.
Guna's jaw tightened. His finger curled around the rifle, but he forced himself still. It was too late. Nothing could be done.
Glancing at the regional counter, he saw numbers plummet: 97,000 → 96,500 → 96,000...
The public chat filled with despair.
> "Help! Save me!!!"
"Holy crap, surrounded—barely broke through!"
"The windows! Too fragile! They're cracking already!"
"If you can't defend, drive away! Staying means death!"
"This isn't even a horde yet! What will seven days look like?!"
One message caught Guna's eye.
> [Help! My sedan's chassis is stuck. Zombies surrounding me! I'll pay 2 gold coins AND a modification device—Super Silencer! My life for it!]
A Super Silencer? His eyes gleamed. That was top-tier. On the market earlier, the only one listed went for 30 gold. Was it this guy?
He messaged privately: [Send coordinates. If it's within 10km, I'll come.]
The reply was instant. [Coordinates attached. Boss, please hurry!!!]
Seven kilometers. Doable.
[How long can you hold out?]
[Mark Harris]: "Boss, I upgraded my windows, but the chassis is weak! At least a dozen zombies outside. I can't fight them. I don't know how long the metal shell will hold... Please, hurry. I won't last until morning!"
Guna typed two words: [Wait for me.]
He slammed the ignition. The van sputtered, coughing black smoke, then roared alive. He shifted gears and sped off across the grass.
The sound drew attention instantly.
"Awooo!!"
Nearby zombies howled and gave chase. Dozens surged from the mist, their claws scraping across the ground. In moments, a chain of the undead trailed his van...
The vehicle rattled, engine roaring, but the terrain was mercifully flat. Forty kilometers per hour—not fast, but enough to keep the horde just out of reach.
Guna gripped the wheel tightly, jaw clenched. Ahead, seven kilometers away, a desperate survivor waited. Behind, the undead chased in endless waves. And above, the blood-red moon cast its pale light on the start of a long, bloody night...