Hiss… hiss…
Inside the underground shopping mall.
Brian crouched low, using a store counter as cover while listening intently to the faint, eerie hissing sounds of Stalkers nearby. Shafts of daylight pierced through cracks in the collapsed ceiling, casting sparse beams of light into the otherwise pitch-black space.
Fortunately, the infected weren't drawn to artificial light—his flashlight wouldn't attract their attention. If it had, he would've turned around and fled back to the quarantine zone without a second thought. No way would he risk entering this death trap.
He kept shifting his position left and right, constantly adjusting the direction of his flashlight beam. Every so often, he spotted shadowy figures moving in the distance.
Each time, he immediately altered his route to avoid crossing their paths. Unlike humans, Runners and Stalkers weren't hindered by the thick Cordyceps spore fog—their vision remained unaffected.
"This is the fourth one already… How the hell are there so many infected here?!"
As he advanced, Brian mentally tallied the number of infected he'd encountered. To his alarm, there were far more than he'd expected. He'd initially assumed a lone infected had wandered in by accident—but now, it was clear something else was going on.
He cursed inwardly. If he ever found out who was responsible for this mess, he'd make them pay dearly.
Glancing at the pistol in his hand, he decided to switch to his combat knife instead. With the current number of infected, he felt confident he could handle them—but now that the situation had changed, and with visibility nearly zero and the infected count unknown, he figured it was smarter to play it safe. After all, his life was more important than pride.
After creeping along the edge of the mall for over ten minutes—during which he spotted two more infected and silently eliminated a Runner blocking his path—Brian finally reached the exit of the underground complex.
If he could just climb these stairs, he'd have successfully crossed beyond the quarantine gate. From there, Sector E wouldn't be far.
"Finally made it!"
Seeing the stairwell entrance just ahead, Brian let out a long sigh of relief. He was about to escape this suffocating hellhole.
But the moment he stepped up to the base of the stairs and looked upward, his foot froze mid-step. His entire body went rigid.
"Damn it! Who the hell did this?!"
Where the stairwell should have opened into daylight, the passage was now completely buried under rubble. Brian's stomach sank. This couldn't be happening.
Then he noticed several corpses lying near the collapsed stairs. Judging by their ragged clothing, they were refugees—outsiders who'd tried sneaking into the Safe Zone and gotten stuck outside.
The truth was now painfully obvious. These people must have triggered something—maybe disturbed a nest or caused a collapse—that drew in the infected and destroyed the exit.
Brian stared at their mangled, half-eaten bodies, his jaw clenched. He fought the urge to kick the corpses in fury, forcing himself to stay calm. But in his anger, he accidentally crushed a loose stone underfoot.
He knew instantly: this exit was useless. He'd have to find another way out.
But while his attention was fixed on the rubble and the dead refugees, he failed to notice a Stalker that had silently crept up behind him. The moment it heard the faint crunch of gravel, it slowly turned its head toward the sound.
At the same instant, Brian turned around, preparing to move rightward to search for an alternate route.
And just like that—human and infected locked eyes.
Time seemed to freeze. The world fell utterly silent.
Hssss—!
Bang! Bang!
After a few heartbeats of stillness, the Stalker—spotting prey—let out an excited hiss. It dropped onto all fours like a wild beast, coiled its body, and lunged forward with terrifying speed.
Brian, the moment he saw it, knew he was exposed. Without hesitation, he raised his pistol and fired.
Two bullets roared from the barrel. The first struck the left side of the Stalker's head, obliterating the Cordyceps growth covering it. The second shot aimed straight for its forehead—a guaranteed kill if it landed.
But then, something unexpected happened.
The moment the fungal mass on its head was destroyed, the Stalker seemed to sense the danger. It twisted its body mid-leap, narrowly dodging the fatal shot. The bullet only grazed its left shoulder.
It rolled once on the ground—but instead of charging again like infected normally would, it did something shocking:
It turned and fled.
"…What?"
"Huh?!" Brian stood stunned, watching the Stalker vanish into the spore-filled haze. For a moment, his mind couldn't process what he'd just seen.
ROOOAR—!
While he was still reeling, the earlier gunfire and the Stalker's hiss had already alerted every Runner in the vicinity. Thunderous footsteps echoed through the mall as five or six infected sprinted toward his location.
"Shit!"
No time to wonder why the Stalker ran. Hearing the approaching horde, Brian knew he had to act fast. He swung his pistol forward.
Bang! Bang! Bang!
Three figures emerged from the mist. Brian aimed for their heads and fired three precise shots—each bullet piercing a skull. The first wave of infected collapsed instantly.
But as their bodies hit the ground, three more emerged from the fog behind them.
Click… click!
Brian immediately swung his aim—but when he pulled the trigger, nothing happened. Only the dry, hollow click of an empty chamber.
His eyes widened. "What the—?!"
He'd only fired five shots total! How could he be out of ammo already?
What Brian didn't know was that this route was reserved exclusively for smugglers. Infected rarely wandered in, so firearms were seldom needed. To conserve precious ammunition, smugglers only loaded half a magazine into each pistol.
Since Brian rarely used these tunnels—and when he did, he usually faced only one or two lone infected—he always preferred his silent, close-range knife over noisy guns. He'd never realized this smuggling protocol.
Now, with Runners closing in fast, he had no choice. He hurled the empty pistol like a projectile at the nearest Runner, striking it square in the face. The impact stunned it momentarily, causing it to stagger and cover its eyes.
In that split second, Brian charged forward. By the time the Runner recovered, he was already upon it. With a swift, brutal motion, he drove his knife straight up through its jaw, killing it instantly.
He yanked the blade free, then kicked the corpse hard in the chest. The force not only dislodged the knife but also momentarily blocked the path of a second Runner.
One down, one stalled—he sensed a third Runner charging at him from the side. He twisted his body, reached out, and grabbed a fistful of its hair. With a savage yank, he slammed its head into a nearby counter—once, twice, three times.
As the Runner crumpled to its knees, Brian drove his right knee upward with crushing force, smashing into its temple. The skull caved in with a sickening crunch.
Just as he finished off that one, the second Runner—now recovered—lunged at him again. Brian sidestepped, ready to throw a left hook—
—but then, from behind, he heard the faintest rustle.
Instinctively, the image of the fleeing Stalker flashed through his mind. A chill shot down his spine.
He aborted his punch mid-swing and threw himself sideways into a roll.
Hssss—!
Two infected landed exactly where he'd been standing a split second earlier—one Runner, and the very same Stalker whose fungal head he'd blown apart.
"Aaah—!"
Brian didn't look back. He scrambled to his feet and dove behind a display cabinet filled with trinkets. Gripping the edges, he roared and shoved with all his might.
The three-meter-tall cabinet toppled over with a deafening CRASH, kicking up dust and pinning both infected beneath its weight before they could react.
Panting inside his gas mask, Brian allowed himself a moment of relief. He was safe—for now.
But then he saw it: the two infected were already thrashing violently, clawing at the wood, about to break free.
Without hesitation, Brian rushed forward. He jammed his knife through gaps in the cabinet's shelves, driving the blade deep into each of their skulls—silencing them for good.