Description:
A myth among survivalists and a holy grail among medics—the G Drug stands as a testament to what humanity once dreamed of achieving. It doesn't just heal—it resurrects a body on the brink of ruin. Legends say the drug was first synthesized in the final days before the collapse, too late to save the world, but powerful enough to save those bold enough to keep fighting. It could cure viral infections no matter how advanced, regenerate missing limbs, restore shattered bones and ruptured organs—and even grant permanent immunity to all known zombie viruses. A single injection could turn a dying man into a miracle.
Use it wisely, for it may be the difference between legend and loss.]
Ethan exhaled slowly, his eyes dimming.
"It's too expensive. I'm really poor," he muttered under his breath, voice edged with self-mockery.
For someone who had survived this long through calculation, instinct, and luck, he understood the brutal arithmetic of survival: everything had a price, and miracles cost the most.
If he had the money, he'd buy the G Drug in a heartbeat. Not for himself, necessarily—but because, in a world where the line between life and undeath was a breath's width, having such a cure meant wielding godhood.
He scrolled through the list again. Beyond medical supplies, there was nothing truly powerful left—no enchanted weapons, no defensive gear, no advanced armor sets. Just consumables, the leftovers of a civilization that had burned out its own miracles.
Closing the interface, Ethan glanced at the store attendant. She stood behind the counter, immaculate in her white and silver uniform, her composure the only hint of old-world elegance left in this shattered age. Her face was delicate, framed by soft chestnut hair tied neatly behind her head, her smile professional yet faintly melancholic.
"These are the only equipment available?" Ethan asked, his tone calm but firm.
"Yes," the woman replied softly. "The system restocks only when items are sold back into circulation. The worlds are still too broken for consistent supply."
Her eyes lowered briefly, as if remembering something painful. "Most of the old production facilities… were destroyed when the capitals fell."
Ethan nodded. "I see. Thank you."
He turned and stepped out of the store, the quiet jingle of the door chime fading behind him.
---
The streets outside were subdued, lined with flickering lamps powered by unstable mana generators. Once, these pathways might have been bustling with vendors and mercenaries. Now, only a few survivors passed by—faces hollow, eyes alert, movements mechanical. The air carried a faint metallic scent, the ghost of ash and blood.
Ethan walked through the central square until he reached a towering, marble-pillared building still half-intact—its facade cracked but resilient, a remnant of old civilization. The flickering neon sign above the grand archway read:
[MISSION HALL]
He pushed open the doors and entered.
The inside of the hall was vast and eerily quiet, illuminated by rows of floating crystal panels that shimmered with mission data. The walls were engraved with old government insignias, long stripped of meaning. Statues of heroic figures—soldiers, medics, engineers—stood at attention, their faces chipped or eroded by time, silent witnesses to humanity's fall.
And yet, despite the decay, there was beauty. The air held the faint fragrance of burning incense and ozone, a mix of sacred and technological. Holographic light refracted through cracked marble floors, creating illusions of movement—like ghosts of the past walking beside the living.
As Ethan approached the counter, a woman greeted him with a bright, practiced smile. She was breathtaking in a way that felt almost cruel against the backdrop of ruin. Her long auburn hair shimmered beneath the light, cascading over a black, form-fitting uniform marked with the crest of the Mission Guild. Her eyes, however—deep emerald green—betrayed something different: sorrow.
"Welcome, Mr. Ethan," she said, her voice melodic yet subdued. "You may access the current list of missions."
She waved her hand gracefully, and a massive holographic screen expanded before him, lines of blue and red text streaming upward like an endless waterfall of data.
[Welcome to the Mission Hall]
You are welcome to accept a variety of missions posted here.
[[Mission: Recapture the Fallen City of Beijing]
Mission Type: Faction Epic Quest
Difficulty: Extreme
Activation Requirement: Manual Acceptance
Time Limit: 1 Year (Countdown begins upon acceptance)
Mission Objective:
Purge all infected lifeforms within the boundaries of Beijing's 5th Ring Road. This includes eliminating all standard zombies, evolved infected, mini-bosses, and area control nodes.
Mission Parameters:
Zone to be cleared: Greater Beijing Urban Area (5th Ring)
All hostile biological entities must be eliminated.
Strategic Points (Hospitals, Military Depots, Gov HQs) must be secured.
Allied factions may support, but only the faction leader who accepts the mission receives final rewards.
Rewards Upon Completion:
Level 5: Protective Garment
+5 Levels
+2 Skill Points
50,000 Survival Coins
Title Unlocked: Beijing Conqueror
Title Effect: +5% Influence in all Shian Empire territories
Unique Buff: +5% Damage against infected inside urban zones
Failure Penalty:
None. Mission failure will result in termination of the quest without punishment.
Description:
Beijing—once the political and cultural heart of a nation, now reduced to a fortress of the dead. Regaining control is more than symbolic; it's strategic. Those bold enough to cleanse this stronghold of infection may carve their names into the annals of the new world. The system recognizes courage—but only rewards conquest.]
As Ethan scrolled through the other missions, his expression hardened.
[Recapture the Fallen City of Tokyo... ..."
"Recapture the Fallen City of Manila ... ..."
Recapture the Fallen City of Alexandria... ..."
Recapture the Fallen City of Barcelona... ..."
Recapture the Fallen City of Atlanta... ..."
Recapture the Fallen City of Pune... …]
The list went on and on. Dozens of names—each once a symbol of human brilliance—now listed as "fallen."
His heart sank. "Beijing, Tokyo, Atlanta... all gone?" he muttered.
He stepped back, staring up at the holographic wall of missions. Every glowing name was another grave marker. Every objective was a reminder of failure.
If the great cities had fallen, that meant the central governments were gone. Command chains shattered. Power grids collapsed. The satellites that once watched over the Earth—silent. Without communication, without unity, the world had truly become a wasteland of splintered territories.
And if the capitals didn't survive, who can say that normal cities would?
Ethan's eyes darkened with realization. "Like a dragon without a head," he whispered. "No leadership… no direction. Only chaos."
In the shadows of the great hall, the faint hum of the crystal screens filled the silence like an elegy for the dead. For a moment, he thought he heard distant gunfire outside the city walls—or maybe it was only memory.
He turned back toward the attendant, who stood silently, her once-bright smile now faltering.
For a brief instant, their gazes met—his sharp and calculating, hers weary but still hopeful. In her reflection, Ethan saw not just a survivor, but the last flicker of what humanity used to be: kindness, fragility, and unyielding beauty amidst despair.
And yet, he had no time for admiration. The world was ending, and he was already running late.
With a quiet exhale, Ethan closed the mission screen. "Terrible," he murmured. "Truly terrible."
[[Mission: Recapture the Fallen City of Nanning]
Mission Type: Faction Major Quest
Difficulty: High
Activation Requirement: Manual Acceptance
Time Limit: 1 Year (Countdown begins upon acceptance)
Mission Objective:
Hunt down and eliminate 100 Zombie Chiefs lurking within the ruins of Nanning City. These elite infected are far more dangerous than common zombies and must be neutralized to reclaim the territory.
Mission Parameters:
Primary Objective: Eliminate 100 Zombie Chiefs
Zone to be cleared: Nanning City District
Tactical Priority Targets: Police Stations, Power Grid Nodes, Water Supply Facilities
Allied Support: Permitted. However, only the faction leader who accepts the mission will receive the final rewards.
Rewards Upon Completion:
Level 4 Protective Garment
+3 Levels
+1 Skill Point
10,000 Survival Coins
Title Unlocked: Nanning Conqueror
Title Effect:
+5% Resistance to Fear-type status effects
+5% movement speed within jungle or semi-urban terrain
Failure Penalty:
None. Mission failure will result in termination of quest without punishment.
Description:
Though not as globally symbolic as Beijing, Nanning was once a vital military and trade junction—its fall dealt a serious blow to regional stability. Reclaiming it sends a message: no zone is too far gone. The 100 Zombie Chiefs serve as wardens of decay—defeat them, and hope returns. Only the daring will rise to this trial, and only the victorious will wear the name Conqueror.]
"Nanning City… has fallen too?"
Ethan's chest tightened as he read the flickering report on the mission terminal. His pupils dilated, and a faint tremor ran through his body as emotions of this body ran wild. Home… That single word echoed painfully in his mind like a bell tolling in a ruined cathedral. For a fleeting moment, his body wished it could sprout wings, cut through the clouds, and fly back to see it with its own eyes—to see whether there was still something, someone, left.
But the Nate part of him, cold and steel-edged, quickly suppressed that storm of emotion. Panic wouldn't bring the dead back. "Get a grip," he muttered under his breath, forcing the fire in his body into a small, controlled flame.
He turned toward the attendant at the counter—an elegant woman with porcelain-pale skin, long silver hair cascading over her shoulders, and a professional yet gentle expression that somehow carried both warmth and sorrow. Her beauty was ethereal, like a ghostly lady bound by duty to this ruinous world. Even so, Ethan's mind was too preoccupied with strategy to truly admire her looks.
He asked evenly, "If I don't accept the mission, but still take people and recapture the city on my own, will I still get the reward?"
The woman's red lips curved into a faint smile. Her eyes, shimmering like liquid glass, met his. "You will not," she said softly. "If you don't officially accept a mission through the system, no matter how much effort you make, the system will not acknowledge your achievement… nor grant any rewards."
Ethan gave a slow nod, his expression unreadable. So it's bound by authority rules… No exploit loopholes. Everything is under system supervision.
He quietly began scrolling through the massive mission list, the glowing holographic panels reflecting in his sharp eyes. His fingers moved fast—skimming data, cross-referencing danger ratings, calculating resource costs. His mind processed information like a tactical machine, filtering for potential advantage.
Aside from the major Shian Empire cities, he found similar missions to reclaim fallen metropolises worldwide—New York, Tokyo, Berlin, Moscow, London, New Delhi… cities that once represented humanity's pride now reduced to nests of the undead.
"After I accept the mission," Ethan asked suddenly, glancing up, "is there a penalty if I fail to complete it?"
"That's a wise question," the attendant said with a soft laugh that carried both admiration and sadness. "No, there is no penalty. You may accept as many missions as you wish without risk. Only those who succeed receive the blessings of the system."
Ethan's lips curved slightly. "Then I'll take them all."
One by one, the holographic missions flared and vanished into his interface as he accepted them. His system chimed in acknowledgment.