The terrifying part about the zombie plague wasn't just that it killed thought, but that every single cell turned into an independent organism. It wasn't true immortality in any traditional sense, but rather a grotesque body made up of billions of independent, living bacteria acting as one cohesive unit. Even if the head was chopped off, the remaining mass could still hunt for food with primitive, singular focus.
The jagged, raw stump of the neck would simply pulse with rhythmic, sickening contractions, and the rest of the hulking body would continue devouring whatever it could find with mindless, relentless hunger. Over time, these creatures kept mutating and evolving in the dark until they became the unstoppable third generation. Under a high-powered microscope, every inch of their grey flesh was crawling with countless microscopic claws and tiny, wet mouths, a churning sea of constant consumption.
The third generation had developed efficient self-repair. The scariest thing about bacteria was their collective willingness to sacrifice themselves for the survival of the colony. Those that survived such sacrifice evolved further to become immune to most forms of damage and even more terrifyingly strong than before.
Sure, a healthy hippo normally weighed around three or four tons and stretched about three or four meters long, but these weren't hippos anymore. They're massive, bloated hulks made entirely of powerful, writhing living bacteria. So when six people surrounded one of the beasts and tried to shoot its eyes and head with light machine guns, thinking they would disable it, they're dead wrong.
You could shoot, but you couldn't kill it. The bullets only damaged a tiny, insignificant fraction of its flesh, barely scratching the surface before being swallowed by the grey, shifting muscle.
You couldn't capture it either. Even if eighteen people teamed up, their heavy boots sliding in the thick mud, they couldn't drag away a single monster. The things were monstrously strong, easily enraged, and loved wallowing in the stinking, dark swamps while feeding on fresh meat. These mercenaries were basically walking, warm-blooded buffets to them.
Anyone foolish enough to imitate Jing Shu's method of cutting off a hippo's leg and tying it up ended up as lunch. Every bit of flesh they lost was instantly replenished by whatever they ate next. Whatever damage they managed to inflict became healing fuel for the beast. All their effort had gone to waste.
Jing Shu was amused as she watched from the jagged rocks above. These oversized beasts were no joke, and they didn't seem to have any real weakness. If they had one fatal flaw, it would be their endless hunger. As long as they had food, they would grow stronger and stronger. Rotting meat, blood, living creatures—even swamp bugs and plankton—were all on the menu. In the apocalypse, monsters that had evolved like this could easily survive.
But starve them for a few days, and everything changed. The bacteria inside would enter a desperate self-preservation mode, devouring each other in a frantic, internal cycle. Within ten or fifteen days, they would eat themselves into extinction.
"Did you record that?" Jing Shu asked, patting Xiao Hei's shoulder.
"Yeah, got it all. But… what is the point of recording this?" Xiao Hei's voice was low, his fingers tight on the camera.
Tank turned to her, his expression hard and unyielding. "So, what is your plan now?"
Jing Shu smiled, her eyes reflecting the dim, flickering light of the canyon walls. "This stuff is precious research material. You can't complete a mission halfway. We have got to do it right."
Besides, she needed concrete proof that these people weren't killed by her squad, but by the monsters themselves. After all, they're assigned by higher-ups, and their deaths would need a formal explanation. Trying to steal her credit? Not that easy.
Tank frowned, his brow furrowing deep as he was about to ask what research footage had to do with any of this, when the monsters suddenly went berserk. It's like they had just learned to see humans. Worse still, they had learned to work together.
"Oh, shit! Shoot them! Kill them now!"
"They're coming straight for us! Jesus, how are they moving that fast?!"
"Oh my god!"
"Help!"
The beasts that had been quietly hunting before now turned feral, charging through the silt with terrifying speed. The mercenaries were caught completely off guard, their heavy, metal armor making them slow and clumsy in the sludge. They had no special abilities, no superhuman speed, nothing. Within minutes, most were ripped apart, the sound of wet tearing and snapping bone filling the air. A few tried to run, but none got far. Ling Ling picked them off one by one with precise, clinical headshots, her finger steady on the trigger as she adjusted her aim.
Eighteen men. All dead.
Talk about poetic justice. They tried to steal the peach and ended up losing their lives instead.
"Alright," Jing Shu said coolly, her voice cutting through the sudden silence. "Our turn."
Truth be told, figuring out how to deliver these living beasts to the Black Market had been a real headache for Tank's group. The creatures were too massive. They could either chain them up and drag them there or haul them on heavy trailers.
But Jing Shu had another idea. She chopped up some of the bloody corpses, her blade moving with surgical precision through the cold meat, and used the raw flesh to lure the hippos downhill. Then she tied more meat to the back of a truck, stringing the beasts in a row like obedient, hungry livestock. She tossed them chunks of meat along the way, the bloody pieces landing with a heavy thud on the road, and they happily followed, galloping behind the truck like it's feeding time. They never once slowed down as they chased the scent.
Ling Ling sat in the cabin cleaning her AK47 while Tank's team scavenged the weapons from the mud. In no time, all eighteen mercenaries' gear ended up in their hands. There's a saying: war brings wealth fast, and robbery is the quickest way to get rich.
Most of these guns were outdated, though, not nearly as good as what Tank's group already had. Still, the truck was packed full of them. Selling everything at the Black Market would bring in a tidy sum. But the real money now wasn't in guns; it's in bullets.
After four hours of feeding them meat, they finally got three giant hippos to the underground Black Market. As they drove through the slums, the locals stared in horror from their shacks. Xiao Hei, sitting up front, was practically shouting their arrival like a street vendor, his voice echoing off the corrugated metal.
And he had every reason to. The Black Market sent over a hundred people to receive the beasts, their boots thudding on the stone as they secretly moved them to a restricted zone. That's when Jing Shu's group met one of the so-called "nobles" of the underground world: George.
The fat man clapped his hands after watching the full video, his translator relaying his words through Xiao Hei: "Marvelous! Outstanding work! Congratulations, mercenary squad. You have completed a B-rank mission and earned 8,000 Black Market coins. For capable people like you, the Black Market always keeps its doors open. As for the other squads; oh heavens, may they rest in peace."
Just like that, Jing Shu's squad became a B-rank mercenary team—the fastest promotion in the market's history. Word spread fast through the crowded stalls. The three squads that had tried to take over the mission were wiped out, and only this single Asian team made it back alive. Aside from one injured man, the rest were completely unscathed. They even had video proof showing that it's the monsters, not them, who had killed the others. Yet somehow, these same monsters had obediently followed the Asian team back alive.
"I told you," someone in the Black Market muttered, watching them pass. "Those Asians are shaman. They know some kind of black magic."
Jing Shu's group didn't care about the gossip. After she stitched up Monkey's shoulder, her needle pulling the thread through the torn skin in tight, neat rows, their biggest concern was finding a place to sleep.
The underground Black Market didn't have quake-resistant buildings like Xingfu Shiyuan. With the quakes getting stronger by the day, a collapse was always a risk, and fine dust often drifted down from the ceiling. Still, it's way better than the slums outside. At least here, you didn't have to worry about the filth, the chaos, or starving people stealing your stuff in the night. Out there, though, at least you had a chance to run when the ground started shaking.