Zhang Qi pushed the dorm room door open, not barging in recklessly like he usually would. All those survival games he'd played over the years weren't for nothing—Resident Evil, The Last of Us, Dying Light—every one taught you caution in the apocalypse. He'd taken those lessons to heart.
Carefully, he took out the shard he'd broken off the bathroom mirror. That mirror had been fine on the wall yesterday; today it was his scouting tool. Using the reflection, crouched low like a seasoned scout, he painstakingly surveyed the hallway. What he saw nearly made him drop the shard and fall on his ass.
"Holy mother of— It's even worse than I imagined!" he gasped, a chill running down his back. "How long was I out? Three days? Five? A week? How did the world turn into this… hellscape?"
Seeing the hallway was empty, not a moving shadow in sight, he finally crept out. On his toes, he turned right, moving like a cat on the prowl. At least there seemed to be no living people—the walls were scarred with crisscrossing claw marks and cracks, plaster torn away in places revealing the concrete underneath. He wondered what could have that much strength to gouge concrete so deeply.
The scariest part was the blood. Not just splatters, but huge, sprayed patterns on the walls, floor, ceiling—like someone had flung buckets of dark, congealed red paint. It gave off a sharp, metallic smell. Even more unnerving were the bodies lying haphazardly in the corridor, in various twisted poses—some curled in corners, others flat on their faces.
None of the corpses were intact. Missing limbs, some with stomachs torn open, entrails spilled, clear bite marks visible on the remains. Zhang Qi gathered his courage and approached one female body, around his age, wearing the uniform of the class next door, a school badge still pinned to her chest.
Her neck bore several deep, bone-exposing bite marks. The worst was half her head was gone, brains spilled and mixed with clotted blood into a disgusting paste. If Zhang Qi hadn't been through enough weirdness today to toughen his nerves, he'd have vomited on the spot.
To be safe, Zhang Qi did two things: First, he stomped hard on her ankle. With his full strength now, the bone would have shattered with a sickening crack. Simultaneously, he kept his sharpened wooden stake aimed at her head. If she suddenly lurched up, he could react, driving it through her skull to make sure she stayed down.
Seeing the corpse remained inert, not even a twitch, he prodded her arm with the stake, poking a few bloody holes, confirming she was truly dead—unless zombies had become master thespians, which he doubted. If they had, some big-shot movie director would be recruiting, probably for cheap. He repeated the process with the other bloody bodies on the floor. All were thoroughly deceased, no signs of reanimation.
"Looks like these things aren't like me." Zhang Qi muttered to himself, tightening his grip on the stake. "Whatever did this has no sanity left. I wonder… what makes someone turn into a zombie versus becoming food? Is there any rule? Just pure luck?"
Before leaving, Zhang Qi considered taking some human flesh as emergency rations. The thought startled even himself. Partly to test if the system would recognize it for that awful quest; partly because he'd discovered one sense was heightened—his sense of smell. It constantly reminded him this was bloody, unavoidable reality. The coppery scent filled his nostrils.
The hallway had a strange, pungent, unique odor Zhang Qi had never smelled before—rotting meat mixed with iron, with a cloying sweetness underneath. Prolonged exposure was dizzying. Though memory told him the smell should be nauseating, his body had no reaction. It was like he couldn't smell it at all.
No urge to vomit, no stomach-churning disgust. Looking at the carnage, his gut was perfectly calm, like watching a TV show. No emotional ripple.
"Guess that's a side effect of the mutation." Zhang Qi thought, touching his stomach. "Before, I'd have puked my guts out. Now, nothing."
Since his Physical Status was fine, there was no rush to complete that disgusting quest. Besides, if he ran into living people, how would he explain carrying human flesh? They'd label him a cannibal, and he'd never clear his name. With that in mind, he decided to head somewhere else first—check if his buddies were alive.
"He Yu shared my room, but Zhang Dalong had his own single." He thought, moving cautiously forward, footsteps almost silent. "Not much blood in my room. He Yu probably never came back. Most likely went straight to Zhang Dalong's after class. He knew I'd be gaming all day, wouldn't disturb me. Kid's always been considerate."
Zhang Dalong's room was downstairs. Zhang Qi decided to check it before leaving the building, though he held little hope. The whole apartment building felt dead. Few signs of life or death, like it had been picked clean. Eerily quiet.
"Maybe they were still in class when it hit." Zhang Qi mumbled, carefully descending the stairs, each step light as a cat's, afraid to make noise and attract something.
Several dorm doors stood wide open, rooms ransacked, drawers pulled out. A few doors were closed tight. No telling what was behind them—survivors or something worse. Zhang Qi didn't want complications. Even if people were inside, he didn't want to deal with them. In times like these, human minds were more unpredictable than zombies. Could get stabbed in the back.
Zhang Dalong's floor mirrored the one above: bodies in the hallway, bloodstains, damaged doors, some with deep claw marks like someone had desperately tried to claw their way out. Zhang Qi checked each one as usual, confirming they were truly dead. He wasn't about to be ambushed by a playing-dead zombie. That'd be the worst.
In this world, carelessness got you killed. Games taught him that. How many protagonists and side characters got axed from one moment of inattention? Finally, he reached Zhang Dalong's door—shut tight, not a crack. He pressed the handle, tried to push. It didn't budge. Locked.
"It's locked… Can't risk making noise. Might attract other things in the building." He held his breath, listening closely at the door. Faint sounds from inside.
Good chance to test his new strength. Zhang Qi pressed down on the handle with one hand, put his shoulder to the door, and pushed. Muscles tensed. A sharp crack—the lock snapped like a twig, the doorframe groaning slightly. The noise wasn't small, but in the empty hallway, it quickly faded, leaving only a faint echo.
Pushing the door open, Zhang Qi's heart hammered, palms sweating. He feared seeing a nightmare scene—both his best friends turned, or worse, cold bodies.
"Please… please…" A weak, trembling voice came from inside, choked with tears.
Stepping in, Zhang Qi could hardly believe his eyes. Half the weight lifted from his heart.
"He Yu!"
He Yu was cowering by the window, clutching a frying pan, shaking like a leaf. His face was sheet-white, glasses askew on his nose. Though he was looking toward Zhang Qi, his eyes were unfocused, glazed over, like he'd suffered severe shock.
"It's me, He Yu! Thank God you're okay!" Zhang Qi said, stepping forward, voice trembling with emotion, almost tripping over debris on the floor.
Hearing his name, He Yu snapped back to reality, recognition dawning in his eyes, quickly replaced by terror.
"Zhang Qi… Wait! Don't come closer!" He Yu suddenly shouted, throwing out a hand as if to stop something, panic distorting his features, the frying pan wobbling in his grip.
Too late. Zhang Qi felt a cold sensation pierce his chest. Looking down, a gleaming dagger was buried there, right where his heart should be. Blood instantly soaked his shirt, dripping onto the floor, forming a small, spreading pool.
"Zhang Dalong! What are you doing… He's Zhang Qi!" He Yu cried out in panic, the frying pan clattering to the floor, rolling into a corner.
Zhang Dalong backed away a few steps, shielding He Yu, eyeing the person he'd just stabbed with fear and suspicion. His hand gripping the dagger was shaking, knuckles white.
"I know you think it's Zhang Qi, but look… Look at his skin! Gray-white, like those things! His eyes are wrong! And those bandages… must be hiding bite marks!" Zhang Dalong rambled, voice hoarse. He Yu couldn't tell if he was making excuses for his mistake or genuinely believed it. He was completely stunned.
Zhang Qi looked down at the dagger in his chest. He felt no pain. Not even a sting. Of course not. But he was still shocked—he'd been wary of all zombies, even planned for encountering hostile survivors outside. But being stabbed by his best friend? That he hadn't seen coming. What the hell was this? Even TV dramas wouldn't dare script this!
"He got it from the bathroom… What an ambush." Zhang Qi thought with a bitter internal laugh, feeling the cold seep into his chest. "My guard dropped seeing He Yu. Slipped up in the gutter. Even veterans mess up."
As he was contemplating his next move—pull out the dagger to shock them, or calmly explain his situation—the familiar ding! chimed in his ears. A new prompt materialized before his eyes, text glowing with a slick visual effect:
[New Quest Received]
[Build Your Horde!]
[Infected: 0/10]
[Quest Reward: Unlock 'Command the Horde' Skill]
[Friendly Reminder: What's a zombie with ambition without his own minions?]