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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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I had discovered this warehouse two days ago.
It was a small, cramped space, barely large enough to park two cars.
The low ceiling added to the claustrophobic atmosphere, but we weren’t planning to live here, so it didn’t matter.
Thankfully, the warehouse also contained a one-ton truck.
Its paint was faded, its bumper dented, and rust seeped from its seams, but its tires and wheels were brand new, suggesting it had been well-maintained until recently.
The truck was locked.
Camilla and I had searched the warehouse, but we couldn’t find the keys. But then…
“I think I can handle this.”
Camilla emerged from a cabinet, holding a toolbox and a wire coat hanger.
“With that?”
I wasn’t pretending.
I genuinely didn’t know how to hotwire a car.
Eruptor Protocol had a “proficiency” system.
Every action, from basic skills like running, hiding, and stamina to specialized skills like farming, cooking, and car repair, had a proficiency level.
Specialized skills required dedicated effort to improve. You had to read books, learn from others, or experiment through trial and error.
But it had to be a combination of “knowledge acquisition” and “practical application.” Simply reading books or tinkering with broken machines wouldn’t increase your proficiency level.
The problem was, I couldn’t see any status windows, inventory screens, quest logs, or even a point shop.
Which meant I had no idea what I was capable of. I had to rely on experience, on trial and error.
My firearms proficiency was high.
I could handle almost any weapon with ease, disassembling, cleaning, and reassembling them as if they were extensions of my own body.
My marksmanship was decent. I mean, shooting down a grenade tossed from a helicopter or hitting a rocket launcher mounted on a helicopter wing was child’s play.
I had spent countless hours completing daily quests like “Kill 30 players in multiplayer mode with a single-shot bolt-action rifle at a range of less than 15 meters, without wearing any body armor. Death resets the counter.”
My firearms skills had improved naturally.
My physical abilities… well, they were definitely better than my real-life self, but I wasn’t sure how they stacked up against the other inhabitants of this world.
I had relied on agility and reflexes more than strength or endurance.
I guessed my physical stats were probably average.
My cooking skills were intermediate.
And my car repair skills… well, I could drive, but I was a novice when it came to repairs.
“You’re kidding, right? You don’t know how to do this?”
Camilla seemed to be misjudging me.
“No, I’m serious. And what do you mean by ‘you, of all people’?”
“It’s just… surprising. You know how to survive in a human unprotected zone, but you can’t hotwire a car?”
Camilla, like me, was suffering from the abnormal hunger.
I had considered letting her suffer, but we were sharing our dwindling food supplies, so I had shared Cassandra’s advice.
Leave the human unprotected zone.
Distinguish between real hunger and fake hunger.
Mix Kibele food with other ingredients, and cook it thoroughly.
The next morning, she had approached me, her face beaming.
“It worked! I’m not constantly hungry anymore. Just a little peckish.”
She hadn’t needed to rub her stomach to emphasize her point, but I was glad she was happy.
Her newfound energy was a bit overwhelming, though.
She seemed to sparkle with every breath.
“Alright, fine. I’ll handle this.”
Camilla, perhaps feeling indebted to me, grabbed the wire coat hanger, twisted it into shape, and plunged it through the window, aiming for the door lock.
I stood guard by the entrance, ready to flee if the alarm triggered.
She jiggled the wire hanger, her arm moving with practiced ease.
Click.
The lock disengaged.
Thankfully, there was no alarm.
“Impressive.”
I clapped my hands, and she beamed, her chest swelling with pride.
“Want to try starting it?”
“You can do that too?”
“I told you, I’m a woman of many talents. Hmm, I need to remove the panel under the steering wheel, but it’s a bit cramped. Hold on.”
She removed her windbreaker and body armor, revealing a loose-fitting brown T-shirt beneath.
It was a men’s size, the stretched neckline exposing her collarbone.
It was damp with sweat, but the fabric wasn’t clingy, so it wasn’t too revealing.
But her long hair kept falling into her face.
“Ugh, this is annoying.”
She stood in front of the truck’s side mirror, pulled a hair tie from her pocket, and held it between her teeth as she gathered her hair with both hands, twisting it into a messy bun.
I couldn’t take my eyes off her.
People often complimented her face, her eyes, but rarely her ears.
But Camilla’s ears were beautiful, their delicate curves framing her face.
My gaze followed the line of her jaw, her neck, down to her collarbone, disappearing beneath the neckline of her shirt.
It was an involuntary reaction, my eyes drawn to her like a moth to a flame.
At least I wasn’t staring directly at her.
It was a sidelong glance, a quick peek.
If I had looked directly at her, I wouldn’t have been able to tear my gaze away, and that would have been rude… but…
Something flickered in my peripheral vision.
The reflection in the truck’s side mirror.
She was doing it again.
Camilla adjusted the side mirror, pretending to check her hair, but her golden eyes flickered towards me.
She was watching me, just as I had been watching her.
She continued to fuss with her hair, even though it was already secured in a bun.
Hmm, hmm.
Her gaze remained fixed on me.
She was definitely trying to catch me staring.
This was getting ridiculous.
She raised both arms, trying to tuck a stray strand of hair behind her ear.
Her body was turned towards me now, her back to the mirror.
“Ah!”
She suddenly bent over, clutching her side.
She had probably pulled a muscle, reaching for her hair.
She was holding her right side with her left hand.
The problem was, she was wearing a loose-fitting T-shirt.
The fabric stretched taut against her body, revealing the curve of her breasts.
It looked deliberate, as if she were intentionally showcasing her cleavage.
It wasn’t as impressive as Cassandra’s, but it was definitely not small.
Our eyes met.
There was no mistaking it.
I was flustered, but she remained calm, her expression unchanged.
She turned away, grabbed a screwdriver from the toolbox, and started working on the truck’s ignition.
Click, click, click.
Her casual demeanor made me feel self-conscious.
It was an accident, after all. If she had known this would happen, she would have worn something more… concealing.
But there it was, a prominent bulge beneath her T-shirt, like a plump raisin on a slice of campagne bread…
“Done!”
She turned the screwdriver, and the engine roared to life.
“Wow.”
“Hold on.”
She climbed into the driver’s seat, testing the steering wheel, the pedals.
“Yep, it’s fine. It’s an old truck, so we’re lucky. Newer models have steering wheel locks that engage if you try to hotwire them. Want to try turning it off? Just turn the screwdriver the other way.”
She pointed to a slot in a white plastic box with wires protruding from it.
I inserted the screwdriver and turned it, and the engine sputtered and died.
“Teach me how to do that.”
She seemed to be thinking, then shook her head.
“I’ll teach you when we’re closer.”
“How close?”
She raised her hands like a cat’s paws, mimicking a playful attack.
“Close enough to commit unspeakable acts without feeling any guilt. Ow.”
She clutched her side again, this time pressing her arm against her chest.
The outline of her breasts was even more prominent now, and I quickly averted my gaze. She looked like she was in pain.
“Ah, haha. It’s fine. I got banged up pretty badly in Lambert. Just some muscle soreness. I’m tougher than I look. I used to be an athlete.”
She forced a smile, but the bruise on her neck was still visible.
I already knew she was covered in bruises.
When she had collapsed while grabbing the MREs, I had checked for bite marks, lifting her shirt slightly.
Of course, I hadn’t stripped her naked and conducted a thorough examination.
There were zombies wandering around, after all.
It had been a quick glance, nothing more.
I hadn’t even checked under her bra.
If she had been bitten, there would have been blood.
There were bruises, but no bite marks.
She insisted she was fine, so I let it go.
But it reminded me of a crucial issue.
We had no medicine, no doctor.
If one of us got injured, we were screwed.
And judging by the state of the surrounding area, medical supplies were scarce.
I needed to be more cautious.
And now…
Camilla claimed she was feeling better, but she still avoided lifting heavy objects.
More specifically, she winced whenever she raised her arm.
And she rarely removed her body armor.
I suspected she had injured her ribs, but she insisted she was fine, so I didn’t press the issue.
It made sense.
We didn’t fully trust each other yet.
We both had weaknesses we were trying to conceal.
That was probably why she insisted on doing the heavy lifting.
Whenever I tried to take on more than my share, she would step in, her movements determined, her expression stoic.
We had managed to transport the cash transport van from Lambert Village to the warehouse, unload its cargo, and fill it with LPG canisters.
We didn’t have many canisters.
Most of them were empty. But it didn’t matter. We were going to blow them up.
Thankfully, Camilla hadn’t asked, “Why are we collecting these canisters?” She had simply asked, “How many? How much?”
When I had asked her if she wasn’t curious, she had replied, “I am, but I’m sure you have your reasons. Tell me when you’re ready.”
And now, it was time.
“I’m going to tell you, my plan. Again, you don’t have to participate if you don’t want to. But no sabotage.”
She nodded.
“Okay. But let me hear it first. It’s not final, right?”
“I might have to make some adjustments, now that you’re involved. But as you may have guessed, I’m planning to hit this place.”
I unfolded the map and pointed to our next target.
The Rowing Country Club.
The place I had been heading towards before the van broke down.
It was a luxurious resort, with a large golf course and a lake, but the newspaper distribution center map had labeled it as “slumified.”
Based on our observations over the past few days, it seemed accurate.
The fences were covered in graffiti, the windows boarded up or shattered.
Mattresses, furniture, and wooden planks had replaced the missing glass, and makeshift gun ports had been added. It was a death trap for anyone who approached carelessly.
Camilla had probably guessed that I was interested in this location.
I had been scouting it while we were gathering supplies.
Thankfully, she didn’t ask, “Isn’t there a safer place?” or “Why this place?” She simply asked for my reasoning.
“First, we’ve been scavenging for days, and we haven’t found anything worthwhile. They probably have everything we need.”
My original plan had been to loot Lambert Village, then head to a bunker I knew about.
If it weren’t for the zombie horde and the helicopters, I could have raided the village regularly, stripping it bare.
But Lambert Village was a smoldering ruin now. I would have to make do with the Country Club.
“And your second reason?”
“The gang here is weak. It seems to be controlled by an alliance of courthouse and city hall officials. I saw their flags flying.”
I didn’t need to mention that they were one of the gangs that had been wiped out in Lambert Village.
Camilla nodded grimly.
“Of course, they won’t be pushovers. Not all of their members would have been at Lambert. They would have left guards behind, and their leader would have stayed at their base.
But their main force is gone. Which means we have a chance. Their defenses will be spread thin. We just need to find the weakest point.”
I pointed to the club’s perimeter fence.
The Rowing Country Club was difficult to capture and defend, but easy to loot, because it had so many entrances.
The three main entrances were wide enough to accommodate two buses side by side, and there were over ten smaller gates.
Of course, most of them were blocked or reinforced with mines, barbed wire, or metal plates.
But if we could breach the fence, it would be a different story.
The Rowing Country Club in my memories, the post-apocalyptic version, had another entrance.
It wasn’t really an “entrance,” more like a collapsed section of the fence, a gaping hole that looked like it had been hit by a bomb.
But in this world, it was still intact.
It reminded me of a treasure chest or a hidden stash in an RPG.
Its presence was an invitation, a silent plea: “Please break me open and take everything inside.”
That’s where we would strike.
“Here. There’s a hidden path. It’s not on the map, but…”
“Huh? What about it?”
Damn it.
I had slipped up.
Camilla was looking at me suspiciously.
If I said, “There used to be an entrance here. A collapsed section of the fence…” she would know I was lying.
I pretended to have misread the map, sliding my finger across its surface, pointing to one of the main entrances.
“Sorry. Not there. Here. I was thinking about hitting this entrance, but it’s not ideal. See those three buildings spread out on either side? We would be caught in a crossfire. But if we could breach this section of the fence…”
I pointed to the section of the fence near the hidden path.
There was a large auditorium behind the fence.
It had no windows facing the fence, which meant our angle of attack would be limited.
There would be snipers on the surrounding rooftops, of course, but Camilla and I could handle them.
“We’ll load the minivan with LPG canisters and ram it into the fence. It’s a sturdy fence, but we have enough canisters to blow it open.”
“That might work. But even if the gang is weakened, can the two of us really take over this entire place?”
Her concern was valid.
She wasn’t fully recovered.
And while I was still in good shape, we had no medicine. A single injury could be fatal.
We couldn’t afford to take unnecessary risks.
“Yes. We can do it.”
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