How to Be Mistaken for a Villain in a Zombie Apocalypse – Chapter 3

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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The zombies in this area had the hearing of an average person, the sense of smell of an average person multiplied by 1.5, and average eyesight.

However, they didn’t react to every sound.

They were indifferent to the everyday noises made by other zombies.

But they reacted violently to unusual sounds, like gunshots, screams, or helicopters.

The most important thing to avoid was the scent of blood.

They went crazy for it.

Zombies were always hungry demons.

So, the smell of blood emanating from this house, with its missing door and shattered windows, was like a free buffet.

Just like now, with all the neighboring zombies converging on my location.

I had to hurry.

I took a step, careful not to get my shoes soaked in blood.

That would be a disaster.

Maybe it was because I was hyper-aware of every sound, but the creaking of the floorboards seemed deafening.

The dead zombie stared up at me, its face a mangled mess.

Its eyes were rolled back, and its mouth hung open, like a grotesque fish head.

I averted my gaze and opened the wooden cabinet door.

There had to be something to drink in here. One drink. One food item.

One weapon. That was the rule. It had to be here. It had to…

“Damn it.”

I braced myself against the cabinet, my legs trembling. I almost fell on my ass.

A pistol.

A single bullet.

A brand new cell phone and charger.

A briefcase.

A lighter and a pack of cigarettes, one open, one unopened.

I examined the pistol. It was an “Walter 22,” a model I’d seen countless times in the game.

I’d never held a real gun before, but my hands moved instinctively, checking the magazine and the chamber.

Empty. It was a useless hunk of metal.

And the bullet was a 9mm.

The Walter 22 used .22 caliber bullets.

Incompatible.

Useless.

The phone was off.

I didn’t want to turn it on yet.

The only thing that seemed to be in working order was the lighter.

It looked like a Zippo, but it was so full of fuel that it didn’t even rattle.

I flicked it open, and a strong flame shot up.

I pocketed the lighter and shoved the rest of the junk into the backpack.

The briefcase was too big to fit, so I’d have to carry it.

It had a six-digit combination lock and was surprisingly heavy.

I had no idea what was inside.

I’d never seen anything like it before.

“What now?”

The lack of supplies was a problem, but the real issue was something else.

The fact that even the starting tutorial had changed meant this world wasn’t the one I knew. Something was fundamentally different, but I didn’t know what.

One drink.

One food item.

One weapon.

The rules had been broken.

And it was all to my disadvantage.

The things that made the game harder were still there.

It wasn’t fair.

I felt a surge of anger, a wave of frustration that threatened to overwhelm me.

This couldn’t be happening.

It was bad enough that I’d woken up in this strange place, but now it was even worse than the world I’d left behind.

My legs were starting to cramp.

I slumped onto a wooden chair in the kitchen.

Crash.

The zombies finally spilled out onto the street, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated.

“Groooan.”

They were coming.

The only sound I could hear was the hissing of gas.

“Here we go again.”

A voice whispered in my head.

It had been like this when I was a kid.

Not every family was dysfunctional.

Not every parent came home drunk and abusive.

Not every family found stability and happiness after achieving financial success.

Why was I different? Why?

My mind went blank again.

A blank space.

Just like that time, frozen in front of a blank space on a worksheet.

– I wish everyone in the world would be a fool.

The fools were coming, shuffling towards me, their only thought to devour their fallen neighbor.

– Fools only think about what’s right in front of them.

They don’t overthink things, they don’t worry about whether someone is deceiving them.

They were coming, driven only by their basic needs: to eat, to rage, to sleep.

– They eat when they’re hungry, cry when they want to cry, get angry when they want to get angry.

And when it’s all over, they forget.

I knew this world was doomed. I knew I would probably die before it reached its inevitable end.

I’d played this game countless times.

There were only two possible outcomes: the world ended, or the player ended.

There was no other ending.

If I gave up now, I could avoid the suffering that awaited me.

The zombies were getting closer.

Their shuffling footsteps were getting louder. And they’d seen me.

They were focused on the corpse for now, but I would be next.

I closed my eyes, asking for guidance from someone who might not even be listening.

What should I do?

– I wish everyone would be a fool.

There was no answer.

The stench of decay intensified.

The shuffling footsteps grew louder.

Time seemed to slow down.

I felt something warm on my face.

I opened my eyes, startled.

Nothing had changed.

The zombies were still shuffling towards me, the curtains were billowing in the breeze, the stench was overwhelming.

The smell of decay and gas was making my head throb.

But I felt… calm.

It was the sunlight.

The clouds had parted, and a beam of sunlight was streaming through the window, bathing me in its warmth.

“Since when did life ever go my way?”

I felt a surge of anger as I looked at the sunlight.

It was the same sun, the same warmth, whether I was in my own world or this one.

I was still trapped in an unfair situation.

But there was one crucial difference.

Here, I could destroy everything.

“Teacher.”

I stood up, speaking to no one in particular.

I’d seen enough of this world.

It was time to assess the situation.

“I didn’t become a wonderful adult. I became a mediocre one. I failed to meet your expectations.”

“Groooan!”

The zombies moaned, their voices a chorus of disapproval.

It only fueled my anger.

“When I was young, I thought I was smart enough to understand people. But I was wrong. I didn’t understand them, and I didn’t understand myself. But I refuse to become a fool like them.”

Six zombies crossed the threshold, one after another.

The doorframe creaked under their weight. I gripped the back of the chair, my knuckles white.

They were aware of me, just as I was aware of them.

They snarled, lunged, their eyes fixed on me. They were hostile.

But they kept glancing at the corpse on the floor, their mouths watering.

They couldn’t resist the temptation.

They surrounded the dead zombie, kneeling one by one, their hands outstretched, like a congregation offering a prayer.

And then, they dug in.

Crunch, munch, crack, snap. They tore at the flesh, gnawing on bones, their broken teeth grinding.

They lapped at the thicker bones, unable to bite through them, like dogs with a bone.

But there’s always one in every crowd.

“Grrr… Raaagh!”

One of the zombies, smaller than the others, hadn’t managed to get much. It snarled, its eyes darting back and forth.

It was hungrier than the ones who hadn’t eaten anything at all.

Like a kid who’d been denied a treat.

“Want some more?”

I smirked at the zombie, pulling the chair away from the table.

Screech! Another zombie turned towards me, its attention caught by the sound.

I turned all the knobs on the stove, releasing a torrent of gas.

“Grrrr!”

Four of them were still engrossed in their meal, but two were heading towards me.

I pressed myself against the kitchen wall, positioning the chair under the broken window. I tossed the briefcase and backpack through the window.

I grabbed the edge of the curtain.

The hissing of gas intensified. The two zombies stopped in their tracks.

I stepped onto the chair. The other four were still feasting.

I pushed off the chair, vaulting through the window. The zombies lunged.

I lit the curtain on fire and let it go.

The flames spread quickly, the dry fabric catching fire easily.

The startled zombies stumbled back.

I reached back, grabbing the back of the chair, wedging it firmly into the broken window frame.

One of the zombies tried to squeeze through the gap, but it recoiled as a whoosh of flame erupted from the stove.

LPG gas was heavier than air, so it pooled on the floor.

The house, with its missing door and shattered windows, was well-ventilated.

But with sparks flying everywhere…

“Aaaaaargh! Aaaaaaaaargh!”

The flames spread, engulfing the house in an inferno.

The zombies, their clothes on fire, stumbled around, trying to escape, but they couldn’t.

They had to eat.

The four zombies were still feasting, oblivious to the flames licking at their feet, to the two burning zombies flapping their arms like birds, to the hissing of gas escaping from the melting pipes.

They were consumed by their hunger, savoring their last meal as the world burned around them.

I slung the backpack over my shoulder and grabbed the briefcase.

I walked slowly towards the road, a narrow, two-lane road with no center line.

The wind blew at my back, pushing the smoke and flames away from me.

I walked slowly, deliberately, crossing the road.

I knelt down on the other side, covering my ears.

The ground shook

. A deafening roar filled the air.

The house exploded, sending a plume of black smoke into the sky.

One of the burning zombies, its entire body engulfed in flames, stumbled out of the front door, then collapsed.

But it continued to claw at the ground, its burning body a macabre blanket, its jaws still working, savoring the last morsel of flesh.

“Teacher, they’re not human anymore. But I still am. If the choice is between being a fool or a wise person, between being human or not… I choose to remain human.”

I suddenly remembered the cigarettes in my backpack.

I’d never smoked before.

I hated the smell. I hated how people would continue to smoke, even though they knew it was bad for them, even though everyone told them to quit.

I hated the cigarettes themselves, and I hated all the drama that surrounded them.

But now, I found myself pulling out a cigarette from the open pack and lighting it.

It was a white cigarette with a red tip.

The “M” was missing, leaving only “Arlboro” printed on the pack.

I inhaled, the smoke harsh and acrid.

I coughed, my mouth dry.

Stupid thing to do, with no water.

I tossed the cigarette to the ground.

But it had served its purpose.

The smell of burning flesh and hair was less overwhelming now.

“I’m hungry,” I muttered, watching the burning house.

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