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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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My modifications were working perfectly.
Blinding the CCTV and unleashing a cacophony of noise had thrown the gang’s command center into disarray.
They had recalled their scattered units to the main building, abandoning their strategic positions.
The main building was now a fortress under siege, its occupants firing blindly at the approaching horde.
The zombies, drawn to the strongest stimulus, were converging on the main building.
This meant I was free to loot the surrounding buildings undisturbed.
There was just one problem: my stamina was waning.
“Gasp… gasp… haah…”
I was surprised.
I had been eating regularly, but the lack of sleep was taking its toll.
Or maybe it was something else.
I had never exerted myself this much in a single day.
Even when I had spent hours cycling, I had paced myself, avoiding strenuous activity.
And driving the van, while mentally taxing, hadn’t been physically demanding.
I had become complacent, my body strengthened by this new world, my mind underestimating the toll this constant action was taking.
What do I do?
I wasn’t completely exhausted.
If I pushed myself, I could keep going.
But I had to conserve my energy.
I couldn’t afford to burn out.
And then, I heard it.
The fire alarm, blaring from the shopping center.
The zombies, drawn by the sound, abandoned their assault on the main building and surged towards the shopping center.
This was a problem.
The shopping center wasn’t directly opposite the main building, but it was a considerable distance away.
And there was a large exit near the shopping center, currently barricaded, but with enough space for a person to slip through.
Why was the alarm going off?
I approached cautiously.
I spotted the bus that had escaped earlier, its occupants taking up defensive positions.
More gang members emerged from the building, their footsteps heavy on the stairs.
The sprinkler system was activated, water spraying from the ceiling.
And then, the zombies.
They swarmed the area, their numbers growing with each passing moment.
Some of them spotted me and started to approach.
“Ah, they must have triggered the alarm while regrouping on the first floor. But…”
Camilla’s strategy was sound, but she had overestimated the gang’s competence.
She was a skilled fighter, so she had assumed the others were equally capable.
If those gang members possessed even half of her skill and composure, they could easily handle this horde.
Their best option would be to board the bus and drive in a large circle, firing their weapons as they went, like peeling an apple.
The zombies, constantly changing direction, would eventually trip over each other, their horde collapsing in on itself.
But they had chosen a static defense, forming a semi-circle around the bus.
This divided their firepower and made them vulnerable to attacks from multiple directions.
The only advantage humans had over zombies in vehicles was mobility, and they had just abandoned it.
And to make matters worse…
“Aghhhh! Get the hell away from me, you bastards!”
They were attracting more zombies than they were killing.
Their aim was terrible, their shots wild, their bullets wasted.
They were practically inviting the horde to feast on them.
More gang members emerged from the building, but their arrival did little to improve the situation.
My kill list was growing.
I slung the carbine over my shoulder and charged into the fray.
I didn’t want to get caught in the crossfire, so I stayed behind the zombie horde, picking off the stragglers, two shots to the back of the head.
“Don’t shoot! We’re coming to help you!”
I tried a little deception.
The gang members, hearing my shout, waved at me.
I couldn’t tell if they were urging me to hurry or pleading for their lives.
At least they were keeping the bus stationary, their misguided sense of loyalty preventing them from abandoning their comrades.
I dodged their erratic gunfire, my movements swift and fluid.
They were trying to avoid shooting me, but it was only a matter of time before a stray bullet found its mark.
“That’s not one of us! Shoot him! That’s the lunatic who was destroying our cameras!”
A hail of bullets rained down on me. I cursed, diving for cover behind a clump of bushes.
Wait a minute… if they concentrated their fire on me…
“Kyaaaaaah!”
“Look out! He’s right in front of you! Aghhhh!”
The zombies would reach them.
Idiots.
Time to help the zombies again.
Bang.
Bang.
Ping.
One shot.
One kill.
It didn’t matter if the bullets ricocheted off their helmets.
I just needed to keep them off balance.
“Aghhhh! Duck! No, don’t duck! Shoot!”
The zombies were doing the rest.
Good.
Excellent.
A zombie with a missing leg crawled towards a gang member and sank its teeth into his calf.
The man screamed, hopping on one foot.
“Grrrr! Ughhhh!”
“Get it off me! Get it off! Please! Aghhhhh!”
His comrades opened fire, their bullets tearing through the zombie and the man it had bitten.
Blood, mixing with the water from the sprinklers, created a potent cocktail, the stench overwhelming.
I couldn’t reach them directly.
Zombies behind me, armed gang members in front of me.
I scanned the area, searching for an opportunity.
And then I saw it.
A fire hydrant in the parking lot.
It was a classic cliché: a car or a truck crashing into a fire hydrant, sending a geyser of water into the air.
I aimed for the side of the hydrant.
Ready.
Fire.
One shot.
It ricocheted.
Another shot.
I fired at an approaching zombie, then back at the hydrant.
Bang!
A geyser of water erupted, flooding the parking lot, washing away the blood and gore, pushing the bodies towards the shopping center entrance.
The gang members, drenched in the bloody water, were easy targets.
The zombies swarmed them.
I skirted around the fire hydrant, avoiding the zombies. I picked off the remaining gang members, their foreheads exploding in a spray of blood and bone fragments, and sprinted towards the stairs, my boots splashing through the water cascading down the steps.
I could hear footsteps above me.
“Hold your fire! Zombies are coming up from below! Form a defensive line!”
I shouted, continuing my ascent.
The moment I saw a face, I pulled the trigger.
Thud.
The bullet grazed a shoulder, an arm, a thigh.
No blood.
I climbed the stairs, my body soaked by the sprinkler system.
My mind raced, recalling the locations of valuable items.
Third floor.
A backpack.
Waterproof.
Fourth floor.
Medical supplies and food.
Even the medical supplies were Kibele brand.
I felt a pang of unease.
I glanced at the shelf next to the medical supplies.
“Oh.”
I found it.
The one item I had been desperately missing.
A pair of noise-canceling earmuffs, the size of a small pastry.
Waterproof, with a minimal level of ballistic protection.
But their main advantage was their ability to filter sound.
They dampened loud, high-frequency noises like explosions and gunfire, while amplifying quieter sounds like footsteps and conversations.
No more straining my ears, trying to decipher the subtle nuances of the apocalypse.
They fit comfortably over my ballistic helmet.
The world sounded different now, the chaos muted, the details amplified.
I could almost see with my ears.
Like the footsteps approaching on the fifth floor, their rhythm cautious, their direction leading towards the center of the hallway.
I grabbed the remaining supplies and climbed the stairs.
Four gang members were about to enter a room.
This was my chance.
I tossed the flashbang grenade, shielding my eyes.
A blinding flash.
Not the warm, nostalgic memories of childhood.
This was the harsh, unwelcome glare of headlights in the dead of night.
My finger twitched on the trigger.
Two gang members fell, their bodies riddled with bullets.
“My eyes! My eyes!”
“I can’t hear! Aghhhh!”
“Stay calm! Stay calm!”
Shouts from inside the room.
I scanned the area and ran towards the sound.
Camilla was lying on the floor, surrounded by naked people.
She was alive, but she looked like she was in pain.
I had made a mistake.
I had thrown the flashbang into the wrong room.
I had interfered with Camilla’s operation.
In a normal game, this would be considered a dick move, worthy of being shot by your own teammates.
But I didn’t know. And even if I had known, I probably would have done it anyway.
What was done was done.
“Oh, you left your phone in the van.”
I was just here to return her phone.
“You came all the way here to return my phone?”
She didn’t seem to care about the flashbang.
“I left it outside. Take it. I’m leaving, okay?”
She could handle the rest.
“Hey, hey! Wait!”
Her voice was urgent.
I turned around, feeling a pang of guilt.
“Yeah, what?”
“…You… you didn’t come here to rescue me?”
I was just returning her phone.
Why was she making this awkward?
And then, the water from the sprinklers stopped.
“Kyaaaaaah!”
The zombies were swarming up the stairs, drawn by the gunfire and the sound of the flashbang.
I could hear their footsteps clearly now, thanks to the earmuffs.
“Oh, I heard the commotion and wondered what you were up to. And I found a decent bus on the first floor. But it looks like I’m trapped now.”
Camilla struggled to her feet, but the other people remained on the floor, their bodies huddled together, their ankles and wrists bandaged.
“…Their tendons have been severed. They can’t even stand, let alone walk,” Camilla whispered, her voice amplified by the earmuffs.
I wanted to tell her to leave them behind, but I knew she wouldn’t listen.
No sane person would willingly enter this hellhole.
She had rushed in headfirst, fueled by the possibility of rescuing slaves.
If I couldn’t convince her with words, then avoiding conflict was the best option.
“Can they crawl?”
She thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
“I think so.”
“Then let’s get them to the first floor. There’s a bus there. We can escape together.”
“What about you, Johan?”
“You wouldn’t leave them behind, would you?”
She shook her head.
I pressed on.
“What if I told you to leave them?”
“I would let you go. It’s not your responsibility.”
That’s what I thought.
I set down my backpack.
The zombies were still a few minutes away from reaching the fifth floor.
“The back stairs are clear. Get them out of here.”
“I’ll take this bag…”
She reached for my backpack.
The audacity of this woman.
I could rummage through other people’s belongings, but I wouldn’t tolerate anyone touching mine.
“I’ll handle it. Remember our agreement? We work independently.”
“…Alright.”
She entered the room.
Moments later, the hostages emerged, their bodies dragging across the wet floor, their arms and legs extended, their movements a grotesque parody of crawling.
Maybe the slippery floor was actually helping them.
I had one magazine left.
Thirty rounds.
But I didn’t expect to need that many bullets.
I opened a nearby storage room.
This was a golf club, after all.
You could have a golf club without guests, but you couldn’t have one without golf balls and clubs.
“Bingo.”
Boxes filled with golf balls.
They were covered in grime, as if someone had intended to clean them, but had abandoned the task.
I emptied the boxes, scattering the golf balls across the hallway.
Two boxes.
Three boxes.
Four boxes.
The zombies reached the top of the stairs.
I grabbed a golf club. I had never played golf before. Just watched videos.
So my form was probably terrible.
“Do me a favor.”
I placed a golf ball on the floor, positioned the club, and took a swing.
“Kneel before me.”
Thwack!
The golf ball soared through the air, striking the closest zombie in the groin.
Well, I hadn’t intended to hit it there.
The zombie collapsed, its body triggering a chain reaction, the other zombies tumbling over each other like dominoes.
They loved the golf balls. And the water.
Well, they were already dead, so…
“Do me another favor. Eat your friend.”
Thwack!
Another golf ball, this one connecting with a zombie’s head, splitting its skull open.
One of the nearby zombies, its attention piqued, lunged at the injured one, its teeth sinking into its exposed brain.
“Humans choose!”
Thwack!
This time, I hit a zombie’s knee.
The golf ball ricocheted, its trajectory erratic, sending more zombies tumbling to the ground.
“Slaves obey!”
Thwack!
The zombie feasting on its comrade’s head had its jaw shattered.
I seemed to have a knack for this. And maybe a talent for cooking as well.
Three zombies, their jaws missing, continued to eat, oblivious to their injuries, savoring the feast I had created.
It was a good feeling, watching someone enjoy your cooking.
I rewarded them with a few well-placed shots from the M4.
“Kyaaaah!”
They collapsed, their bodies a grotesque parody of a human sandwich.
And then, I witnessed it again.
The phenomenon I had observed in Lambert Village.
The pile of zombie bodies grew, their numbers overwhelming.
And then, they stopped treating them as food and started treating them as obstacles, climbing over their fallen comrades.
But the hallway was narrow, its ceiling low.
The zombies, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated, created a bottleneck, their own bodies blocking their path.
They stumbled and fell, their pile collapsing in on itself.
“The dead have no choices.”
It was good to be alive.
A blood-soaked golf ball rolled towards me, then bounced off a discarded golf club, its trajectory altered.
I left the zombies to their feast and descended the stairs, my backpack heavy with loot.
The hostages, their bodies bruised and battered, were struggling to board the bus.
The first floor was a mess.
Water from the sprinklers mixed with blood, human and zombie, creating a slippery, crimson sludge.
Camilla was helping the hostages onto the bus, her movements efficient, her expression grim.
The hostages whose wrists were still functional were firing their weapons, their shots wild, but effective.
“Hurry!”
Camilla waved at me, her voice urgent.
I ran past a dead gang member.
Twitch.
The dead man’s hand grabbed my ankle.
His eyes, staring blankly, rolled in their sockets.
His teeth were bared, his flesh torn, his neck mangled.
He had been bitten before he died.
“Shit!”
I would have dodged it, if not for…
The heavy backpack.
My dwindling stamina.
I lost my balance, my body falling sideways.
My clothes soaked through, the stench of decay filling my nostrils.
The earmuffs protected my ears from the water, but my face… half of my face was pressed against the blood-soaked floor.
I swung the M4, its barrel connecting with the zombie’s head, sending it sprawling.
Camilla grabbed my arm, pulling me to my feet.
I fired a shot, the bullet exploding the zombie’s skull.
“Close your eyes! And don’t open your mouth! Whatever you do!”
I heard her rummaging through her backpack. The sound of a plastic bottle being opened. Cold water splashed against my face, the force of the spray making me gasp.
Her calloused fingers scrubbed at my skin, her touch rough, almost painful.
I couldn’t even tell her to stop.
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Ggs I guess 😭