How to Be Mistaken for a Villain in a Zombie Apocalypse – Chapter 5

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Translated By Arcane Translations
Translator: Zaped
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“I don’t know who you’re looking for, but it’s not Hoot.”

“What happened to Hoot?”

“I don’t know.”

Silence.

The man spoke again.

“You touched the fingerprint scanner on the briefcase, didn’t you?”

He already knew.

That’s why he’d called.

I had no idea how he’d managed to track me, but he had.

“Yes.”

“Then I suggest you don’t touch it again. You might want to wrap it in a cloth or something.”

“Why?”

“There’s a bomb in that briefcase. If anyone other than the owner touches the scanner again, it’ll detonate. Everything within a fifty-meter radius will be vaporized.”

The briefcase, which had just been a heavy, inconvenient object, was now a high-speed ticket to the afterlife.

“It’s even better than I thought.”

“…What?”

“Dying of thirst, getting shot, stepping on a rusty nail and hopping around until you collapse, starving to death, getting bitten by a zombie and turning into one of them… blowing up seems like a much cleaner way to go, don’t you think?”

Those were just a few of the countless deaths I’d experienced in the game.

Of course, I didn’t actually want to die.

Not unless I could be sure that death meant returning to reality.

“I guess it would be a luxurious death for someone like you, scavenging for scraps in a Human Non-Protection Zone. Just so you know, even if you try to force it open, or if we send a remote detonation signal… it’ll still explode. But I’d like to offer you some hope. When was the last time you used toilet paper?”

“What?”

“Do you even feel safe using the bathroom? Do you ever worry about a zombie biting off your… well, you know… while you’re taking a piss?

And what about those other scavengers, the human and infected ones?

They’ll track you for days, waiting for you to let your guard down, then slit your throat while you’re sleeping.

Remember what it feels like to sleep soundly? You’re relatively safe now, but you can’t live like this forever. Don’t you want to live somewhere safe and comfortable?”

Not really. I preferred safe to comfortable.

“Of course I do.”

“Then we’ll give you residency in a protected zone, a week’s worth of clean water and food. For you and your companion.

Even if you’re infected, it doesn’t matter. Residents have access to medical treatment. You might not be able to stay in a regular housing unit, but you’ll receive proper care in a quarantine facility.”

A quarantine facility? That was basically a prison.

“…Really? You don’t care if I’m a criminal?”

“We can erase your records. And if we can’t, we’ll make up a story. Besides, no one really cares about your past anymore. Everyone’s too busy trying to survive.”

“That’s true. But I doubt this is a charitable offer.”

“Of course not. This is a transaction. As you might have guessed, we need that briefcase. We would have retrieved it ourselves, but the government’s directives are very strict. The quarantine protocols don’t allow for any exceptions. We’re bound by law and order, so we can’t enter the zone. But you can bring it to us.

It’s simple. We want the briefcase, you want a safe haven.

We both have what the other wants. It’s a good deal, isn’t it?”

Right.

“Thanks for the briefcase. Now rest in peace. Bang.” That was a kind of rest, I guess.

Wait a minute…

“Didn’t you say there’s a bomb in there? You want me to deliver a bomb?”

“It’s not just a bomb. I thought you would have figured that out.

The bomb is just a last resort, a way to protect something even more valuable.

Sometimes, a single truth can be more destructive than a hundred tons of explosives.”

It didn’t make sense.

If the briefcase was so important, why had they left it in a Human Non-Protection Zone?

If the information was so sensitive that they’d booby-trapped it with a bomb and a tracking device, why would they offer such a generous deal to a random scavenger?

“If it’s so valuable, how did it end up here?”

The man’s response was casual, dismissive.

“We’re tracking it. I can’t tell you more than that. It’s an internal matter. Don’t overthink it. Just focus on our deal. Oh, and one more thing.”

“What?”

“Officially, the government is neither confirming nor denying it, but we’re secretly recruiting volunteers for the first phase of antibody trials. It’s highly confidential, very few people know about it.

Normally, when developing a new drug, we conduct pre-clinical trials, animal testing, before moving on to human trials.

But given the circumstances, we’ve decided to skip the animal testing.

We only have a limited supply, so the sample size is small.

We don’t know how effective it will be. Even the experts are skeptical.

But… if there’s even a slight chance of a miracle, we have to be prepared.

That’s why powerful politicians, military leaders, and billionaires are lining up. They’re willing to spend any amount of money and influence to protect the people they care about.”

“And?”

“We’ll put your name and your companion’s name on the waiting list. It’s not a guarantee, but it’s a chance.”

Antibodies.

There had been talk of antibodies in the development roadmap, but they’d never actually appeared in the game, not in any of the previous versions.

Even if they’d been introduced in this update, the developers had stated that developing an antibody in a zombie apocalypse would be an “endgame feature, a very difficult, long, and arduous task.”

So, it was highly unlikely that the “antibody” these people had developed would be effective.

Of course, there were antibody and cure mods created by users. But I hadn’t installed any of those, even though I’d been half asleep when I was downloading mods.

So, the antibody this guy was talking about was either a bluff or completely useless.

I’d be lucky if it didn’t make things worse.

But it was a perfect trap for someone who didn’t know any better.

A safe haven, medical treatment, and even a chance to receive an experimental antibody.

It was an offer that any desperate soul trapped in a Human Non-Protection Zone would find hard to resist.

They knew what people wanted.

And they were using that desperation to manipulate them.

The offer was so good that it made you forget to question the fairness of the deal.

This bastard… was he…?

“You’re not falling asleep again, are you?”

“No. I was just… processing. You’re really giving me all of this?”

“I understand. It’s hard to believe. It sounds too good to be true. But we… I have that kind of power.

For example… how about a temporary ID that allows you to travel freely within the Human Non-Protection Zone?

Technically, there shouldn’t be any humans in the zone. But every government agency has its own… challenges. They’re willing to be flexible if you have the right authorization.

With this ID, you won’t get shot on sight by the police, the military, or the quarantine officers.

Of course, it’ll only work at close range. It won’t protect you from snipers. I’ll send it to your phone.”

A temporary ID. That sounded familiar.

There were “Restricted Zones” in the game.

Even in a post-apocalyptic world, those zones were still functioning, with electricity, running water, and an abundance of high-quality loot.

The problem was, while Restricted Zones were relatively common, you needed an ID or a security card to enter.

A temporary ID would only grant you access to the first floor, but higher-level cards would allow you to explore deeper.

But temporary IDs were rare, appearing about once every twenty minutes of gameplay.

Proper security cards were almost mythical, traded for exorbitant prices on the black market.

And this guy was offering me a temporary ID.

There was no reason to refuse. But…

“There’s a slight problem. This phone is locked. I can only answer calls.”

“Really? Then I’ll hang up. But first, what’s your name?”

I always used the same name for my characters.

A name that was easy to pronounce, regardless of language.

“Johan. And you?”

“Call me Hans.”

The call ended, and a message appeared on the phone’s screen: “Resetting…”

After a few moments, the message changed to “Welcome.”

The phone had been wiped.

The “Connecting… No network connection” message was still there.

The phone rang again. This time, I could see the caller’s number.

“Call me if you need anything. I just sent you a message, check your phone.”

Ding. A cheerful notification sound.

It was a well-crafted fake.

It looked official. It even had a barcode and was formatted correctly. It would fool anyone who didn’t know any better. But it was a fake.

A real temporary travel permit would include my date of birth and gender. It was one of the game’s many cruel tricks. If you scanned it at a Restricted Zone checkpoint, you’d be gunned down by automated turrets.

I knew this because I’d fallen for that trap as a newbie.

This bastard was definitely a scammer.

And the briefcase… maybe it wasn’t just a bomb. What kind of item would be valuable and important to a scammer, but something they wouldn’t want to handle themselves, something they’d need to entrust to someone else, especially in a zombie apocalypse?

“Where do you want me to take this briefcase?”

“To the nearest Human Protection Zone, of course. We’ll meet you there. According to the map, the outskirts of Hampton City are the closest. Do you know where that is? Can you get there?”

My suspicions were confirmed. I knew it. The bastard. Who did he think he was fooling?

“Of course, I know where it is. It’s a three or four-day journey north. Assuming the roads are clear. I’ll let you know when I get there. I’m turning off my phone to conserve battery.”

“Be careful, Johan. We’ll be waiting.”

The call ended.

“Okay.”

I packed my things. I could eat on the road. It was already afternoon. I needed to find a safe place to spend the night.

And it wasn’t just about finding a safe place. This briefcase, with its built-in tracking device, its bomb, and its mysterious contents…

It was a dangerous object, something that shouldn’t exist. But that also made it valuable, something I could sell for a high price.

“Time to find a buyer.”

I put my things in the bicycle basket. It should be able to handle the weight of the briefcase.

I reluctantly slung the pink Barbie backpack over my shoulder. It wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous accessory for a grown man, but I couldn’t risk covering it with a cloth, not with the possibility of zombie virus contamination.

I checked the knife one last time, testing the blade against the doorframe. It was sharp. I even carved a small design into the wood, just for fun. I sheathed the knife and secured it to my belt.

Ring, ring. I rang the bicycle bell, a playful gesture. The April sun was warm on my face, the sky a clear, bright blue. I turned my back on the burning house and started pedaling.

Towards the silent, birdless forest.

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