Uh, an unfamiliar ceiling.
Hu Sheng blinked, threw off the blanket, sat up, and looked around.
"What happened to me? Did I fall asleep while watching TV?"
He realized he was sleeping in an unfamiliar, high-end bedroom. The place was a mess, with clothes scattered everywhere and no one to clean up. A black pistol rested quietly on the bedside table, with half a box of ammunition beside it.
This was a real gun.
Staring at the brand-new pistol, Hu Sheng's mind jolted.
He remembered. Last night, after finishing the finale of The Walking Dead, he had thought about all the characters who had died horribly and the brain-dead decisions made by those brain-dead screenwriters. He had angrily slammed his hand down on the table.
Then his favorite bottle of soda fell over, spilling onto the outlet beneath the table and onto his flip-flops.
Then the accident happened. He was electrocuted.
Numbness, itching, pain.
The intense agony quickly overwhelmed his consciousness.
Uh, I think I died?
What rotten luck.
As he thought about it, Hu Sheng's face turned pale, and the corner of his eye twitched involuntarily several times.
He was thirty-eight years old, the only child in his family. He had been through several failed relationships but had never found anyone he could marry. After struggling for more than a decade, he had finally become a company executive and achieved a comfortable life with an annual salary of several hundred thousand yuan.
Unfortunately, his parents had died young from illness. With no siblings or other family, there was no one to share this success with him.
Come to think of it, aside from a few close friends and relatives, there was actually not much in this world worth his attachment.
Thinking about all this, Hu Sheng became somewhat dazed.
Just then, a massive amount of information suddenly surged into his mind. Amid the tearing pain in his head, the memories of a doctor named Leon Castor flashed rapidly through his mind.
Damn, that hurt.
It felt as if someone had stuffed a red-hot poker into his head.
The pain lasted for more than ten minutes. Gritting his teeth, Hu Sheng slowly stopped struggling.
Which great deity is messing with me?
He opened his eyes, and fine beads of sweat appeared on his forehead.
Damn, it hurt worse than giving birth.
Hu Sheng raised his right hand in front of his eyes. Sure enough, it was no longer the arm from his memories. The skin was white, the body hair thick, and the muscles strong. A diamond-encrusted Rolex glittered around his wrist.
The time displayed on it was eleven in the morning.
He really is a rich second-generation heir. This watch alone must cost over a hundred thousand dollars—two years of my salary.
Through the memories and information in his mind, Hu Sheng had confirmed that his current body belonged to Leon Castor, twenty-six years old, a doctor from King County in Atlanta, Georgia.
It was now June 9, 2010, and a month had passed since the disaster began.
The entire world had fallen beneath the attacks of Zombies. Countless people had died and mutated, and the streets were packed with those monsters.
Speaking of which, Doctor Leon had been extremely unlucky. His parents had died during the early stages of the disaster. After receiving the news, Leon had been so grief-stricken that he drank heavily and developed a low fever. After resting at home for several days, he tragically discovered that most of his neighbors had mutated into terrifying Zombies.
What was even worse was that Doctor Leon lived on the sixth floor, the top floor of the apartment building. There was no elevator, so the only way out was through the stairwell—and at least a dozen Zombies were already packed into it.
With all his relatives dead and no hope of escape, the young doctor could no longer endure the suffering. Thus, last night, he swallowed a large amount of sleeping pills and ended his life in his sleep.
Hu Sheng got up and went to the bathroom. Looking at the handsome, typically Caucasian face in the mirror, he exhaled a breath of stale air.
As a longtime fan of The Walking Dead, he loved the television series, but there was no way he would willingly abandon his peaceful former life and come to this miserable apocalyptic world.
But things had come to this. No one could change it.
Forget it. I'll face it positively.
"Hey, friend. Thanks for lending me your body."
Hu Sheng murmured to himself as a form of self-hypnosis. He patted his still-pale, sickly face and spoke to his reflection.
"Then let me live on as Leon Castor."
"In this damnable world, I won't leave myself with any regrets."
As a transmigrator, he had an advantage of his own over the ordinary people struggling to survive.
Leon closed his eyes and silently sensed the abnormality within his body. A strange mass of energy lay coiled around his heart. With every heartbeat, wisps of energy split away and merged into his blood, circulating throughout his body.
He had no idea what it was and could only guess that it was some kind of higher-level energy.
It was the world's gift to him. This energy gave his body greater recovery and explosive power, made him immune to all kinds of toxins and pathogens, and would gradually strengthen his body as time passed.
Even if a Zombie bit him, he would not be infected by the virus.
To him, those terrifying Zombies were more like vast numbers of hungry beasts moving in packs.
Although this ability was incredibly powerful, it was also a secret he had to keep. If it were exposed, it would certainly bring him endless trouble.
To him, humans and firearms were the most dangerous enemies.
After adjusting his state of mind, Leon carefully searched his apartment.
He found very few supplies: several bottles of beer, some drinking water, a few pieces of chocolate, several pieces of bread, and a Browning pistol with a box of thirty bullets.
Leon smacked his lips. This little bit of food was not enough to fill the gaps between his teeth.
Clearly, as a single man, Mr. Leon had not stored much food, and most of it had already been used up during the period when he had been sick.
Perhaps that was exactly why the young man had chosen suicide.
Leon sighed inwardly. It seemed he had to fight his way out today. Otherwise, with no food, he would starve to death here.
He picked up the black Browning pistol, loaded the magazine, and carefully examined it. According to the original owner's memories, it had been a coming-of-age gift from his father.
Mr. Leon was not good at shooting. He had only attended a few shooting Training Classes and could barely avoid missing the target at distances within ten meters.
Still, he had been fairly ambitious. He had not indulged in those debauched entertainments and preferred various competitive sports. Because of his long-term training, his physical condition was more agile and stronger than that of ordinary people.
In this current world, that counted as a huge advantage.
Fortunately, this was not his original body. Otherwise, with his unhealthy body that left him panting after running two steps, surviving in this world would have been extremely difficult.
Leon put the pistol into the holster at his waist, then unapologetically ate all the remaining food and downed two bottles of beer. This only barely settled his stomach. The special energy in his body made him stronger, but it also greatly increased his appetite.
In a state of hunger, he could not display his proper combat strength. He had to eat more food to satisfy his body's needs.
After searching again, Leon found a wooden baseball bat with a signature on it in the corner of the wardrobe. He did not know what kind of wood it was made from, but it was both light and sturdy.
He was delighted. This was a superb melee weapon.
One had to know that the Zombies in The Walking Dead were extremely sensitive to sound. Using a pistol could easily attract other nearby Zombies and leave him surrounded with no way out.
Using a cold weapon did not carry that concern. It saved ammunition and would not make too much noise.
Leon found some long nails and metal wire in the kitchen. Following the method from the movie, he attached the nails and wrapped the wire around the bat, smoothly creating a metal Wolf Tooth Club with considerable killing power.
He picked up the bat, changed into jeans and a sweatshirt suitable for exercise, and practiced more than a hundred swings in the living room. He only stopped once he was confident he could face a Zombie attack head-on.
It was time. Sooner or later, he had to fight some Zombies.
I'll just treat it as hunting Wild Boar.
Leon took a deep breath.
He had no intention of charging directly into the group of corpses in the stairwell. Only an idiot would do that.
Although he was not afraid of the Zombie Virus, being bitten and losing several chunks of flesh could still cause him to bleed to death.
Clutching the Wolf Tooth Club, Leon held his breath and listened with his ear against the door. He heard nothing unusual.
After confirming it several times, he quietly opened the door and pulled it back slowly, preventing it from making too much noise. Once he was sure he had not been noticed, Leon poked his head outside.
He was extremely lucky. The sixth-floor corridor was completely empty, with no Zombies wandering around.
That made sense. If there had been a Zombie near the door, the original Mr. Leon could not have lived in peace for so long.
Leon quietly exhaled and relaxed slightly. If they had a choice, no one wanted to face danger directly.
He crouched down and did not move toward the stairs.
King County was only a small county town, with perhaps fewer than Ten Thousand residents. Most American families preferred to live in detached villas, while apartment-style housing like Leon's was popular only among young people without families.
He remembered that each floor had only five units. Counting from the stairs, Leon's apartment was the second one, and the total number of people on this floor should not exceed ten.
The third unit on the right belonged to his neighbor, an employee of a securities company. His name seemed to be Bob, a middle-aged, balding man who lived alone. Leon did not know whether he was still alive.
After sneaking about ten meters, Bob's door appeared before him.
Leon tried pushing it, but it did not budge. It was probably locked from the inside.
Good luck to him.
After thinking it over, Leon did not knock. Instead, he chose to continue forward.
He did not want to make any noise outside the door and attract Zombies from elsewhere. Hunger and weakness were still troubling him, preventing him from displaying his normal strength.
After sneaking nearly another ten meters, he saw another open door ahead.
Leon recalled that a divorced single mother and daughter seemed to live here. They had never interacted much, and he had even forgotten what they looked like.
Still, with the door standing wide open like this, either no one was home or everyone inside was dead.
He simply did not know whether there were any Zombies inside.
Leon tightened his grip on the Wolf Tooth Club, bent his body, and entered the room.
(The main content of this book is developing a faction, building a settlement, and gathering survivors. The protagonist's strength is not particularly important, and this is not an invincible-protagonist story.)
(Brothers, I'm a new writer. I hope all you esteemed readers will support me more, read the legitimate version, and help me out.)
Before you continue