Arrival "The Walking Dead" (Seeking Collection, Seeking Votes)

Ugh, a strange ceiling.

Hu Sheng blinked his eyes, threw off the quilt covering him, pushed himself up, and scanned his surroundings.

What happened to me? Did I fall asleep while binge-watching a show?

He realized he was sleeping in a high-end, unfamiliar bedroom. The room was in total chaos; many clothes had been tossed about and left in a mess. A black handgun sat quietly on the nightstand beside the bed, next to half a box of ammunition.

This was a real gun.

Staring at the brand-new pistol, Hu Sheng's head throbbed.

He remembered now. Last night, he had finished the finale of The Walking Dead. Thinking of the characters who had died so miserably and the various brainless decisions made by the brainless writers, he had slammed his hand onto the table in a fit of rage.

Then, his favorite soda bottle tipped over, spilling onto the power strip under the desk and onto his flip-flops.

Then, the accident happened. He was electrocuted.

Numbness, itching, pain.

The intense agony quickly swallowed his consciousness.

Huh, I guess I kicked the bucket?

What rotten luck.

As he thought about it, Hu Sheng's face turned pale, and the corners of his eyes twitched uncontrollably.

He was thirty-eight years old, an only child, and had been through several failed relationships without finding the one to marry. After struggling for over a decade, he had finally made it as a high-level executive at a company, living a comfortable life with an annual salary of several hundred thousand.

Unfortunately, his parents had passed away early due to illness, and he had no other siblings to share this success with.

Thinking about it this way, aside from a few close friends and relatives, there wasn't much in this world worth clinging to.

Lost in these thoughts, Hu Sheng felt a bit dazed.

Just then, a massive amount of information suddenly flooded into his brain. Accompanied by a tearing pain in his head, the memories of a doctor named Leon Castor flashed through his mind at high speed.

Damn, it hurts.

It felt as if a red-hot branding iron had been shoved into his skull.

This pain lasted for over ten minutes. Hu Sheng gritted his teeth and slowly stopped struggling.

Which deity is messing with me?

He kept his eyes open, fine beads of sweat seeping from his forehead.

Damn it, this is more painful than childbirth.

Hu Sheng raised his right hand to his face. Sure enough, it wasn't his own arm from his memories anymore. The skin was white, covered in thick hair, and the muscles were strong. A diamond-encrusted Rolex watch was strapped to his wrist, gleaming brightly.

The time displayed was 11:00 AM.

What a rich kid. This watch alone must cost over a hundred thousand dollars—enough for two years of my salary.

Through the memories and the information in his brain, Hu Sheng confirmed that his current body belonged to Leon Castor, a twenty-six-year-old doctor in King County, Atlanta, Georgia.

The date was June 9, 2010. It had been one month since the disaster broke out.

Now, the world had fallen under the assault of zombies, and countless people had died or mutated. The streets were packed with those monsters.

Come to think of it, this Doctor Leon was quite unlucky. His parents had been killed early in the disaster. After receiving the news, Leon had been overcome with grief and, after heavy drinking, developed a low fever. He rested at home for a few days, only to tragically discover that most of his neighbors had already mutated into terrifying zombies.

The tragedy was compounded by the fact that Doctor Leon lived on the sixth floor, the top floor of the apartment building. There was no elevator, and to leave the building, one had to go through the stairwell, which was now crowded with at least a dozen zombies.

With all his loved ones gone and no hope of escape, the young doctor couldn't bear the suffering any longer after a period of torment. Last night, he had swallowed a large amount of sleeping pills, ending his life in his sleep.

Hu Sheng got up and went to the bathroom. He looked at the standard, handsome white face in the mirror and let out a long, weary breath.

As a long-time fan of The Walking Dead, he loved the show, but to voluntarily give up his peaceful past life to come to this miserable, apocalyptic world was absolutely out of the question.

But things were as they were; no one could change it.

Sigh, I'll just have to face it positively.

Hey, friend, thanks for the body.

Hu Sheng whispered to himself, practicing self-hypnosis. He patted his own pale, sickly face and spoke to the mirror.

"Then, let me, as Leon Castor, strive to survive."

"In this godforsaken world, I won't leave any regrets."

As a transmigrator, he possessed a trump card that the ordinary people struggling to survive did not.

Leon closed his eyes and silently sensed the anomaly within his body. A strange mass of energy was coiled around his heart. With every heartbeat, wisps of energy split off, merged into his blood, and circulated throughout his entire body.

He didn't know what it was, only guessing it might be some kind of high-level energy.

This was the world's gift to him. This energy granted his body greater resilience and explosive power, allowed him to be immune to various toxins and germs, and would gradually strengthen his physique as time passed.

Even if bitten by a zombie, he would not be infected by the virus.

To him, those terrifying zombies were more like a massive, swarming pack of hungry wild beasts.

Although this ability was incredibly powerful, it was a secret that had to be kept. If it were leaked, it would surely bring him endless trouble.

To him, humans and firearms were the most dangerous enemies.

Adjusting his mindset, Mr. Leon carefully searched his apartment.

He didn't find much in the way of supplies: a few bottles of beer, some drinking water, a few chocolate bars, a couple of loaves of bread, and a Browning pistol with a box of thirty rounds.

Mr. Leon smacked his lips; this little bit of food wasn't even enough to fill the gaps in his teeth.

Clearly, as a bachelor, Mr. Leon hadn't stockpiled many supplies, and most of the food had been exhausted during his recent illness.

Perhaps that was exactly why that young man had chosen to commit suicide.

Mr. Leon sighed inwardly. It seemed he had to break out today; otherwise, without food, he would starve to death right here.

He picked up the black Browning pistol and loaded the magazine, observing it carefully. In the original owner's memories, this was a coming-of-age gift from his father.

Mr. Leon wasn't skilled at shooting; he had only attended a few sessions of a Training Class, and he could barely manage not to miss the target within ten meters.

However, this man was somewhat ambitious and didn't indulge in decadent entertainment. He preferred various competitive sports, and thanks to long-term training, his physique was more agile and stronger than the average person's.

In the current state of the world, this counted as a huge advantage.

It was fortunate that this wasn't his original body; otherwise, that sub-healthy physique that panted after running two steps would have been very difficult to survive in this world.

Putting the pistol into the holster at his waist, Mr. Leon didn't stand on ceremony and ate all the remaining food, then downed two bottles of beer in a row. This barely managed to pad his stomach; the special energy within his body made Mr. Leon more powerful, but it also caused his appetite to increase drastically.

In a state of hunger, he couldn't exert his proper combat power; he had to eat more food to satisfy his body's needs.

Searching again, in the corner of the closet, Mr. Leon found a wooden baseball bat with a signature on it. He didn't know what kind of wood it was, but it was both lightweight and sturdy.

His heart leaped with joy; this was a sharp weapon for melee combat.

One had to know that the zombies in the "Walking Dead" world were very sensitive to sound. Using a pistol would easily attract other zombies in the vicinity, trapping him in a dead end.

Using a cold weapon didn't have such concerns; it saved ammunition and wouldn't make too much noise.

Finding some long nails and wire in the kitchen, Mr. Leon followed a method from a movie, installing the iron nails and wrapping them with wire. He successfully crafted a metal mace with formidable lethality.

He picked up the bat, changed into jeans and a sweatshirt suitable for movement, and practiced swinging it hundreds of times in the living room until he was confident he could face a zombie's attack before stopping.

It was time; he had to have a go at the zombies eventually.

Just treat it like hunting wild boars.

Mr. Leon took a deep breath.

He wasn't prepared to charge directly into the zombie horde in the stairwell; that was something only an idiot would do.

Although he didn't fear the Zombie Virus, if he had a few chunks of flesh bitten off and lost too much blood, he would still be in mortal danger.

Gripping the mace in his hand, Mr. Leon held his breath and pressed against the door to listen, but he didn't hear any strange sounds.

After confirming it repeatedly, he opened the door on tiptoe, pulling it slowly to avoid making excessive noise. After confirming he hadn't been discovered, Mr. Leon poked his head out to look.

Very lucky; the sixth-floor corridor was empty, with no zombies wandering about.

That made sense; if there had been zombies near the door, the original Mr. Leon couldn't have lived so peacefully during this time.

Exhaling softly, Mr. Leon felt a weight lift from his heart. If possible, no one wanted to face danger head-on.

He crouched halfway and didn't head toward the stairs.

King County was just a small town with a population of perhaps less than Ten Thousand. Most American families liked to live in detached villas, and apartment-style residences like this one were only favored by young people without families.

He remembered that there were only five households on each floor. Counting along the stairs, Mr. Leon's home was the second one, and the total population on this floor shouldn't exceed ten people.

The third house on the right was his neighbor, an employee at a securities firm named Bob, a middle-aged, bald man who lived alone. He didn't know if he was dead yet.

After sneaking about ten meters, Bob's door appeared before him.

Mr. Leon tried pushing it, but it didn't budge; it must have been locked from the inside.

Wish him luck.

Mr. Leon thought for a moment and chose not to knock, opting to continue forward instead.

He didn't want to make any noise outside the door to avoid attracting zombies from other areas. Hunger and weakness were still plaguing him, preventing him from exerting his normal strength.

After sneaking another ten meters or so, another open door appeared before him.

Mr. Leon recalled that a divorced single mother and her daughter lived here. He hadn't had any interaction with them, and he had even forgotten what they looked like.

However, thinking about it, with the door wide open like this, either no one was home, or the people inside were already dead.

He just didn't know if there were any zombies inside.

Tightening his grip on the mace, Mr. Leon hunched his body and walked into the room.

(The main content of this book is developing influence, farming, and gathering survivors. The protagonist's strength is not the main point, and this is not an invincible-style novel.)

(Brothers, I'm a new writer. I hope you readers will support me more, read the legitimate version, I beg you.)