The Brutal Slaughter

Wave after wave of zombies were drawn by the alarm and streamed toward the Control Room in a queue.

Ma Ruiqi cursed furiously and led her people toward the Control Room, following the sound. But along the way, others kept getting distracted by the zombies trudging forward and stopped to kill them. Ma Ruiqi stamped her feet and cursed, but her influence clearly couldn't compete with the Team Contribution Value from killing zombies. On top of that, her past actions had made several newcomers wary. A benefit in hand was worth having; they'd heard enough empty promises. Ma Ruiqi wanted to rush ahead by herself, but she was too much of a coward to enter the darkness alone and fight the zombies. All she could do was join the team in competing to kill them.

Little Fatty grinned so hard his mouth seemed ready to split. The zombies were practically lining up to charge to their deaths. The corridor stretched more than thirty meters, and the zombies turned to ash after walking twenty meters through the Sea of Fire. Whenever the flames began to die down, he would grin wickedly and pour a bucket of diesel along the wall, making the fire roar back to life.

"Come on, you little bastards! Your grandpa's right here!" The fat man bounced around, hopping up and down. Watching the kill feed tick over and the zombie kill count rise, he felt like the world was starting to look beautiful.

Kirk stood to the side, checking and wiping down the police pistol. These standard-issue weapons didn't have durability ratings, but they still needed regular maintenance. According to Mori, a weapon was a man's most loyal companion, and anyone who didn't cherish their weapon would die young.

"We still have to be ready to fight!" Kirk said coldly. "We're running low on diesel." Only then did Little Fatty notice that he had just two buckets left.

"Big Brother, I've been keeping count. We've burned more than two hundred zombies to death already. If we conserve the diesel, we can probably burn another hundred. Surely there aren't that many zombies left in Zone D, right?"

"Space is balanced. It won't give us a mission we're certain to fail, nor will it leave an obvious loophole for Contractors to exploit. We've already gotten a huge advantage by killing this many zombies. Space won't let us sit here and finish the mission easily. If we want to benefit, we have to take risks." Kirk changed magazines and picked up his dagger.

Little Fatty's expression turned serious. "Big Brother, I understand. So what do we do now?"

"Save these last two buckets of oil. This corridor was designed with defense in mind. It's only about two and a half meters wide, so only two zombies can come up at a time. I'll go first, and you support me from behind. If we can't hold them off, we'll use the oil to burn them. Then we'll fight again, until we can't hold out anymore." Kirk steeled himself, remembering Mori's warning.

As the flames died down, the burning zombies charged up the corridor. Kirk held the line alone. First, he shot the lead zombie in the head, then rushed forward and swung his dagger with brutal force, decapitating the one behind it. The headless zombie slowly toppled over. The zombies had no morale and kept climbing toward them without hesitation.

Kirk continued fighting with his dagger. His technique was still primitive, with little skill to it, but Mori's influence had made him ruthless. He made full use of the corridor's length, dodging the zombies' lunges and using the brief opening after they sprang at him to plunge his dagger deep into their brains. Fighting as he retreated, he reached a point five meters from Little Fatty. He had killed ten zombies along the way, but had also taken two claw swipes. Fortunately, he'd avoided a Vital Part, though he'd lost more than thirty Health Points. He signaled for Little Fatty to act.

Little Fatty hurriedly poured out the diesel and set it alight. Kirk backed away, gasping for breath, and bandaged himself. The bandages were ordinary items from this world, not healing items recognized by Space. They couldn't restore Health Points, but they were still good at stopping bleeding.

A long line of zombies was engulfed in flames. They groaned softly as they became burning corpses and fell across the corridor, burning into a mass of charred remains.

After catching his breath for a while, Kirk's Health Points slowly climbed back to sixty. He gritted his teeth, nodded to Little Fatty, and charged forward again when the flames began to die down.

Close-quarters combat was extremely risky, but if he never trained, he would never have a chance to grow stronger and evolve. His abilities would never improve. When he faced greater dangers later, those would truly become deadly threats.

There was no need to look far ahead. That very night, the zombies would undergo Secondary Mutation. They didn't know what form it would take, but any kind of enhancement would pose a greater threat to the newcomers' lives!

They were already this hard to deal with. If they didn't kill the zombies while they still could, things would only get more difficult.

Kirk made a fierce upward thrust, piercing another zombie's jaw and driving his dagger into its brain. Before he could pull it free, the not-quite-dead zombie struck back in its death throes, grabbing Kirk by the shoulder and dealing twelve points of damage.

Kirk's Strength had reached seven, about the same as a zombie's. His Stamina had risen to eight, greatly improving his defense and allowing him to mitigate some of the damage from their attacks. Even so, a single desperate clawing swipe from a dying zombie had dealt twelve points of damage. With the roughly four points of Stamina an ordinary newcomer had, that one blow would have left them severely wounded. No wonder newcomers feared close combat and only dared use ranged weapons. The risks were simply too great; the slightest mistake could cost them their lives.

And death meant losing everything.

Kirk was shaken, too. But just then, he received a System Prompt: "Contractor No. 4444, the cumulative damage you have suffered has reached 252 points, exceeding 300% of your total Health Points. Through your desperate fighting and adventurous spirit, you have automatically mastered [Basic Physical Defense Mastery], currently at Skill Level 1.

[Basic Physical Defense Mastery] Level 1: Mastery of defensive equipment other than shields has increased. Defense receives a bonus, reducing physical damage suffered by the Contractor by 5%.

Please continue exploring other ways to fight and keep strengthening yourself."

Kirk gasped for breath. His Health Points had fallen to thirty, close to the severe injury threshold of twenty-four, but he gritted his teeth, sliced through a zombie's neck, and kicked the headless corpse back down the corridor.

Then he drew his pistol and fired several shots, each one blowing a zombie's head apart. The zombies were only one or two meters away. Even though his firearm skill was mediocre, he could still shoot with great accuracy at that range.

After killing two more zombies, Kirk was bitten by a police zombie in its dying moments. It clamped its teeth onto his left hand. Although Kirk wore a prison guard's protective gloves, the bite still left him bleeding profusely. He had only twenty Health Points left and was now severely wounded. He signaled Little Fatty to continue.

Little Fatty poured out the last bucket of diesel and set it on fire.

Kirk retreated to the upper end of the corridor to rest. Little Fatty hurriedly asked, "Big Brother, are you okay? Why are you fighting them so desperately? Even if we can't beat them, we could still run away."

"We probably have no way out. This should be the only exit. They can't get in, and we can't get out," Kirk said between breaths.

"Then we're surrounded?" Little Fatty grew nervous. "Big Brother, rest up. I'll go first next time!"

Kirk nodded, closed his eyes, and rested as his Health Points slowly recovered.

Little Fatty waited two minutes. The flames gradually died down again. This fire had claimed the lives of more than sixty zombies, if what they had could be called lives.

At last, the zombies charged up the corridor again. This time, they were out of diesel.

Little Fatty cursed at the "little bastards" as he kicked the empty diesel barrels down one after another. The heavy barrels tripped the zombies along the way, then caught fire at the bottom, where a little diesel remained. The burning pile of barrels temporarily stopped the zombies behind from charging up.

Kirk gave Little Fatty an approving glance. The kid was sharp, able to think of using every available resource to hinder the zombies' advance even in this desperate situation. Very impressive.

Then Little Fatty roared to give himself courage and charged down with a steel shovel in hand.

He'd fought several battles in Space and had gained some experience. He aimed the steel shovel at the zombies' vulnerable necks and heads, standing above them and smashing their heads one after another until they were like burst watermelons. Brains and filthy blood flew everywhere.

The zombies paid no attention, reaching out with their arms and groaning as they climbed upward.

Little Fatty cursed them with every obscenity he could think of. Kirk could see that the kid was working himself up to stay brave. Suddenly, Little Fatty tripped over a diesel barrel by the wall. His steel shovel fell and struck him, too, bringing tears to his eyes from the pain.

Kirk sighed. Seeing that things were going badly, he drew his pistol and fired several shots, killing the zombies rushing up and rescuing Little Fatty. The kid scrambled to his feet and raised the steel shovel again.

Kirk checked his Health Points and saw they had finally reached forty-five. He was no longer severely wounded. But if Little Fatty didn't get support, he wouldn't last much longer.

Kirk drew his pistol and went down.

Seeing Big Brother arrive gave Little Fatty a surge of courage. The two of them fell into a rhythm again: Kirk handled close combat, while Little Fatty stood higher up and kept smashing zombie heads with the long-handled steel shovel.

The narrow terrain helped them immensely. Only two zombies could come up at a time, and the pile of burning fuel barrels was still holding the rest back. The two fought until they were gasping for breath, but at last they finished off all thirty-odd zombies.

"Big Brother, the barrels have burned out. They're about to get up here. What do we do?" Since Kirk had been standing in front, Little Fatty had only been clawed once and still had plenty of Health Points left, but he was exhausted.

"Don't panic. The alarm's been ringing this whole time, so the others will come over. Once they see the zombies, they'll attack them. They don't know we're here, so they won't think of using the zombies to kill us by standing aside and letting them through. Even if someone does think of it, the others may not be able to resist the lure of Team Contribution Value. If we have no choice, we'll turn off the alarm and fall back to the Control Room to defend it. It's a critical part of the prison, and its door is thick and sturdy. Without the alarm drawing them in, the zombies won't be able to break in right away." Kirk had already thought it through.