Second Chapter: Ambushed

In this world, walkers were the main theme.

The two of them walked single file until they reached the middle of the traffic. Suddenly, Mori stopped and signaled for Kirk to crouch.

Kirk ducked beneath an SUV.

Through the wheels, he vaguely saw a pair of feet shuffling ahead.

That was right—they dragged along the ground with a soft "scrape, scrape." The owner of the feet seemed to have been born with polio and bowlegs. His legs could only mechanically carry out his intention to move forward, unable to bend properly.

"Walker!" Kirk's heart tightened. He knew the things well from American dramas, but this was his first time seeing one in real life, and he couldn't help feeling a little afraid.

He'd watched all of The Walking Dead in one sitting, so he knew the general plot. An unknown biochemical virus had infected the United States—and the whole world—on a massive scale, killing more than half the population. Worse still, many of the dead had gotten back up. The protagonist, Rick, was a police officer in a county near Atlanta. He'd been injured while arresting a criminal, and when he woke up in the hospital, the world around him had already become Midgard Hell. He escaped and fought his way through countless dangers before finally finding his wife, son, and a group of companions. Then they fled again, searching for a safe haven. People kept dying, and new people kept joining them. Everyone struggled to survive. It was a difficult, tangled story, full of twists and turns and utterly captivating.

As for the white giant beside Kirk now, he'd always appeared in the show as a troublemaker. He'd been a soldier and fought in wars, but he was also a racist and an egoist. In Season 1, he'd discriminated against the Black man T-Dog, so the protagonist locked him on a rooftop, where walkers surrounded him and left him on the brink of death. Mori was a tough guy, ruthless toward others and even more ruthless toward himself. To survive, he'd actually sawed off his own right hand and gritted his teeth as he escaped.

Kirk had always thought he wouldn't get along with someone like that. He'd disliked him on TV, and now he both hated and feared him even more. But when he thought it through, Eriana had arranged for Mori to save him, so naturally he'd have to stick with Mori from here on. Fortunately, although Mori had a bad temper, he was a formidable fighter; otherwise, he couldn't have survived this long. Kirk needed to find a chance to learn a few moves from Mori. Without the ability to defend himself, he'd be dead in no time.

Kirk was lost in thought when he suddenly noticed the walker's rotten, pitch-black feet shuffling toward him. Cold sweat broke out all over him. He looked around, but couldn't see Mori anywhere.

"Hey, idiot. Under the car," a low voice said.

Kirk peered more closely. Mori had already crawled beneath the SUV and was glaring at him angrily. If he hadn't been afraid of alerting the walkers, he would've been cursing up a storm.

Kirk felt ashamed and scrambled under the car.

Mori grabbed him by the collar. "Listen, kid. If you space out again, these walkers are gonna get a taste of some fresh Asian food—banana pie. Yellow on the outside, right? And if I hadn't been worried your blood would attract more of those things, I wouldn't have warned you. Got it?"

Kirk didn't have time to argue with the racist. He hurriedly nodded to show he understood.

The owner of the feet paced around the SUV. Before long, more rotting, swollen feet came shuffling from farther away.

A low moaning rose in their ears. A great horde of walkers passed by, marching down the road.

For some reason, Kirk thought of the "Trail of Tears," when Native Americans had been driven along under the guns of white colonists, dying as they went.

There was only the scrape of soles against the ground, like a swarm of deadly locusts passing through and leaving no life behind.

Mori's expression remained unchanged, though it turned a little grim. He spat, removed the protective sheath from the bayonet in his right hand, and began carefully watching their surroundings.

Kirk noticed Mori's gaze kept drifting toward the roof of a nearby bus. Clearly, he was calculating an escape route in case they were spotted.

That was the difference between a rookie and a veteran. While Kirk was being all mopey and poetic about life's helplessness, Mori was calmly thinking about how to survive.

This wouldn't do. He had to learn something.

Mori had clearly noticed Kirk looking around too. He grinned and lowered his voice. "What're you looking at, kid?"

"An escape route. The roofs, where to jump from and where to land."

"Then you'll die ten thousand times over and get eaten until there's not a bone left."

"What're you looking at?"

"Crows, kid. Crows!"

"What's so interesting about crows?"

"Crows only eat corpses. Walkers go after crows too, so you don't find those smart birds where there are walkers. So..."

"Where crows are circling, there won't be many zombies! We should head that way!" Kirk suddenly understood.

"Yeah. And there's a copy of the latest Playboy on the back window of that bus. Wonder what that big-ass girl on the cover would look like as a walker."

Kirk was utterly speechless. Mori's imagination was too vivid, and his tastes were too twisted. He was even fantasizing about walkers.

The two of them waited for the horde to pass.

Watching the horde go by, Kirk gradually relaxed. In another three to five minutes, the stinking bastards would be gone.

But there was always a "but."

A man suddenly burst out of a car nearby, shouting things like, "Bastards, get away!"

"Fuck!" Mori drove the sharp blade in his right hand hard into the dirt.

Kirk tensed too. Clearly, something unexpected had happened. He didn't know if the space had arranged it on purpose.

Sure enough, the man stumbled toward them. The walkers swarmed after him.

Suddenly, an ordinary corpse lying beside a car sprang to life. As the man ran past, it opened its mouth and sank its teeth into his lower leg.

The man screamed and frantically kicked and shook his leg, trying to escape the zombie's bite.

Even a total rookie like Kirk could tell the man was done for.

The man fell, sending dust billowing into the air. He screamed and struggled with all his might.

Kirk let out a long breath. The man had fallen at least twenty meters away from them, and the walkers were busy eating him. They could use the chance to slip away. Kirk soon felt ashamed of that thought.

The man was human, one of his own kind, while the things attacking him could only be called "it." They were no longer human.

But Kirk was just an ordinary person now. He couldn't help, and could only let the man be killed by the walkers.

And yet, at the brink of death, the man's inner universe exploded!

He stomped the head of the zombie biting his lower leg to pieces, gritted his teeth, got back up, and kept running toward them!

Naturally, the walkers followed.

The man had sharp eyes. He spotted Kirk, who was watching coldly from beneath the car, at a glance.

Kirk's heart tightened. The man had been bitten, so he was already doomed to die—or, rather, doomed to exist in another form of life. Now his choice was...

The man hesitated, then shouted, "Help! Help!"

"Bastard!" Kirk roared. The man was already doomed to die, and now he wanted to drag the two of them down with him before he went. What a rotten conscience!

The walkers had seen them after following the man's gaze. They couldn't stay hidden here any longer.

Kirk crawled out from beneath the car as fast as he could, then took off running toward the place where he'd seen the crows gathering.

Then he heard a gunshot. Looking back, he saw Mori expressionlessly lower a "Big Viper" handgun (Bushmaster Arm Pistol) and run after him. Behind Mori, the man clutched his gunshot leg and limped along. The horde of walkers quickly caught up with him, knocked him down, and tore into him. His throat was ripped open, and he could no longer scream. All Kirk could hear was a faint, blood-choked "heh, heh" from his throat. Maybe he was calling for help. Maybe he was laughing. At last, two more companions had joined him on the road to the underworld.

None of that mattered anymore. What mattered was that the walkers had spotted them.

Mori's gunshot had given the walkers another tasty meal, drawing a large part of their attention. But plenty of them couldn't squeeze in, so they staggered after the two men!

Kirk ran after Mori at full speed. From years of watching zombie shows and playing games, he knew the general rule: once you were surrounded by walkers, even if you had peerless martial arts, the Heavenly Sword, the Dragon-Slaying Saber, and a rocket launcher slung over your shoulder, you still couldn't escape death. He had no intention of dying here.

Kirk's biggest problem, though, was that he was a shut-in. He had plenty of theory but not enough exercise.

The walkers were slow, but Kirk wasn't much faster. After the trial space had boosted his overall attributes by 50%, Kirk's agility had reached a historic peak: a full 4 points! (Kirk shouted: "I trained for a whole month of long-distance running, at least!") The walkers, by his estimate, had between 3 and 4 points. It was a close contest in which they chased each other around. (Kirk shouted: "Being chased around by zombies is a lifelong humiliation!")

By that calculation, Kirk should actually have had the advantage in this race.

But everyone knew that running from walkers was a long-distance endurance race. Walkers had no stamina bar and could keep going until their joints wore out. Kirk was a shut-in who rarely exercised, and on top of that, he was nervous. Before long, he was gasping for breath. In theory, a Contractor's body had been turned into data in the space, so he should've been able to maintain a steady pace for a long time without getting tired. But Kirk was such a rookie that he hadn't adapted to his body yet, and he was already worn out before he'd even started running.

Mori, who was running ahead, turned around. Kirk's heart tightened. He was genuinely worried that the brute would repeat what he'd done to the man earlier—shoot him, leave him behind to draw the walkers, then make his own escape.

Mori raised the Big Viper with a wicked grin, its metal muzzle aimed at the panting Kirk.

No way. I just entered the space, and the only Plot Character I've met is betraying me? I'm about to get eaten alive by walkers? Has there ever been a protagonist this unlucky? Kirk thought frantically.

"Bang!" A deafening gunshot rang out.

Kirk squeezed his eyes shut. A walker that had lunged right up beside him suddenly stopped. Its head burst like a smashed watermelon, spraying black chunks of brain, brown filth, and pale brain matter all over Kirk's face. Kirk gagged and vomited.

Fortunately, he still knew they were at the brink of life and death. He gritted his teeth and kept running.

Mori continued firing: seven shots, seven headshots. His aim was excellent.

Then he ran on too.

But the deafening gunshots had now alerted every walker. They converged from all directions, and the two men were completely surrounded.

Kirk stared in despair as the only gap ahead slowly filled with scattered walkers. There weren't many, but once they grabbed or bit him, he'd be unable to escape.

"Stop and catch!" Mori tossed the Big Viper over. Kirk reacted quickly, but he fumbled the catch and let the gun fall to the ground. He hurriedly picked it up.

"You idiot! I'm gonna see if I can hot-wire this car. That'll decide whether we spend the night in a sleeping bag or in those things' stomachs! Cover me! You know how to shoot, right?" Mori shouted. He opened the door of a red Maserati sports car, ducked inside, lifted the floor mat, pulled out two wires, and started hot-wiring the car.

"How do you take off the safety?" Kirk was so embarrassed he could've died. He was a young man in the twenty-first century, and he didn't even know how to do that.

"It's already off, asshole! Don't point it at me! Point it at the walkers! Aim a little lower; this gun's got serious recoil, so the muzzle kicks up. Shoot!"

It was the first time Kirk had ever fired a gun. The Big Viper was a heavy, large-caliber machine pistol. He gripped it firmly with both hands, one behind the other, and racked his brains for the shooting techniques he remembered from Modern Warfare 6. Then he aimed at the head of the nearest walker, gritted his teeth, and fired his first round!

The walkers seemed intimidated by the loud gunshot and stopped.

Then nothing happened. The bullet shattered a car window, and the burglar alarm began to emit a piercing wail.

"Nice work!" Mori laughed. "No doubt about it—we're both gonna die because of you."

"Shut up!" With the Big Viper in his hands, Kirk felt a little braver. The recoil from that first shot had nearly snapped his wrist. So he stopped aiming, pointed at the walker in front, and fired.

This time, the web between his thumb and index finger split open, blood flowed out, and his wrist swelled red. He grimaced in pain and didn't even check whether he'd hit anything.

But he clearly heard the space's icy voice:

"Contractor No. 4444 killed 1 ordinary walker. Since the weapon was borrowed from a Plot Character, the reward has been adjusted. You have received 1 Survival Point. Your first kill has been announced throughout the space. For details of future battles, please check your battle records."

"The 'Walker Hunter' title has been unlocked. Current progress: 1/100. For details about the title, consult the space. Silently ask a question, and you'll receive an answer if your access level permits."

Kirk didn't have time to check the information. He gritted his teeth through the pain, pointed the muzzle at another walker, and fired.

He now knew how incredible his powerful, well-rounded attributes were, so he no longer hoped for that pitiful Hit Rate. Trying to look cool would only get him killed. With a monster of a gun like the Big Viper, hitting the target was what mattered. An ordinary walker was nothing if it got hit.

So he aimed at the walker's body. This time, he got lucky and hit its huge head. It burst like a watermelon, splattering its brains everywhere.

Kirk didn't even have time to notice the pain. He copied what he'd just done and fired again.

This time, another car's side window paid the price. But Kirk figured neither the owner nor the insurance company would care about that now. No one was going to make him pay for it.

Fifty-eight seconds later, Kirk had emptied all thirty rounds in the pistol. Both his hands were covered in blood and had gone numb, but he'd also killed seventeen walkers and received seventeen Survival Points. He seemed to have gotten a white key too, which had automatically gone into his Mark space.

But the walkers kept gathering, packed in layer upon layer, a dark mass all around them. Kirk's Hit Rate, despite having had no training whatsoever, was over 50%. That wasn't because he had a protagonist template, played lots of games, or had a gift for shooting. There were simply so many walkers, and they were so close, that unless he shot too high, even a pig could hit one with its eyes closed.

"I can't hold on! Are you done yet?" Kirk shouted.

At that moment, the car roared to life. Kirk reacted quickly. Without waiting to be told, he scooted over and scrambled into the car. Then the Maserati's powerful engine roared as it accelerated. A few seconds later, they were going a hundred kilometers an hour. Like a bowling ball crashing into a pile of bottles, the sports car sent walkers flying everywhere, broke through the encirclement, and sped away into the distance.

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