"God, you finally came! I was so scared! Boo-hoo-hoo!"
After climbing through the attic window into Ganke's little building, the fat boy, who weighed over two hundred kilograms, threw himself into Miles's arms and shed tears of excitement.
Honestly, if Little Black Spider hadn't gained superhuman strength from the OZ Factor, Meat Egg's charge would have sent him straight through the wall and into the alley outside to feed the zombies.
"Don't wipe your snot on my suit, man. That's disgusting!"
Miles wore a mask, but Su Ming guessed he was probably blushing. He even guiltily looked back at Deathstroke and the others, as though afraid they might misunderstand something.
Little Fatty straightened up like a sumo wrestler, rubbed the fat on his face, and looked at the strangers. "Jessica? Why are you here too?"
"I'm not the Jessica you know, and there's no time to explain. Get on the flying carpet, then we leave." The female detective really did seem to be imitating Deathstroke. Even her words carried a rather grim edge.
Generally speaking, Chinese families valued their homes greatly. Unless they had no other choice, they would not willingly abandon their homes and livelihoods to follow strangers.
But when zombies were clawing madly at the door downstairs and howling to express their craving for human flesh, normal people still wanted to survive more than anything.
After all, being disemboweled by zombies was simply too horrible. There were already more than enough tragic examples out on the streets.
The widow stroked her son's head and hugged Miles as well. "So this was your secret? You wore that outfit whenever you skipped class? How long did you two children plan to hide this from me?"
"Auntie, it was my idea." Miles shook his head and helped her onto the flying