"I don't see anything," Claire whispered, crouching down at the West Wing shutter. "But the trail keeps going. I'm going under. You follow right behind me."
Claire dropped to her hands and knees and began shimmying under the heavy steel door. I was directly behind her.
Look, I am a 36-year-old single man. My heart was currently beating at roughly two hundred BPM, and I was about ninety percent sure I was going to get eaten alive in a dark hallway.
So, my adrenaline-addled brain decided to cope with the sheer, paralyzing terror by making a very inappropriate, yet objectively true observation.
Wow. The developers really did not slack on the physics engine. Those jeans are fighting for their life right now, and winning.
A hysterical little laugh almost bubbled up in my throat before I mentally slapped myself. Focus, Lysander. Surviving the zombie apocalypse first, respectfully admiring the protagonist's assets later.
I took a deep breath, dropped down beside the blood trail, and squeezed under the metal edge.
I popped up on the other side, clicking on my phone's flashlight. Right in the middle of the hallway, a massive vending machine was lying on its side, completely blocking the path forward.
"Great," I muttered. "This wasn't here in the game."
Claire turned her head and looked at me over her shoulder. Her expression was completely flat, radiating a level of judgment that made my soul wither.
"What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice dripping with 'you are a very weird guy' energy.
My brain completely flatlined. "I... I said... what a shame! What a shame about this... game-changing... vending machine! Look at it! OSHA would have a field day with the RPD!"
Claire sighed, rolling her eyes. "Whatever. Just help me move this."
We pushed the heavy machine just enough to create a tight gap, squeezed through, and followed the blood trail straight toward the Operations Room.
Claire kicked the door wide open, her gun raised. Slumped against a desk in the center of the dark room was a man in an RPD officer's uniform.
Lieutenant Marvin Branagh.
"Lieutenant!" Claire gasped, rushing forward.
"Wait!" I yelled, grabbing the back of her leather jacket and violently yanking her backward just as Marvin's teeth snapped shut exactly where her neck had been a second ago.
The timeline was wrong. Marvin's eyes were bloodshot and rolling back into his head. He let out a low, guttural snarl, unhinging his jaw, and scrambled toward us like a rabid animal.
Claire raised her revolver, but she hesitated. Her finger was trembling. She couldn't shoot a cop.
"He's not the lieutenant anymore!" I screamed.
Pure panic took the wheel. I whipped out the combat knife I had looted, stepped in front of Claire, and brought the blade down hard, burying it right into the top of Marvin's skull.
The zombie went completely limp.
I let go of the knife handle, stumbling backward and gasping for air. "Oh my god. I just killed Marvin. I'm going to need so much therapy."
And then, I heard a sound.
Ding!
A translucent, glowing blue text box popped into existence right in front of my face.
[ Target Defeated: Zombie (Elite Variant - Marvin Branagh) ]
[ Experience Gained! ]
[ Hidden System Unlocked: Path of the Survivor ]
[ Stats Updated: ]
+2 Strength
+2 Agility
+1 Dexterity
+1 Vitality
+1 Endurance
+0.5 Charm
I stared at the floating blue text, my jaw practically hitting the floor. Suddenly, a strange, warm sensation washed over my entire body.
The chronic ache in my 36-year-old lower back? Completely gone. The heavy fatigue in my legs? Vanished. I rolled my shoulders, realizing I felt lighter, faster, and surprisingly sturdy.
"Did I... did I just level up?" I whispered to myself. I stared at the bottom line. "And how in the world did I get half a point of Charm for stabbing a guy in the head? Does zombie blood act as a natural exfoliant?"
"Lysander?" Claire's voice cut through my thoughts.
The blue text box instantly dissolved. Claire was staring at me like I had completely lost my mind, looking back and forth between the dead lieutenant and me, muttering about 'charm' and 'levels'.
"Are you... okay?" she asked cautiously.
"I am fantastic," I blurted out, flexing my newly buffed hands. "Claire, you're not going to believe this, but I think my back pain is cured. And honestly? I think I'm ready to kick some serious undead ass."