The first thing I feel is the ache in my spine. A dull, persistent throb that stretches from the base of my neck to the small of my back.
My eyes slowly peel open, greeted by nothing but a gold panel and wooden cieling
Day five has begun.
Upgrades are now available.
Infected have become much stronger.
Sunlight peers through the window, old dust floating lazily in the air above me. I take a deep breathe, shifting onto my side.
I regret it immediately.
The wooden boards beneath me groan. They're hard, cold, and uneven.
My shoulder's gone numb and my hip feels bruised.
The Carcass Frame scratches the boards beneath me as I groan, flipping onto my stomach. It takes me a few seconds to process what I've just read, but once I have, I quickly turn, sitting up against the bed.
Upgrades?
Stronger infected?
My eyes light up with possibility as I scramble to my feet, waking up Jenny who lays on the bed beside me.
"Wake up!" I say, trying to shake her awake.
Her eyes daze open as she looks around, gasping as she sees me.
"What?" She mumbles, trying to regain her composure.
"Read your panel!" I yell.
She stares at for a moment before turning her head toward the wall.
"Read your panel!" I yell.
She stares at for a moment before turning her head toward the wall. It only takes a moment before her eyes light up and her face scrunches in confusion.
"Upgrades?"
"Yeah," I say, pacing in the small room. "It just popped up. And… stronger infected. That's not good."
Jenny sits up, rubbing her eyes. "Upgrades are good though. If the infected have gotten much stronger, it's obvious that the upgrades must make our gear much stronger."
"I suppose…" I say, my attention turning toward the window.
"It's daytime now. You said you wanted to go out and look for the rest of the gang. We should get ready to leave." I tell her, remembering what she said during the battle last night.
She nods, swinging her legs over the bed.
"Come with me, we should go talk to whiskey before we leave." She says, leading me outside the room. I follow, leaving my backpack and bringing along my weapon.
Entering the hallway, I can't help but notice how quiet it is. It is much different from yesterdays atmosphere. I hear no voices, nor sounds. It's very different compared to just yesterday.
"Did you know the people who died yesterday?" I ask Jenny as we walk.
She nods.
"A little. We were only together for a couple of days so it's not like we were close or anything." She continues, "Sure it sucks that they're dead, but they were also criminals like us. They were here for a reason and at the end of the day, only one of us is going to make it out of here. "
She looks at me for a moment, seemingly studying me. "Don't tell me that you feel bad for killing that man who was in the middle of turning?"
I pause for a moment.
"You saw that?"
"Mhm. You seemed very heroic pulling him out from beneath me." She says, releasing a small chuckle.
"If I were to give you any advice, don't try to be a hero to someone who does not benefit you. I may have saved you last night, but that's only because we are working together and you are one of the only people I can sort of trust. At the end of the day, it's better to let useless people die, for then you need not worry about them becoming a threat to you in the future."
I stare at her for a moment as we reach Whiskey's office. At the end of the day, they were human. How can she tell me not to worry or feel bad for them? Sure their may not have been much camaraderie, but we all fought together. Her way of thinking is no doubt selfish, but is there anything wrong with that?
As I continue debating the issue of human processing, thought, and decision making, Jenny opens the door to Whiskey's office.
Stepping inside, I see all the remaining members of Whiskey's group.
The golden-haired man who looked like a prince from out of a fantasy film sits in a chair in front of Whiskey's desk. He wears a new simple set of armor-dull steel with a few shallow dents, it's gold trim faded and chipped in places. A short, red worn cape hangs from his shoulders, its edges frayed and uneven.
The large man sits in the chair next to him, tapping his fingernail on Whiskeys desk. He seems to have abandoned his large fire axe, replacing it with a sledgehammer which lied on the floor to his side.
Sitting at the table near the door, baby face is eating something out of a can that he probably found in one of the houses. Just like the large man, he seemed to have gained a new weapon.
Instead of that rusty short sword, a slender, needle-like blade lay on the table beside him. Its narrow steel glinted faintly in the light, the edge almost too thin to see. The crossguard curved slightly toward the grip, which was wrapped in worn black leather, and the weapon's balance gave it an air of precision rather than brute strength. It is no doubt
a tool made for quick, exact strikes rather than heavy swings.
The brown skinned man sits with baby face, leaning back in his wooden chair. Unlike the others, there seems to be no change with him. He still wears some civilian clothing that he probably looted from the houses and still wields the same curved sword. If I had to guess, he probably received some sort of special item like my compass or the one that Jenny received.
Finally, there was boss man Whiskey himself. He no longer wore his leather armor, and instead was dawned in heavy armor made of a material that looked similar to bronze or gold.
He sits in his chair behind his desk, cradling his helmet in his arms.
"Ah, you're finally awake."