"Are… are these them?" Following Mitt's directions, Sam took down a dusty black metal box from the top of a tall cupboard. Opening the lid, he found several large bags of black charcoal inside, along with a small, somewhat old-looking portable charcoal stove.
"Yes, those are it. Thank you, young man," Mitt nodded, his voice a bit hoarse. He then pointed to a wooden chair nearby, asking Sam with some effort, "Could you… help me move that chair over here? Just next to Daisley is fine."
Sam did as asked, moving the chair next to the old lady, Daisley, who was slumped in her armchair, seemingly dozing off. Mitt sat down shakily, then silently watched Sam find wide adhesive tape from a toolbox and carefully seal the cracks around the bedroom's only window. Next, Sam placed the charcoal pieces into the stove, one by one, and lit them with a lighter. Soon, wisps of black smoke began to rise from the stove, and a pungent, sulfurous smell of burning charcoal started to fill the sealed room, displacing the already stale air.
"Darling… how about we go on one last honeymoon trip?" Mitt reached out and gently took Daisley's age-spotted, cold hand, his voice as soft as if afraid of startling something. He had wanted to coax his wife this way, to let her feel a sliver of warmth and comfort in her final moments. But Daisley didn't respond at all, her eyes just slightly squinted, her breathing even. It was impossible to tell if she was already asleep or simply lost in her own world, oblivious to everything outside.
Mitt gazed at his wife's aged, peaceful face for a long time, then finally gave a helpless yet somehow relieved smile and shook his head. He put his other arm gently, preciously, around Daisley's frail shoulders, drawing her closer to him. Then, he turned his head slightly towards Sam, who was standing by the door, and said in almost a whisper, "Then… I'll have to trouble you, young man. In a little while… help us seal this door from the outside with tape too, alright?"
Sam looked at the old man's bloodshot yet strangely calm profile, and at the old lady in his arms who seemed to have peacefully fallen asleep. He nodded silently. He knew that if death could truly freeze time, then this old man had definitely chosen what he believed to be the gentlest, most peaceful moment, to frame himself and his beloved into a photograph that would never fade.
He backed out of the bedroom, gently closing the door. Then, using the remaining tape, he carefully sealed all the cracks around the bedroom door, isolating the gradually thickening scent of death within.
After finishing this, Sam turned and walked towards the storage room on the other side of the living room. He found the bottle of whiskey the old man had mentioned—the bottle, in the dim light, showed a warm amber color. It was covered in a fine layer of dust, but the gold lettering on the label was still clearly legible, displaying a brand he didn't recognize but which looked very high-end. He then saw the warhammer forgotten in the corner, hesitated for a moment, but still found a sturdy rope and tied it to his waist.
Finally, he picked up the bag full of snacks he had packed earlier, took one last deep look at this apartment filled with old objects, stories, and silent sorrow, then left without looking back. He didn't want to stay here too long.
Sam pressed the elevator's up button. The harsh light flickered in the small space. He knew very well that the sound and vibration of the elevator operating would undoubtedly attract the "things" lingering in the hallways like a beacon in the night. Choosing to take the elevator to other floors, especially in this situation, was undoubtedly a gamble. But he wasn't planning on going down; his destination was—the top floor.
The elevator doors slid shut slowly behind him, cutting off the faint snarls from the hallway. Sam held the amber bottle of whiskey in his left hand, his right hand gripping the cold Glock pistol tightly, warily watching the floor numbers tick by.
Ding—
The indicator for the top floor lit up, and the elevator doors slid open with a slight metallic scrape. Sam took a deep breath, pulled open the heavy iron door leading to the rooftop, and a gust of cold wind, carrying the unique smell of city ruins, hit his face.
He walked out onto the flat, empty rooftop. This was the 27th floor, high enough to overlook most of the city skyline. Dusk had arrived, the sky darkening visibly, the distant horizon stained a bizarre orange-red, like congealed blood. Sam holstered his pistol, raised the bottle of whiskey to his lips, didn't bother looking for a bottle opener, and instead bit down hard on the glass neck, shattering it, then spat out the small shards of glass with a "pfft". He tilted his head back and began to slowly pour the harsh liquor down his throat. The whiskey felt like a burning flame, searing its way from his esophagus down to his stomach, igniting every cell in his body that was restless from the enhancement.
System Notification: The Old Man's Last Wish Mission Completed. Reward: +100 Hope Points.
The cold system prompt sounded opportunely, but Sam just impassively drained the last mouthful of liquor from the bottle, then violently threw the empty bottle towards the rooftop railing. CRASH. The glass bottle shattered on the hard concrete.
The loud noise, like a stone dropped into a calm lake, instantly startled the "residents" lurking in this building. From behind the iron door leading to the rooftop, a chorus of horrifying snarls immediately erupted, growing louder and closer.
[Savior System.] Sam recited mentally.
Before his eyes, the pale blue, semi-transparent panel reappeared.
[Savior System
Current Missions:
Apocalypse Survival: Survive for 30 days in the "Zombie Crisis". Current Progress Countdown: 29 days 14 hours. Mission Completion Reward: +300 Hope Points.
Zombie Killer: Accumulate one hundred zombie kills. Current Progress: 23/100. Mission Reward: +5 Hope Points per zombie. Failure Penalty: For each zombie short of one hundred, -5 Hope Points will be deducted.
Rescue Family Member: [Objective: Find and rescue John's daughter, Tanya, trapped in their home.] Mission Reward: +300 Hope Points. Failure Penalty: -150 Hope Points. [Time Limit: 66 hours 38 minutes 27 seconds]
Current Hope Points: 225 points
Current Enhancement: Comprehensive Enhancement (Level 1)
Current Equipment Exchange List: Temporary Exchange List (Zombie Crisis)]
Sam quickly scanned the information on the panel, a cold smirk touching the corner of his lips. He muttered softly to himself, "It's time… to find something to do."
Then, he spread his arms wide, as if to embrace this city that was about to be completely swallowed by endless night, this city that was heading towards destruction.
The snarls behind the door grew louder, more frantic. Until, at a certain moment, BANG. The iron door was violently slammed open from the inside. A decaying zombie in tattered clothes was the first to lunge out. Immediately following, more zombies poured out from the narrow doorway like a bursting dam, snarling, scrambling over each other to get to the human standing in the center of the rooftop with open arms, as if waiting for them.
Sam maintained that embracing posture, a strange smile even playing on his lips… until the foremost zombies were almost upon his back, their claws about to tear his clothes—then he moved.
He took a sharp step forward, then launched himself off the edge of the 27th-floor rooftop without hesitation.
The zombies lunging right behind him couldn't stop their momentum. Like dumplings tossed into a pot, they tumbled one after another off the edge of the rooftop, forming a disgusting "waterfall of flesh and rags".
And Sam, in his rapid descent, relying on his enhanced strength and reflexes, shot out his right hand like lightning, desperately grabbing onto a thick, rusty drainpipe protruding from the building's outer wall. The immense friction instantly tore the skin from his palm, blood flowing freely; even his enhanced hand couldn't fully withstand that kind of impact.
But he just gritted his teeth, a wild snarl, identical to those of the monsters, erupting from his throat: "Yaaaaaaahhhhh—!"
With that roar, Sam, like an agile ape, slid rapidly down the cold, hard plastic pipe, his feet continuously, rhythmically kicking off window sills and air conditioning units he passed, skillfully slowing his descent and adjusting his balance.
System Notification: Zombie Kills x23. Reward: +115 Hope Points. Quest "Zombie Killer" Progress: 46/100.
[Oh? Indirect kills count towards my total too? Is something watching me?] Upon seeing the system notification, Sam sensed something, but there was no time to think about it now.
"Huff… huff… huff…" When his feet finally touched solid ground, Sam gasped heavily, feeling the searing pain in his palm. He shook his almost numb right hand, then untied the heavy warhammer from his waist. The zombies, startled by Sam landing on the ground, let out snarls and then charged towards him.
Before finding something "serious" to do, Sam decided, he would first take this hammer and thoroughly, satisfyingly… smash a few unlucky zombie heads.