The silence that fell over the hotel lobby was deeper than any sound, a deafening void filled only by Thiago's labored breathing and the distant growl of the city, which now sounded like a wounded monster, moaning its last breaths. The mountain of bodies before him, a grotesque pile of decaying flesh and shattered crystal, exuded a metallic stench of blood and the acrid, sweet smell of death, a nauseating mixture that permeated the air. The white marble floor, once spotless, was stained with dried blood and black brain matter, a mute testament to the carnage that had just occurred.
Lucas, Gabriel, Sofia, the parents, Hiroshi, and his family all descended the stairs, their weapons drawn, their eyes sweeping the lobby. What they saw froze them. The vast space, once a symbol of luxury and opulence, was now a slaughterhouse. Hundreds of zombie bodies piled high, some still writhing in their final spasms, their once-shining crystals now dull and shattered. And in the middle of it all, Thiago. Covered in blood—the black blood of the zombies, the bright red blood of the humans who dared attack him—the katana in his hands, dripping with black blood, his eyes fixed on the horde he had annihilated.
The shock was palpable. Lucas's parents, Gabriel and Sofia, who had seen the chaos outside but never brutality on such a scale, were pale, their eyes wide with horror. Lucas and Gabriel, though accustomed to violence, had never witnessed anything like this. Sofia, with her pragmatic demeanor, felt a shiver run down her spine, the image of Thiago, the predator, etched in her mind. Hiroshi, with his deep, wise eyes, looked at Thiago with silent pity. He knew what Thiago was doing, the burden he carried. The pain of taking lives, of being the executioner, of being the only one to see hell and return to rewrite it. He knew the loneliness that accompanied such power, the isolation that came with knowledge. He knew that Thiago was carrying all their pain, the darkness they could not see. That young man, covered in blood, was the embodiment of hope, but also of tragedy.
Thiago, oblivious to the looks of shock and pity, simply nodded to the group, his voice hoarse but firm. "It's done. The lobby is clear. Now, let's collect the crystals. And then, let's go to the bunker. There's no time to waste." He began packing his weapons, each movement precise, each piece of his arsenal returning to its place. The katana, "THE KATANA, THE EMPEROR'S KATANA," was carefully cleaned with a cloth he took from his vest pocket, the black blood dripping from the blade onto the fabric, and then stored in its sheath, strapped to his waist. The Wilson Combat SFX9 pistols and MP5 submachine guns were uncocked, the empty magazines removed, and stored in separate pockets, away from the full ones. He placed them in a special compartment in his backpack, away from the blood and dirt. The M4A1 rifle, which had been the instrument of his long-range carnage, was disassembled into its main parts – barrel, body, stock – and each part was superficially cleaned with a cloth before being stored in a padded compartment of the backpack.
"I'll take a shower first," Thiago said, his voice a little softer, but still carrying the unquestionable authority of a leader. The smell of blood and decay on his skin was almost unbearable, a vivid reminder of the battle he had just fought. He needed to rid himself of that stench, that sticky feeling of death.
He ascended the stairs, his footsteps echoing in the silence of the lobby, leaving the group behind, still in shock but beginning to move, to carry out his instructions. Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia, though visibly shaken, began to approach the bodies, their eyes fixed on the crystals, the new currency of a world in ruins. The parents, still hesitant, watched their children, the reality of the situation sinking in. Hiroshi, with his usual serenity, began to guide his family, instructing them to pick up the crystals carefully, to separate them by color and size, and not to touch the decaying flesh.
Thiago entered his presidential suite, the luxury of the surroundings a stark contrast to the brutality he had just left behind. He headed straight to the bathroom, a sanctuary of marble and glass, with a whirlpool tub and a multi-jet shower. He stripped off his clothes, one by one, letting them fall to the floor, a dirty, blood-soaked heap of brain matter. The smell was strong, nauseating, but he was used to it.
He turned on the shower, the hot water cascading over his skin, washing away the blood, the dirt, the smell of death. He scrubbed his skin vigorously, feeling the warm water wash away the layer of horror that coated him. With each drop that ran down his body, he felt a little of the tension dissipate, a little of the adrenaline drain away. He closed his eyes, allowing the water to wash away not only the physical grime but also the emotional toll of the battle.
As the hot water washed over him, Thiago closed his eyes and concentrated. The System's translucent interface formed in his mind's eye, displaying his attributes and progress to the next level. He had risen two levels in the lobby, from Level 3 to Level 5, a gigantic leap fueled by the carnage he had orchestrated. Twenty-four attribute points to distribute, eight for each level. He felt a surge of power course through his body, a familiar sense of strength and mental clarity. His muscles seemed denser, his reflexes quicker, his mind sharper. The mana, once empty, now pulsed with a subtle energy, a reservoir of power he could draw upon for the abilities the System offered. It was a reminder that he was no longer an ordinary human. He was something more.
He looked at the status, his mind calculating, optimizing, searching for the best way to use his new points.
Basic Information:
Name: Thiago.
Age: 21.
Location: New York, USA (Summer).
Recent Past: University student, studying IT.
Current Context: Reborn with memories of 20 years of apocalypse.
Level: 5.
Attributes (Total / Future Experience Bonus):
Strength: 10 / 3
Skill: 10 / 3
Constitution (Stamina): 10 / 3
Intelligence: 8 / 3
Wisdom: 10 / 3
Charisma (Leadership): 6 / 3
Personal Charisma: 5 / 3
Mana: 12 / 0
Attribute Points to Distribute: 0
Skills:
Information Technology (IT).
Notions of Urban Survival.
Weapons Expertise (Mastered).
Skills:
Sharpshooter (Acquired).
Weapon Master (Acquired).
Kills to next level: 0/1000000
He had distributed the additional 16 points (8 per level, 2 levels) with the precision of a surgeon, his mind focused on survival.
Strength:+2 points (total 10). More powerful strikes with the katana, greater carrying capacity.Skill:+1 point (total 10). Even more accurate aim, faster reflexes.Constitution (Resistance):+2 points (total 10). More resistance to injuries and diseases.Intelligence:+3 points (total 8). To plan more complex strategies, understand the evolution of the Plague.Wisdom (Perception and Intuition):+2 points (total 10). To detect hidden threats, read the environment.Charisma (Leadership):+0 points (total 6). I was already at a good level for leadership.Personal Charisma:+2 points (total 5). For social interactions with other survivors.Where:+4 points (total 12). Increasing his Mana pool was crucial for future magical abilities.
The feeling of power coursing through his body was even more intense this time. He felt every muscle contract, every nerve tingle with renewed energy. His mind was clearer, quicker, able to process information at breakneck speed. The mana in his body pulsed with incredible force, an underground river of power waiting to be unleashed. He was a survival machine, forged by experience and choice.
He turned off the shower, feeling the cold water run down his skin, a refreshing jolt that brought him back to reality. He dried himself with a soft, clean towel, the feel of the cool fabric against his blood-stained skin a small luxury in the midst of the apocalypse. He put on clean clothes—dark jeans, a black t-shirt, and a hoodie, all understated and practical. He felt renewed, invigorated, ready for whatever came next.
He looked at the System interface again, his eyes fixed on the crystal count.
Crystals Collected:
Level 0 White: 1500
Level 1 Pale Green: 750
Level 2 Moss Green: 500
Level 3 Yellow-Green: 250
Level 4 Burnt Yellow: 100
A fortune. A vast quantity of crystals, the new currency of a world in ruins. He had spent everything he had from levels 1 and 2 acquiring his skills and abilities, but now, with the carnage in the lobby, he had a new and impressive reserve. Crystals were the key to the future, the currency that would grant him access to more skills, more equipment, more power.
"Let's see what's good at the mall after we shower," Thiago thought to himself. The idea of a "mall" in the midst of the apocalypse was almost ironic, but in his mind, the System was his own marketplace, a place where he could turn these crystals into power. He knew he'd need more than just weapons and basic supplies. He'd need information, technology, skills that could give them an edge against the higher levels of zombies and the mutant beasts he knew were coming.
He left the bathroom, the smell of soap and cleanliness replacing the stench of blood and decay. The suite was silent, the family still in the lobby, gathering the crystals. Thiago felt a pang of urgency. He needed to move. Time was a relentless enemy, and every minute counted.
He grabbed his tactical backpack, now lighter, and left the suite, his steps silent and determined. The descent down the stairs was familiar, but the lobby, now cleared of bodies, felt different. The marble gleamed, the bloodstains had been cleaned, and the smell of disinfectant hung in the air, a strange contrast to what had happened here. The group was gathered, their faces weary but with new determination. The crystals, separated by color, gleamed in transparent bags, a macabre treasure.
"Did you get everything?" Thiago asked, his voice calm.
Lucas nodded, his eyes fixed on the bags of crystals. "Yes, Thiago. Many. More than we expected. The lobby was... full." He avoided the details, the memory of the carnage still fresh in his mind.
"Good," Thiago said, his voice firm. "Now, we can't waste time. There's still a lot to do in this hotel. We have floors to clean, and each of them can hold vital resources. And we need vehicles. The rental van won't get us very far in the chaos that's unfolding outside."
He looked at the group, his eyes sweeping over each face. "Upstairs, in the suites, we have the boxes of ammunition and food we brought. But this hotel is a giant. Think of the kitchens, the restaurants, the event halls. There must be more food, more water, maybe even meat in the freezers of the industrial kitchens. And the upper floors... who knows what we might find there? Every room is a potential treasure trove."
"Let's split up," Thiago continued, his voice taking on a commanding tone. "Lucas, Gabriel, Sofia, you come with me. We'll explore the lower floors of the hotel, but cautiously. We'll look for supplies, for anything that might be useful. And, most importantly, for vehicles. This hotel must have an underground garage, or perhaps some luxury cars abandoned in the valet area. We need something sturdy, capable of handling the uneven streets and with room for everyone and our supplies."
He looked at Hiroshi's parents and family. "You guys, please stay here in the lobby. Stay vigilant. Organize the crystals we've already collected and prepare your backpacks for the next phase. Harumi, Yumi, please start checking the lobby kitchens, if any, and the bars. Look for non-perishable food and bottled water. And if you find meat in the freezers, take it. Every morsel of food is a victory."
Thiago's father nodded with a serious expression. "Understood, son. We'll take care of this. And we'll be ready when you get back."
Thiago turned to Lucas, Gabriel, and Sofia. "Remember our rule: discretion. Noise attracts. Aim for the head. And don't hesitate. The outside world has no mercy." He adjusted the M4A1 rifle in his hands, the weight familiar, the metal cool against his palm. "Let's start underground. Garages, warehouses. That's where we'll have the best chance of finding vehicles and supplies in large quantities."
They descended the stairs to the basement, their footsteps echoing in the oppressive silence. The light dimmed with each flight, and the smell of mildew, dust, and damp replaced the disinfectant aroma of the lobby. The distant roar of the city seemed more muted here, but the tension mounted. Thiago switched on the M4A1's tactical flashlight, the beam cutting through the darkness, revealing a maze of concrete corridors, exposed pipes, and dancing shadows.
The hotel's basement was vast, a web of corridors leading to mechanical rooms, storage rooms, and finally the garage. The air was heavy, and the silence was broken only by the sound of their own footsteps and the steady drip of water somewhere in the distance. They moved cautiously, their weapons drawn, their eyes scanning every shadow, every corner. With each door they opened, the expectation of encountering a zombie, or worse, another hostile survivor, grew.
They encountered some Level 0 White and Level 1 Pale Green zombies, staggering through the hallways, drawn by the sound of their footsteps. Thiago silently took them down with the M4A1, a precise shot to the head, the opaque crystals shattering. Lucas and Gabriel, though still tense, were honing their skills, their shots more precise, their movements more coordinated. Sofia, with her agility, brought up the rear, her eyes alert for any unexpected movement.
Finally, they reached the underground garage. It was a cavernous, dark, and dank space, lined with abandoned cars covered in a thin layer of dust. The smell of stale gasoline and oil mingled with the stench of decay that wafted from outside, seeping through the access ramps. The dim light streaming through the overhead vents revealed the twisted silhouettes of a few burning vehicles, their smoldering remains in the far corner.
"Okay," Thiago said, his voice echoing in the vast space. "Let's go look. We need something big. Sturdy. That can handle what's out there. And that has room for everyone and our supplies."
They began searching the garage, moving among the abandoned cars. Most were damaged, with flat tires, broken windows, or destroyed engines. Luxury cars with shattered windows, crumpled sedans, SUVs turned on their sides. None of them seemed remotely functional, much less capable of navigating the chaotic streets or transporting the group and the supplies they needed. Frustration began to grow.
Thiago stopped, hands on his hips, staring at the desolate garage. A heavy sigh escaped his lips. "There's nothing good here," he said, his voice thick with dark disappointment. "These cars are useless. We won't be able to carry the pounds and pounds of meat we'll find, nor all the crates of ammunition and food we already have up there, much less the entire group comfortably and safely back to the bunker. We need something much bigger. And we won't find it in here."
He turned to the group, his eyes fixed, conveying a new urgency. "We need to get out there. We need to go out and look for real vehicles. Cars aren't enough. Not for the number of people we have, much less for the amount of supplies we'll be accumulating. We can't rely on small vehicles."
"We need two trucks," Thiago continued, his voice firm, outlining the new priority. "A refrigerated truck, for the meat and other perishables we'll find. And a regular truck, preferably a flatbed, that can handle everything we'll do next, for the ammunition crates, water, and all the other heavy supplies." He paused, the image of the ideal vehicles in his mind. "And we need two buses. Preferably two travel buses. The ones that make the least noise and are the most durable. They will have room for all of us and will give us the safety and comfort necessary for the journey to the bunker and to retrieve the other survivors from the weapons stores and the supplies they have. That's how we'll ensure everyone's survival and the transportation of everything we need."
He gestured to the parking garage exit ramp, which led to the street. "Let's take the rental van to the side street, where we left it. It'll be our reconnaissance vehicle for now. And then we'll head back to the lobby. We have more floors to clear. And more supplies to find. But our priority now is clear: after we clear the hotel, we'll head out and find a second bus and a second truck. That's how we'll ensure everyone's survival and the transportation of everything we need."
They drove the rental van out of the garage, the headlights cutting through the darkness, revealing the chaos outside. The city's roar was louder now, closer, but inside the van, they felt a little safer, a little more prepared. The race against time had reached its climax, and the next few hours would determine their fate. The hotel, once a refuge, was now a battlefield, and the family, once just a group of loved ones, was about to become a survival unit, forged in the fires of the apocalypse, with a new and monumental mission ahead: finding the vehicles that would take them to true safety and the reunion of all their allies.