Lucas rummaged through the freezer and found a box of ice cream—twenty creamy bars. Though not a proper meal, the high sugar content would serve as emergency energy. He tossed them into his storage space without hesitation.
From the kitchen, he only took a bottle of unopened soy sauce and every sharp object he could find—cleavers, fruit knives, anything that could double as a weapon. Before leaving, he checked the bedroom wardrobe.
LOOT ALERT:
[Acquired: Sterile Fabric x120!]
Leaving Unit 102's door wide open, Lucas moved up the stairwell, hatchet in hand. Most doors along the way were locked, but the occasional scrape of nails against metal and guttural groans confirmed the undead were still lurking. Two stragglers in the stairwell fell quickly, adding to his haul:
[Energy Core x2][Bio-Comp x5][Wasteland Scrip: 173]
At the fifth floor, he paused. The threats had been cleared—now, it was time to secure his new safehouse.
Instead of unlocking the door immediately, Lucas slammed his fist against the reinforced steel.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The echoes reverberated through the hall, but no response came from Unit 502—only the distant moans of infected next door. Safe.
Inside, the apartment was eerily quiet, the thick walls muting the outside world entirely. Lucas took a full minute to listen, then deliberately knocked over a chair. Still nothing.
Exhaustion hit him—not physical, but the mental toll of constant vigilance. He collapsed onto the couch, letting the tension bleed away.
Ten minutes later, he took stock of his surroundings.
The place had clearly belonged to a family—a wedding photo hung in the master bedroom, a crib sat empty in the nursery. No bloodstains, no signs of struggle. Just the faint scent of lavender air freshener.
"This'll do."
He organized his inventory carefully:
Storage Ring (12/12 Slots Full):
Canned Luncheon MeatPurified Water x2Survival Liquor x2Bio-Comp x50Sterile Fabric x125Riot ShieldBallistic HelmetTactical HatchetKitchen Knives x2Utility Blade
"Damn. Already out of space."
The sheer variety of lootable items in this world was overwhelming. If only he could expand his storage...
With a sigh, he opened the Global Chat Channel.
Chat Log - Region 7B
[User: ThirstyRunner]:
"Anyone got water? Ran a kilometer evading zombies—I'm parched!"
[User: TrappedNurse]:
"Stuck at Saint Mercy Hospital, 5th-floor doctor's office! Rescue me, and I'll... repay you however you want." (Attached: suggestive photo)
[User: ZombieSlayer99]:
"Trading [Energy Core x1] for food or water. No freeloaders."
[User: LuckyNoob]:
"Holy shit, you actually killed one? I barely escaped with my life!"
[User: UnluckyLooter]:
"Killed a walker and got [Bio-Comp x5]. Useless garbage."
[User: ScaredyRat]:
"No weapons, no hope. Just running. This sucks."
[User: EthanCole]:
"Listen up! We need to band together—form a survivor enclave! Strength in numbers! DM me your locations. We're probably all within a few kilometers of each other."
Lucas scoffed. Ethan Cole's idealism was naive.
"The strong won't carry the weak. And broadcasting your location? That's just asking for trouble."
Then, the chat exploded.
[System Alert: User VictorCross has listed [Purified Water - 500ml] x20!]
[System Alert: User VictorCross has listed [Preserved Sausage] x20!]
The channel flooded with notifications. Someone had just dumped a small fortune into the trading system—someone who clearly knew how to play this new world's economy.
Lucas narrowed his eyes at the unfamiliar username. "Victor Cross... either a hoarder or a predator."