The man inched forward on the creaking old wooden floorboards, going up on his toes with each step, praying silently to every deity he could think of: Jade Emperor, Guanyin, Lord Guan… please let this damn floor stay quiet! His faded work jacket, stained with mud and God-knows-what-else, stretched over solid muscle. Sweat slicked his grip on the crowbar. Crouched low, every muscle tensed like a feral cat about to pounce, he didn't dare breathe too loud.
He felt his way down the dim hallway, eyes sweeping side-to-side like searchlights, missing nothing. Just as he reached the living room entrance, he froze. The hair on his nape stood up. A chill shot from his soles to the crown of his head.
This place saw a fight… Look at that snapped chair leg, claw marks on the wall… coffee table flipped over… Damn it. Someone got here first? His heart hammered against his ribs.
He was here now. Couldn't leave empty-handed. Past the living room was the kitchen. The canned goods—maybe even a medkit, clean water—had to be there. In this world, finding supplies was harder than winning the lottery. Miss this chance, and there might not be another.
Fortune favors the bold. If it's a fight, then it's a fight! Bring it on! Gritting his teeth, he tightened his hold on the crowbar.
As he rounded the corner, he jolted to a stop as if struck by lightning. His eyes went wide as saucers, jaw hanging slack enough to catch flies. The kitchen walls were sprayed with blood. Dark, viscous droplets still plip-plopped from the edge of the countertop. The air reeked of iron and rotting meat, churning his stomach.
Plip…
Plop…
"Holy hell… That's a lot of blood…" He fought back the urge to vomit, cold sweat tracing lines down his temples.
Before he could recover, a head slowly rose from behind the counter. Now he saw it clearly—that face was barely human anymore. A few rotten teeth jutted from receding gums. One eyeball dangled near the cheekbone. Putrid flesh revealed glimpses of white bone. The worst was half the face skin gone, exposing the skull beneath, maggots squirming in the empty socket.
"C'mon, you bastard! Let's see what you've got!" he growled under his breath, a vein throbbing on his forehead.
He yanked his belt buckle. With a soft click, a small throwing knife hidden in a compartment whooshed out, heading straight for the space between the thing's eyes. A wet thud echoed in the kitchen. The blade sank perfectly into the cranial suture, hilt-deep, only the grip quivering.
The creature toppled backward, crashing onto the tiled floor. It twitched twice and went still. Dark red blood welled from the wound, spreading slowly.
"Whew, that was too damn close. If that thing had howled and called its buddies, I'd be done for." He wiped the cold sweat from his brow, letting out a long breath, feeling his back soaked through.
"Zhang Qi, you little shit! Still at it?! You've been gaming all afternoon! Not even eating?!" A voice like thunderclap exploded beside his ear, violently yanking him from the game world back to reality, making him jump.
In the college dorm, Zhang Qi, with his dyed red hair, was sprawled in his gaming chair, wreaking havoc on the screen. His keyboard clattered, his mouse clicking furiously. This guy was the department's notorious gaming addict. His list of skipped classes could fill three A4 pages; the academic system's absence alerts for him were practically overflowing. He'd been 'invited for tea' by the counselor more times than he could count, his stack of written apologies thick enough to bind into a booklet.
But Zhang Qi's build had nothing to do with the 'shut-in' stereotype. He lazily quit the game and stood up. At six-foot-two with a solid, muscular frame, even his loose sweats couldn't hide the definition. If not for his bedhead buzzcut, anyone on campus would peg him as the star of the sports college. In fact, his 100-meter dash time could leave actual athletes in the dust.
Because of this build, the counselor often clapped him on the shoulder, urging him to join the basketball team. He'd always laugh it off: "Coach, I get dizzy around round things. Besides, gaming can bring glory for the country too! Esports is a sport!"
"Said I'd hang after this match," Zhang Qi muttered, eyes still glued to the screen, grabbing the can of ice-cold Coke on the desk for a long gulp. "Let me clear this wave of zombies… almost done!"
His obsession with zombie games was pure family influence—practically forced onto the couch to watch Resident Evil since he could walk. Maybe gore fests were a bit much for an elementary schooler, but his old man's twisted taste got passed down hard. The two of them often argued heatedly over which zombie movie was the best, earning plenty of scolding from Mom.
Thinking of this, his mind wandered again: If a real zombie outbreak happened, how long could he last? Could he fight like in the games? Would he be the first one bitten?
It was for this very teenage fantasy that he'd started learning mixed martial arts in high school, and it eventually stuck. When all those survival games hit Steam, he finally found the cheapest way to live the experience. He even specifically stockpiled three big boxes of instant noodles in the dorm for a 'rainy day,' calling it his 'strategic reserve.'
"Watching you game reminded me of something," He Yu said from where he was squatting on his chair, scrolling on his phone. He sniffled, pushing his round glasses back up his nose. His nose was perpetually red like Santa's, and with those glasses, he got bullied relentlessly as a freshman. That stopped after Zhang Qi unofficially took him under his wing. Now everyone respectfully called him 'Brother Yu.'
Why Zhang Qi stepped in back then remained a mystery—but he knew He Yu was sharp. If the world ended, this guy could probably rig up a generator from scratch, maybe even turn a microwave into a signal transmitter. A rare tech wizard, more useful than any PhD.
"I was on the dark web. Saw attack videos from a bunch of places," He Yu swallowed, shoving his phone screen toward the other two, voice trembling. "The States, Japan, Europe… The victims… all looked like they were bitten to death… By…"
"By zombies!" Zhang Qi shot up from his chair, eyes gleaming like a starving wolf spotting meat. "I knew it! It's exactly like the start of Resident Evil! I knew this day would come eventually!"
"Two idiots." Zhang Dalong, leaning against his bunk, thunked his dumbbell on the floor, making it vibrate. If Zhang Qi was a leopard, Zhang Dalong was a black bear—pushing six-foot-six, his tight t-shirt straining at the seams, radiating gym-rat hormones. Standing there, he was like an iron tower. Even the dorm supervisor gave him a wide berth.
This tough guy had one sore spot… his head was smoother than his face, usable as a mirror after lights-out. They never let him live it down, joking you didn't need a light for the bathroom at night.
"If something like that was really happening, WeChat Moments would be blowing up, the class group chat would be insane," Zhang Dalong said, cracking his knuckles, face full of disdain. "Believing that dark web crap? It's nothing but scammers and edgelords spreading panic, wishing for chaos."
"But the video IPs are from different time zones! And they're all first-person footage!" He Yu shoved the phone right under Dalong's nose, stamping his foot in frustration. "The dark web is way more real than Weibo hot searches! You think anyone can get on a hot search? It's all controlled by capital! The dark web is grassroots intel! You can't even trust the news these days!"
"Damn it!" Zhang Dalong punched the iron bed frame. The whole bed shook violently, a pillow from the upper bunk plopping down. "You're just like those flat-Earth morons! The delivery station downstairs is still running their 12.12 promo, the cafeteria ladies haven't even started skimping on portions—if there were zombies, they'd eat your scrawny ass first! Don't expect me to save you then!"
Zhang Qi quickly stepped between them, cursing inwardly. He reached out to intervene, muscle memory already bracing for a block. He knew this scene too well—last time he tried to break up a fight, he almost got clocked by Dalong. His ribs were bruised for a week, hurting so bad he was afraid a sneeze would crack them.
"Everyone chill, okay? Dalong's got a point. Seeing is believing," Zhang Qi forced a placating grin, patting both their shoulders. "But He Yu means well. If shit really goes down, our dorm will need you to fix the WiFi. No net, no way to look up survival guides, then we're screwed. Being prepared never hurt."
Clearly, Zhang Dalong thought both his roommates were hopeless. He snorted coldly, his rolled-up sleeves revealing bulging biceps, veins standing out like earthworms. He was still fuming, chest heaving.
Suddenly, the class bell clanged noisily through the hallway, followed by the chaotic footsteps of students.
"Marxist Principles! Run! He takes attendance now!" He Yu grabbed his backpack and bolted, in his panic putting his slippers on the wrong feet, nearly tripping over his own shoelaces, glasses sliding to the tip of his nose.
Zhang Dalong hoisted his gym bag too. Glancing back, he saw Zhang Qi slumped back in his chair, clicking his mouse furiously, showing no intention of moving, anchored there like a statue.
"You're not going? Professor Ma said last time he'd fail you if you skipped again," Zhang Dalong reminded him, frowning, a note of helplessness in his tone. "How many classes have you missed this semester? You'll really get expelled at this rate!"
"Fail me then," Zhang Qi said, expertly logging into the game platform, the screen's blue glow lighting his face. "Desperate Survival 2 unlocks today. I've waited six months. The patch is probably done downloading by now. Classes can be retaken. Game launch day is just today! Miss it and wait till next year!"
Zhang Dalong rolled his eyes and slammed the door shut, dust shaking loose from the frame. His deep voice came from outside: "Want me to bring you food?"
"The usual! Braised chicken rice, extra tofu skin! Don't forget the chili! And an iced tea!" Zhang Qi yelled back without turning, cranking up the game volume, completely immersed, not even noticing when his roommates left.
In the lull after the footsteps faded, the door creaked open a crack again. Zhang Dalong poked his bald head in, the setting sun glinting off it, his expression uncharacteristically serious:
"For real though, if zombies do happen…" He managed a rare smile, crow's feet crinkling at his eyes. "You'd definitely survive the longest. With your skills in-game, you'd probably do okay in real life too. You'd have to look out for your bro then."
The screen's blue light played on Zhang Qi's face. He gripped the game controller, fingers hovering over the buttons, and shook his head with a wry smile:
"Hard to say… Reality doesn't have respawn tokens. If something really happens, it'll be the three of us watching each other's backs. You'd clear the path, He Yu handles tech, and me… I'll be your strategist. The three of us together? We'd definitely carve a path through the apocalypse."