Aiden sat cross-legged on the roof of his truck, the last rays of the setting sun casting a warm orange hue over the rusting buildings around him. The air was still for once—no moans in the wind, no distant gunshots, no shouts. Just the low hum of insects and the occasional creak of metal shifting under its own weight.
His fingers worked with practiced care, calloused and sure as he moved through the system's crafting menu. A faint holographic interface glowed softly in front of him—only visible to his eyes. It pulsed in subtle blue tones, almost blending into the dusk sky.
[Crafting Menu: Arrows]
[Select Materials]
Wood Shafts:
Metal Scrap (Arrowheads):
Walker Tendons (Improvised Binding):
Cloth Scraps (Feather Stabilizers):
He selected a batch of ten. A soft shimmer of light marked the beginning of the process as the system pulled the materials directly from his inventory, assembling them with a faint hum.
While the arrows were being constructed, Aiden took a moment to glance up at the sky. The sun dipped lower, bleeding color into the clouds, casting long shadows over the cracked asphalt and broken skyline. The world was quiet—but only in the way a predator was before the pounce. He didn't trust the silence, but he appreciated it for what it was.
As the system dinged again, a new row of handcrafted arrows materialized into his storage. He retrieved one, inspecting it manually—testing the balance, the flex of the shaft, the sharpness of the metal tip. The arrow felt good. Not professional quality by any means, but functional. Lethal.
He muttered to himself as he set it aside, "One day I'll find a proper fletcher's kit… but until then, this'll do."
Another arrow. Then another.
By now, the sun had nearly vanished, the warmth fading from the air. He pulled his scarf tighter around his neck, his silhouette barely more than a dark shape against the darkening sky. The rooftop of the truck—his makeshift perch—gave him a vantage point over the surrounding streets, the shelter ruins behind him, and the narrow path he'd cleared earlier.
He listened.
Still nothing.
Then, from his belt, he pulled a rag, wiping his hands clean of any blood, grease, or bone dust. Tools tucked away, arrows inspected, gear re-checked.
He exhaled slowly.
"Alright," he whispered to no one, "night's coming. Let's hope it stays quiet."
Then he slid down the back of the truck and disappeared inside, locking the reinforced doors behind him as the first distant moan of a lone walker echoed faintly from somewhere far down the road.
One quiet night, after finishing his crafting for the day and securing his gear, Aiden had paused—thoughtful, curious. The pulsing blue light of the system's interface had always been a subtle comfort to him, but a question gnawed at the back of his mind. If he could see it… could others? Could someone across a rooftop, spot the shimmer of the inventory flash? Could a group of survivors—or worse, bandits—use that against him?
He leaned back against the metal plating of his truck, letting his eyes rest for a moment on the translucent crafting menu still floating in the air before him. The glow reflected faintly in his eyes, and he whispered, "System... can anyone else see this? The light from my inventory... crafting... any of it?"
There was a moment of silence—like the system was considering the question, or perhaps just waiting for dramatic effect—before the familiar, calm tone answered.
[System Notice][No. All interface visuals, inventory manifestations, and crafting effects are visible to the user alone. External observers will not perceive any light, sound, or visual trace associated with system functions.You are, and remain, the sole receiver of all system-generated phenomena.]
Aiden let out a long breath of relief. That was a good answer—maybe the best possible answer. If someone had seen the light before, they'd never mentioned it… but now he had confirmation. His edge—his greatest advantage—was still hidden.
"Good," he murmured, closing out the interface and rubbing the sleep from his eyes. "One less thing to worry about…"
He climbed back into the armored truck's cabin and bolted the doors from the inside. The thick sheets of metal he'd welded into place hissed softly as they settled into place. Inside, the back was warm, dark, and lined with storage racks and bolted furniture—his own little fortress on wheels. It smelled faintly of oil, sweat, leather, and dust… but it was home.
Aiden pulled off his helmet, set aside his bow, and tucked himself into the bed roll that was now firmly secured to the rear of the truck. The soft rumble of the generator had long since faded—the machine was off, conserving power. The only sound was the wind outside, brushing against the steel of the truck's shell.
As he lay there in the dark, listening to the faint crack of the cooling engine and the occasional distant groan of a lone walker roaming the night, Aiden felt something close to peace. At least for now.
His fingers brushed over the handle of his knife one last time before he let his eyes close.
The next morning came quietly, the pale orange light of dawn spilling across the horizon. Aiden stirred from his sleep, still wrapped in the bedroll that lay securely fastened in the back of his mobile fortress. The night had been uneventful—thankfully—but even still, his hand had never strayed far from the knife resting beneath his pillow.
He sat up with a low grunt, muscles slightly sore from days of moving, looting, killing, and building. Routine kicked in quickly. He grabbed one of his ration packs from the storage rack above his bed and tore it open without ceremony, chewing on the tough protein bar and sipping from his metal canteen in silence. His mind was already ahead of him—thinking of the next target.
The last safe zone on his map.The CDC outpost.
He packed quickly, securing everything into the truck's bolted-down compartments. The night before, he'd already checked the route. It wasn't far—just a few miles southeast—but in a world crawling with walkers, even a short drive carried risk.
With his gear on and his helmet secured, Aiden climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. The modified truck roared to life, louder than he liked, but there was no choice. He navigated carefully, avoiding congested streets and collapsed overpasses, winding through the narrow back alleys and forgotten access roads of a dying city.
Within the hour, he spotted it in the distance: the CDC facility. What was once a fortress of hope, now stood broken and partially burned, the walls scorched from fire, windows shattered, and signs of chaos etched into every corner of its perimeter. The fences had been torn down in places, and the white and blue CDC logo was barely visible behind layers of soot and dried blood.
Knowing the sound of his truck would draw attention, Aiden veered off course before getting too close. He backed it into a narrow space between two collapsed buildings and camouflaged it once again with debris and broken boards. It wasn't perfect, but from a distance, it looked like just another wreck in the ruin.
Stepping out into the morning air, Aiden immediately noticed the groans. A half-dozen walkers had wandered close, drawn to the noise of the engine. Without hesitation, he drew his combat knife, preferring silence over flash.
One by one, they dropped.
Aiden moved like a shadow—controlled, deliberate. He lured them further from the truck with the tap of a crowbar against a metal fence, then circled around behind them. He struck each walker quickly and efficiently, burying the knife deep into their skulls, ending their moans with brutal finality.
He dragged the bodies out of sight, checked his gear once more, and began the approach on foot.
The CDC was ahead—and with it, the promise of high-level medical supplies, possible research data, and maybe even experimental equipment left behind in the chaos. But Aiden knew better than to hope. Hope was dangerous. No, he came for the salvage. For the gear. For the edge.
[x12 walkers eliminated]
[+24 EXP +12 Stealth bonus EXP]
Aiden crouched low atop the crumbling rooftop, his sharp gaze sweeping across the shattered remains of the CDC outpost below. This wasn't the same high-security compound Rick and his group would one day encounter—no, this was a smaller branch facility, one of the many emergency medical relay centers scattered around the country. Its purpose had been to provide immediate field response, to contain outbreaks, and offer fast coordination before larger resources arrived.
Now, it was just another grave.
The concrete perimeter wall was fractured in several places—some areas blasted apart, others crumbling from impact. Overturned barricades lay strewn like toy blocks, crushed under the force of panic or the desperate weight of the infected. Spent shell casings glittered like copper teeth in the early sunlight, scattered across blood-soaked ground. Burned patches and blackened scorch marks showed where Molotovs or possibly grenades had been used as a last resort.
Aiden counted 45 walkers shambling slowly between the broken outer gates and the outpost's main yard. Their pace was aimless but heavy—the sluggish, jerky movements of corpses that had been wandering without food for days. They bumped against each other and the environment, dragging limbs and snarling at the air. Some wore tattered hazmat suits; others had on partial military fatigues, badges, or patches indicating CDC affiliation. Scientists, soldiers, staff—all reduced to wandering shells.
But it wasn't the ones he could see that worried him.
His jaw tightened as he looked beyond them—at the darkened hallways and shattered glass doors of the outpost's main structure. The windows were smeared with dried blood, some cracked, others blown out entirely. The front entrance doors had been pried open, barely hanging on their hinges. Inside? Unknown territory.
It was quiet—too quiet. Which meant only one thing.
More were inside.
Aiden pulled back slightly from the ledge, crouching behind a cracked ventilation unit as he unfolded his hand-drawn map and added a few notes:
Outer courtyard: 45 visible walkers.
Inside structure: Unknown quantity—likely more.
Perimeter defenses: Broken. One potential exit is via a collapsed fence in the southeast corner.
Loot potential: Extremely high. Possible access to:
Military-grade supplies
Medical research
Experimental antiviral gear
Ammo
Electronic equipment
He tapped the pen against his teeth for a moment, thinking.
No way in from the front.Too many walkers.And too much noise would draw more from the surrounding city.
He'd have to do it the hard way—silent, methodical, and slow.
But if this place still had what he thought it might? It would all be worth it.
Aiden slid the map back into his pouch, checked his stamina on the system display—still solid after a light morning—and reached into his inventory. He pulled out one of the crafted suppressors and attached it to the handgun he kept holstered beneath his jacket. It wasn't perfect, but it would make just enough of a difference in a pinch.
He exhaled slowly.
One last glance down.
Then, like a shadow slipping from one world into another, Aiden began his descent. The outpost wouldn't loot itself.
From his perch atop the shattered rooftop overlooking the CDC relay outpost, Aiden began to move.
He slid down the rusted fire escape in practiced silence, each movement precise and measured. His breath was steady, eyes narrowed and scanning. The early morning light barely pierced the dense overcast above, casting a pale grey hue over the battlefield. Shadows moved beneath him—slow, awkward bodies swaying like dying metronomes. But he didn't move straight in. He had a plan, and as always, it started with sound.
Aiden reached into his pocket and retrieved a handful of small, metallic objects—old coins, bits of hardware, and a few washers he had saved for this very purpose. With one flick of the wrist, he tossed a few toward the far side of the yard. They pinged off the remains of an armored van, clinking and clattering down a drainpipe before vanishing into the weeds.
Immediately, there was a shift.
A chorus of low groans rose like a beast disturbed from slumber. Dozens of walkers turned at once, their heads jerking awkwardly toward the sound. Their movements quickened into a staggered, stumbling shuffle. Aiden's heart didn't race—he was used to this now. His hand went to the composite bow strapped to his back. In a smooth motion, he unslung it and nocked one of his handcrafted arrows.
Thwip!
The arrow soared across the air with a muted whisper. It embedded directly into the eye socket of a walker in the rear of the group. It collapsed without a sound.
[Ding!] +2 EXP[Bonus: +1 EXP for Stealth Kill]
Aiden didn't wait. He moved to the side, ducking between rusted HVAC units and twisted metal debris. Another coin clattered in the distance, drawing more attention away from his flank. He raised the bow again, exhaled, and loosed another shot.
Thwip!
A second walker fell—arrow buried into the bridge of its nose.
[Ding!] +2 EXP[Bonus: +1 EXP for Stealth Kill]
By now, a few of the walkers at the edges were beginning to peel off, confused by the shifting noise patterns. Aiden moved like smoke between the carcasses of old vehicles and collapsed fencing. He'd learned to use the terrain—broken glass muted under padded boots, dips in the ground providing makeshift sniper nests. Every shot was a lesson in timing, distance, patience.
His bowstring groaned as he drew it back again. He lined up another target—this one wore what was left of a CDC security uniform. The walker jerked sideways at the last moment, and Aiden's arrow pierced its temple from an angle.
It crumpled, body twitching.
[Ding!] +2 EXP[Bonus: +1 EXP for Stealth Kill]
Then came a shift in pressure—a wrong sound, maybe. The scrape of Aiden's boot against a piece of loose metal echoed sharper than he meant. One walker near the left flank turned, yellowed eyes locking with his from across the yard.
It snarled.
Shit.
Aiden ducked behind a van, yanking another arrow and loosing it quickly—this one slammed directly through the creature's upper jaw and into the brain stem. It toppled, dragging a smear of blood across the cracked asphalt.
[Ding!] +2 EXP
But the noise had done enough.
The horde was agitated now, clustering again—but not fully alert to him. He had to act fast before full awareness broke through. Aiden reached into his pouch and pulled out a makeshift wind-up toy—an old, broken action figure that made a tinny jingle when wound.
He wound it fast, tossed it through a shattered second-floor window.
The noise echoed inside like a fire alarm in a tomb.
Dozens of walkers turned instantly, lurching toward the structure. Perfect.
Thwip! Thwip! Thwip!
Aiden fired three more arrows, each one carefully aimed as the undead moved away from him. All three found their mark.
Three walkers dropped, twitching.
[Ding!] +2 EXP[Bonus: +1 EXP for Stealth Kill]
[Ding!] +2 EXP[Bonus: +1 EXP for Stealth Kill]
[Ding!] +2 EXP[Bonus: +1 EXP for Stealth Kill]
Sweat trickled down his brow. His stamina was holding, but his arrow supply was dwindling. He had maybe ten left. He reached into his pouch, retrieved a bloodstained one from earlier—wiped and repurposed—and nocked it silently.
Thwip!
Another walker fell.
He was learning. Slowly, but surely, his aim was improving. He had started out missing most of his long shots, but now, from thirty feet, he could hit center mass almost every time. Brain shots still took time, but this practice—it was paying off.
He repositioned again, moving along the outpost's outer wall, using old vehicles and debris as cover. More arrows flew. More corpses hit the ground. Each time:
[Ding!] +2 EXP[Bonus: +1 EXP for Stealth Kill]
He moved for nearly an hour this way. Killing, looting, moving. His pace was measured, calculated. And above all, quiet.
By the end of the run, 33 out of the 45 walkers in the yard had fallen—silent kills, each one marked with experience gained and growing proficiency.
And now, only twelve remained, grouped tightly near the main entrance. He could risk going loud. Or find another tactic.
But for now, he ducked behind the wreckage of an overturned CDC supply truck, pulling a bottle of water from his inventory. He took a long drink, wiped the sweat from his face, and looked down at his system panel.
[Total Kills: 33]
[EXP Earned: 99]
Aiden's fingers curled around his last remaining arrow, eyes locked on the final cluster of twelve walkers. These were tighter together, lingering in the shadow of the CDC outpost's entrance—once a place of hope, now just another killing field.
He crouched low behind the supply truck, adjusted the modular helmet on his head, and whispered to himself, "Let's finish this."
Phase One: Distraction.
He retrieved a piece of rebar and hurled it hard toward the far left side of the yard. It clanged loudly against the rusted frame of a downed lamppost. Just as he expected, several of the walkers jerked toward the noise, shuffling in that direction with low groans.
That was enough.
He emerged from the shadows, quickly dispatching the distracted stragglers.
Thwip!Arrow through the left temple.
Thwip!Another pierced the nasal bridge, dropping the creature in a heap.
Thwip! Thwip!Two more went down, twitching at the base of the steps.
The last four turned and snarled, charging clumsily in his direction.
No time for more arrows.
Aiden let the bow fall against his chest, slung by its strap, and yanked out his combat knife. He met the first walker in stride—dodging to the side and plunging the blade into its skull. The next came fast; he sidestepped, drove the knife up through the jaw.
The final two collided with him—one got a grip on his shoulder. Aiden grunted, slammed his head into the walker's face shielded by his ballistic helmet, knocking it back. He pivoted, planted his boot in the other one's chest, then finished them both with sharp, precise thrusts to the brain.
Breathing heavily, he wiped the blade clean on a ripped uniform.
[Ding!] +2 EXP
[Ding!] +2 EXP
[Ding!] +2 EXP
[Ding!] +2 EXP
[Ding!] +2 EXP
[Ding!] +2 EXP
[Bonus: +1 EXP for Stealth/Precision kills x3]
[Total Kill Count: 45]
[Total EXP Earned: 135]
Aiden let out a slow breath, rolled his shoulders, and looked around at the carnage.
The yard was finally silent.
He retrieved as many arrows as he could—most were intact, though a few were cracked or blood-gunked beyond reuse. Still, it was worth it.
Then came the methodical work. Looting.
Phase Two: Extraction and Scavenging
He started with the outer yard—checking corpses, overturned equipment, abandoned bags. From a few of the military walkers, he found:
A sidearm with 3 full magazines
A rusted but intact M4 rifle (marked: semi-auto mode only)
2 flashbang grenades
A tactical vest (slightly torn, but repairable)
A partially full IFAK (Individual First Aid Kit)
Identification tags, some stained beyond recognition
Civilians yielded lighter spoils:
Packaged snack bars, a couple cans of food
Water bottles (some clean, some questionable)
A few phones—dead, but good for parts
Loose coins and jewelry (potentially meltable later)
He then moved toward the parked convoy trucks. Some were burnt out, but others, though dented and dried of blood, were intact. Aiden popped a few hoods, checked fuel lines and tanks, then pulled out the empty jerrycans he had stored in the back of his upgraded truck.
Using a length of tubing and a steady hand, he began siphoning fuel, transferring gallon after gallon into his cans. He worked in silence, glancing over his shoulder between each transfer. By the time the sun was starting to set again, he had filled:
5 full jerrycans (5 gallons each)
2 partial (2–3 gallons each)
He labeled and stored them in his inventory, sealing each tightly to avoid fumes or leakage.
Aiden wiped sweat and grime from his brow, leaning on the side of the nearest fuel truck.
"This'll last me weeks... if I don't burn it all running from psychos," he muttered.
With the yard looted and the area cleared, he returned to the rooftop one final time before dusk. He took out his map, made a mark: