Daylight broke.
When the first cool rays of morning sun struggled through the smoke-and-blood-stained windows, barely reaching the floor, the good neighbors, accustomed to early morning exercises and friendly greetings, also emerged from their respective "residences," enthusiastically greeting each other in their own unique way.
"Hraaagh… Hraaa… Sssshhhaaa…"
A chorus of meaningless snarls, rising and falling, replaced the usual morning pleasantries.
These former residents, now only able to stiffly sway their decaying bodies, "stared" at each other with vacant eyes.
Perhaps, in this way, they were excitedly exchanging stories of how many fresh, still-screaming pieces of flesh they had each tasted yesterday.
And Sam, too, finally sat up slowly from amidst a pile of haphazardly strewn, reeking empty liquor bottles.
A hangover? Non-existent.
He stretched luxuriously, his joints cracking like a string of firecrackers.
He felt an unprecedented clarity and energy—it was fucking awesome.
This was already his third day in this damn zombie world.
Although he had boarded up the apartment doors and windows tightly last night with wood and tools taken from a hardware store—mainly to prevent any creepy crawlies like that "Spider" from before sneaking in while he slept.
So, if he wanted to go out and enjoy the rare "morning sun" in this apocalypse, he still had to put in some effort to dismantle these barricades first.
As soon as Sam moved, he smelled a strong, peculiar odor emanating from himself, a mixture of fermented malt and some indescribable sour stench… like a drunkard who had passed out by the sink of a public toilet full of vomit after a beer festival.
Okay, he had to admit, he did extravagantly take a beer shower yesterday—for no other reason than after finishing the hard liquor, he found quite a bit of beer he'd brought back from the liquor store (Sam had pushed a supermarket cart, smashing zombie heads while "shopping" quickly), and since there was no fridge to keep it, it was a waste not to use it.
Of course, he had stripped naked before pouring it all over himself.
Even after "cleaning" himself with beer, he had a sudden whim and conducted a bold scientific experiment—pouring some vodka on his "important partner."
He couldn't quite remember his exact thoughts at the time; it seemed he wanted to test if his "comprehensively enhanced" body also included resistance and recovery capabilities for that part.
Fortunately, the experiment showed that the enhancement was indeed all-encompassing—now, his "important partner," apart from being slightly red from the alcohol irritation, was perfectly fine, and even… felt more vigorous than before?
At this moment, looking at the mountain of empty bottles before him—an amount of alcohol that would have sent his previous "weakling" body straight to the emergency room for a stomach pump—Sam couldn't help but marvel again at the magic of "Comprehensive Enhancement."
Right now, apart from his brain feeling slightly sluggish from just waking up, his physical functions were incredibly good.
"Breakfast time…" Sam's gaze fell on his "rations" scavenged last night, lying on the floor nearby—a few cartons of room-temperature milk that hadn't soured yet, a few packs of hard bread, and a couple of high-calorie chocolate bars.
"…This is it?" He pursed his lips, suddenly feeling like he could have slept in a bit longer; this kind of breakfast really wasn't worth getting up so "early" for.
But what else could he do?
Something was better than nothing.
Sam emotionlessly tore open the packages and haphazardly stuffed these unappetizing, lukewarm foods into his mouth, quickly finishing them.
Then, he picked up the heavy warhammer, pried open the boards nailed to the door with a few swift movements, yawned widely, got dressed, and sauntered outside, ready to start a new day of "exploration."
The past two days had been rather uneventful.
The day before yesterday, after leaping from the top of that apartment building, Sam had indeed experienced the thrill of "whack-a-mole" with his warhammer, smashing a dozen zombie heads to pulp.
But soon, more "moles" swarmed in from all directions.
He found it troublesome and couldn't be bothered to fight them head-on, so he just took off.
Afterward, he "visited" a relatively intact supermarket, restocked on some food, and on the way, dropped by a dusty bookstore, flipping through a few of what were supposedly the most popular superhero comics from around the year 2000—only to find the art style outdated and the plots so boring they made him yawn.
As for yesterday, he had initially planned to seriously "grind" some zombies for points.
After strolling down the street with his warhammer and smashing another twenty-odd shuffling "mobile experience packs," he changed his mind again.
This kind of purely physical labor was too inefficient, and too damn messy.
He needed explosives, heavy machine guns, flamethrowers! Not to manually bash zombie heads one by one like a caveman with an iron club.
So, yesterday also became what Sam called a "super boring day."
He spent most of the day wandering the nearby blocks, trying to find a gun store to arm himself, but couldn't even find a shop selling airsoft guns.
On the way, however, he happened to encounter a young couple trapped in an apartment building, calling for help from their window.
Before the couple's astonished eyes, their jaws practically hitting the floor, Sam easily climbed up to their third-floor balcony—his enhanced body made such feats ridiculously easy.
Before the couple could even open their mouths to beg him to take them to safety (which would most likely trigger some troublesome escort mission), Sam preemptively spoke: "Don't expect me to get you out of here; you've seen what it's like outside. Just stay put, lock your doors and windows, conserve food and water, and wait for the military. That's your smartest option."
With one sentence, he shut down all their possible requests.
However, the young couple, who didn't seem very good at managing their supplies and had little food left in their apartment, ended up pitifully begging Sam (this "police officer" who had shown up on their balcony) to bring them some food from the convenience store downstairs.
For the sake of 70 Hope Points (from a triggered side quest: "Deliver Supplies to the Young Couple"), Sam made the trip, conveniently dispatching 3 more zombies along the way.
Other than that, nothing else worth mentioning happened yesterday.
At night, he found an unoccupied room in an apartment building in an excellent location (most importantly, there was a liquor store that looked well-stocked just around the corner downstairs), boarded up the door, and slept soundly.
And today, full of energy again… another day of searching for a gun store.
[Savior System.] Sam recited mentally.
[Savior System
Current Missions:
Apocalypse Survival: Survive for 30 days in the "Zombie Crisis". Current Progress Countdown: 27 days 23 hours. Mission Completion Reward: +300 Hope Points.
Zombie Killer: Accumulate one hundred zombie kills. Current Progress: 88/100. 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: 27 hours 58 minutes 12 seconds]
Current Hope Points: 510 points
Current Enhancement: Comprehensive Enhancement (Level 1)
Current Equipment Exchange List: Temporary Exchange List (Zombie Crisis)]
"Alright, still the same old plan today—find a gun store!" Sam stretched, the alcohol from last night seemingly not yet fully metabolized, though his enhanced body felt little discomfort. "I'm done playing some The Witcher; what I want is Call of Duty, Left 4 Dead! I want a gun that goes rat-tat-tat and blows those rotten bastards to smithereens!"
Having finished his monologue, he wasted no more time, pushed open the apartment door temporarily barricaded with furniture, and once again stepped out onto the zombie-infested street.
Today, he planned to head in a different direction, towards the residential areas, to try his luck and see if he could find any "surprises."
He lightly vaulted onto a second-floor balcony—this height was like walking on flat ground for him now—and habitually scanned his surroundings first.
He needed to confirm the zombie density below: if there weren't many, he'd just sprint across the ground; if there were too many, he'd have to opt for the more troublesome but relatively safer rooftop parkour route.
And with that one glance, Sam's attention was caught by a slightly unusual scene on the street ahead.
About one or two hundred meters away, a lone police car was parked by the roadside, its doors ajar.
Further beyond, other vehicles were scattered about like toy blocks carelessly tossed aside by a child, haphazardly blocking the road, many overturned and smoking.
And next to that police car… Sam squinted.
His enhanced vision allowed him to clearly see a figure in a police uniform lying motionless on the ground.
[Hmm? Just when I needed some pistol ammo.] Sam subconsciously touched the Glock at his waist; after the past few days' consumption, it held pitifully less than eight rounds.
That downed officer would most likely have spare magazines.
He could even vaguely see what looked like another pistol lying on the ground not far from the officer's body.
This was practically a free resupply.
However, the trouble was, quite a few zombies were gathered around the police car, at least a dozen at a rough glance.
They were wandering aimlessly near the car, making it difficult to quietly approach and scavenge the "inheritance."
[Wait… is there someone in that building?] Just as Sam was calculating how to clear out those zombies, he keenly noticed a vague figure flash past a second-floor window of the apartment building next to the police car, as if peeking outside.
In this apocalyptic scene, there was no shortage of survivors hiding behind curtains, desperately watching the outside world, muttering prayers for a miracle.
But Sam quickly identified the figure behind the window—tall, strong, wearing a police uniform, a white male officer.
He was carefully observing the street from behind a gap in the curtains.
[A live cop? Perfect! I'll ask him if there's a gun store nearby, save me from running around like a headless chicken. Of course… hope to hell it doesn't trigger some damn escort mission…] Sam made up his mind.
He first stood up openly on the balcony, waving vigorously towards the window, trying to get the other officer's attention.
After a little while, the officer behind the window finally seemed to notice him.
When Sam saw the officer's gaze turn towards him, he grinned, and then… without any hesitation, leaped directly off the edge of the second-floor balcony.
After all, his purpose in getting the officer's attention was simply to have someone open the likely locked, main door downstairs for him in a bit.