Survival Shop: Zombie Edition

[Congratulations on finishing the tutorial]

[Here is a 100 LP to help you get started]

[New missions unlocked]

-[Far from home]- Find your way home to your parents. 

-[Blood of the covenant]- Find your friend Emit

-[Water of the womb]- Find either one or both of your brothers.

-[Lost spark]- Find your ex-lover Mina.

-[Stronghold]- Secure your apartment by killing all the infected.

'"According to the system, the pandemic had been going on for a week and had caused the world to rapidly devolve into violence and chaos, I haven't been able to contact anyone given the government's decision to cut communications" Hector thought to himself "If only there was a way I could check on them"

[You can check on your relationships status in the contact's tab]

[Relationships Tab]

-Parents:

[Edward's status: Unknown], [Kathrine's status: Uknown].

-Siblings:

[Paul's status: Unknown], [David's status: Unknown].

-Friends:

[Emit's status: Unknown]

-Others:

[Mina's Status: Unknown]

[The user is always welcome to upgrade the shop's services by leveling up and completing missions or if he has the LP, he can purchase something to help him get extra information]

[Shop prices are adjusted to account for the current world state, the more valuable a resource the more expensive it will be]

Hector leaned back against the chipped wall of his apartment, the flickering light from the system window casting shifting shadows across his face. The missions floated before him, tempting and taunting all at once. His heart ached at the familiar names—family, friends, and the one person he never expected to see on a list like this: Mina.

He clenched his fists. "This is ridiculous," he muttered, pacing the small living room. "How am I supposed to find anyone when I don't even know what's out there?"

The streets below had been silent for days, but that silence had weight. He'd already encountered one of those… things. The woman who attacked him still haunted his thoughts, her lifeless eyes and grotesque injuries seared into his memory.

He turned his gaze back to the missions:

[Far from home]

Find your way home to your parents.

Home. The word stirred a deep longing within him. But home was miles away, far beyond the city limits. Even if he managed to make it through Haven, there was no guarantee his parents were still there...or still alive.

[Blood of the covenant]

Find your friend Emit.

Emit had been his lifeline during his fever, but Hector's memories of that week were foggy at best. He remembered Emit mentioning a date with Sarah, but no details. For all Hector knew, Emit could be anywhere... or worse.

[Lost spark]

Find your ex-lover Mina.

Hector snorted bitterly. Mina. He hadn't even processed their breakup before the world fell apart. The idea of risking his life to find her, to reopen old wounds, felt absurd. "She made her choice," he muttered, shoving that mission to the back of his mind.

[Water of the womb]

Find either one or both of your brothers.

Paul was working in a different city, and David was on a hunting trip in the mountains. Both were miles away, and both destinations were just as treacherous as his parents' hometown.

[Stronghold]

Secure your apartment by killing all the infected.

This one felt different. Tangible. Achievable. Hector glanced toward the door, remembering the echoing moans he'd heard from the lower floors. It was a dangerous task, but at least it didn't involve wandering blindly into a city filled with unknown horrors.

He sank back onto the couch, the weight of the situation pressing down on him. "I can't help anyone if I don't survive first," he said aloud, his voice steadying as he made his decision.

Hector dismissed the other missions, narrowing his focus to one.

[Stronghold]

If I'm going to make it, I need to secure this place.

The system seemed to respond to his resolve, the mission window blinking once before fading from view. Hector stood, gripping the pipe wrench he'd salvaged from the hall earlier.

"I need to start somewhere," he muttered. "Might as well start here."

"Open the Stronghold Mission" Hector ordered the system.

[Stronghold]

-Secure your apartment building by killing all the infected.

-For every floor cleared you will receive part of the reward when clearing all floors you will receive an extra package. Floors Cleared (0/5)

[Rewards]: 1500 LP 2300XP

-Basic Survival kit . (1/5) (Valued at: 1200 LP)

-Basic Weapons Package. (2/5) (Valued at:1400 LP)

-Basic Armor Package. (3/5) (Valued at:1400 LP)

-Basic Info Package. (4/5) (Valued at:1500 LP)

-Basic Fortification Package. (5/5) (Valued at:3000 LP)

Extra rewards:

-Unlock Land Ownership Menu.(will be unlocked whenever the user secures a sizable enough land to call his own).

Tip: Missions are offered by the system based on the situation without accounting for user level or situation please proceed with caution.

Tip: Reward value scales with difficulty and often contain stuff that the user wants or need.

Hector stared at the mission screen, the flickering text reflecting off his tired eyes. He couldn't deny the appeal of the rewards—the Basic Survival Kit alone could be a game-changer. Food, water, maybe some medical supplies. That would extend his ability to stay in one place, to think, to plan. But the rest? Weapons, armor, fortification materials—they practically screamed war zone.

"Land ownership menu?" Hector muttered, eyebrows furrowing. "What am I, a landlord in the apocalypse?"

He paced the small space of his apartment, running his fingers through his unkempt hair. His gut churned with unease. This wasn't just a mission—it was a commitment to a path.

Clearing the building meant killing every infected inside. He had barely survived one encounter with the undead woman, and now the system was asking him to deal with possibly dozens. The numbers were stacked against him, and he didn't even know how many infected were in the building. One per floor? Ten? Twenty?

The system had made it sound so simple, so transactional. Clear a floor, get a reward. Clear all five, and you're rich—or as rich as one could be in a dead city.

"Based on the situation," Hector repeated, reading the first tip again. "Without accounting for my level or situation. Great. Just great."

The system clearly didn't care whether he was ready or not. It presented the mission as an opportunity, and whether or not he survived was irrelevant to it. A chill ran down his spine at the thought.

He couldn't shake the words "Basic Fortification Package." Sealing off the building would give him a defensible home base, but it also made the task feel more like a necessity than a choice. The infected were already a threat; leaving them unchecked could mean more breaking in, just like the woman yesterday.

He stopped pacing, leaning against the wall as the weight of it all pressed down on him. The mission was logical. The system had its reasons, even if they weren't aligned with his survival. But logic didn't make it any less dangerous.

"Do I even have what it takes?" he murmured. A single weapon—a pipe wrench—and his limited stamina were all he had to face the hordes of undead. Yet, a small part of him whispered that he had no choice. If he didn't take control of his immediate surroundings, there wouldn't be a future to worry about.

"Proceed with caution," he repeated the system's words bitterly. "That's easy for you to say. You're not the one who has to bash skulls."

Still, he knew he had to make a decision. The mission wasn't going anywhere, and neither were the infected. But every moment he delayed was a moment the undead could move closer to his apartment, a moment he could lose his only safe space.

With a deep breath, Hector sat back down and reopened the mission screen. He wasn't ready to start yet, but understanding what he was up against was the first step.

"Alright," he said quietly. "Let's figure out what I'm working with."

Hector stared out his living room window, taking in the eerily quiet street below. He had spent most of the afternoon observing the undead through small gaps in the blinds, making note of their movements. His observations confirmed one thing: the lower floors of the building were a hotbed for the infected. They seemed to congregate near the entrances and exits, shuffling aimlessly, while his own floor was relatively quiet.

"It makes sense," he muttered to himself. "They probably wandered in from outside and didn't bother climbing up."

This made his decision clear. He would start by clearing his floor, barricading it securely, and then work his way upward. It was a manageable plan—well, as manageable as hunting Infected people in an apocalypse could be.

As the light outside dimmed, Hector decided to put his plan on hold until morning. Night would make everything riskier, and the infected weren't going anywhere. Instead, he focused on preparing a meal.

He opened a can of beef stew, poured it into a pot, and set it on the stove. The familiar aroma filled the apartment, bringing a small sense of normalcy. But as the scent grew stronger, a thought crept into his mind: What if someone—or something—smells this?

He glanced at the door, listening intently for any sound from the hallway. It was quiet, but the possibility unsettled him. Did the infected have a heightened sense of smell? Could another survivor catch a whiff and come knocking? He shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside. He needed to eat, paranoia be damned.

Sitting down at the table with his bowl of stew, Hector allowed himself a moment of peace. The warm, hearty meal was a welcome change from the tension of the day. But as he ate, his thoughts wandered to darker concerns.

Winter was coming, and Haven City's famously harsh cold would soon arrive. His apartment was warm for now, but he knew it wouldn't last if the power went out. The possibility of losing water was another worry. If the taps ran dry, he'd have to find alternative sources—no easy task in a city overrun with danger.

Then there was the matter of the infected. How long could they survive in the cold? Would the winter slow them down or make them more desperate? And what about other survivors? Would the scarcity of resources drive them to desperation as well?

Hector sighed, setting the empty bowl aside. "One thing at a time," he muttered. He couldn't afford to let his thoughts spiral. Tomorrow, he would start securing his floor. If he couldn't control the future, he could at least control his immediate surroundings.

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Hector groaned as the chime pierced through the stillness of the early morning. His eyes flickered open, and the familiar glowing screen of the Survival System hovered in his vision. The text seemed celebratory, but he couldn't decide if it was mocking or sincere.

System Notifications

[Congratulations! Today marks the third day in your survival journey.]

[100 LP awarded for days survived.]

[Achievement unlocked: The First of Many.]

[100 LP awarded for infected first blood.]

[50 XP awarded for infected first blood.]

The numbers scrolled down further, providing additional guidance:

- Tip: 50 LP will be given to you at the start of each new day as a reward for surviving the previous one. Use it wisely.

- Tip: The LP given for your first infected kill is exclusive to the first time you killed an infected.

[Total LP: 350]

[Level 0: 50/100]

Hector swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched. The sun was just starting to rise, casting a pale glow into his apartment. The city beyond remained a ghostly silhouette, quiet except for the occasional distant groan or shuffle of the undead.

His eyes drifted to the items he had gathered in the living room last night. The pipe wrench sat ominously among the makeshift tools. Today, it would see more use.

He had a plan: clear his floor, barricade it, and ensure no infected were lurking nearby. If he could secure his immediate surroundings, it would give him a sense of safety—however fleeting.

"Alright," he muttered, standing up. "First things first: breakfast. Then we get to work."

Hector moved to the kitchen, his mind already reviewing his approach for the day. The system's new notifications added motivation, but they also served as a stark reminder: surviving wasn't just about staying alive. It was about action.

Hector finished the last bite of his cold breakfast, a simple meal of canned fruit and crackers. It was all he could manage with his nerves on edge. Today wasn't just another day of survival; it was the day he'd take his first real step toward securing his stronghold. The third-floor hallway awaited, dark and full of unknown dangers.

He double-checked his equipment spread out on the kitchen counter, a collection of meager yet essential tools. The pipe wrench hung securely from his belt, a hand axe rested at his side, and his shoulder bag contained a flashlight, and a few spare rags. He hesitated before picking up the last item on the table—a small hunting knife, worn and dulled from years of misuse. It wasn't ideal, but it was better than nothing.

"Alright," he muttered under his breath, trying to psyche himself up. "First the hallway, then the rest of the floor."

Hector tightened the straps of his makeshift armor—a layered patchwork of duct tape, denim, and bits of leather scavenged from an old jacket. It wasn't much, but it offered a thin buffer against bites or scratches. He gripped the pipe wrench in one hand and a flashlight in the other, its faint beam cutting through the oppressive darkness of the apartment hallway beyond his front door.

His backpack, lighter now after removing unnecessary weight, rested snugly on his shoulders. Inside, he'd packed essentials: a bottle of water, a few rags, and a handful of energy bars he'd rationed from his kitchen. His living room bore evidence of his earlier preparations, with furniture pushed to the walls and scattered items left behind in his search for tools.

Stepping out of his apartment felt like crossing into another world. The air in the hallway was stale, carrying a faint metallic tang that made his stomach churn. Broken light fixtures cast uneven shadows along the walls, and the faint groaning of pipes made him flinch at every step. He swept his flashlight across the corridor, its cone of light bouncing off the walls and floor.

The first two doors were eerily silent, their surfaces untouched. The third door, however, bore deep scratch marks, and a dried smear of blood trailed from the threshold. Hector paused, gripping his wrench tighter, as his pulse quickened.

"If anyone—or anything—is still in there, they'd have come out by now," he reasoned, though his fingers itched to reach for the doorknob and confirm.

He moved past it, intent on scouting further down the hallway before doubling back to check the apartments individually.

As he approached the stairwell door at the far end, the silence shattered. A sharp thud echoed from behind one of the closed doors to his left, followed by a low, guttural moan. Hector froze, his breath caught in his throat. The sound came from a double-bedroom apartment, its door slightly ajar.

He aimed the flashlight into the gap. The light reflected off glass fragments littering the floor, but the source of the sound remained hidden within. Another groan emerged, louder this time, and the faint shuffle of feet on carpet signaled movement.

Hector's grip tightened on the wrench. He stepped forward cautiously, nudging the door open with the tip of his boot.

The figure that stumbled into view was grotesque—a man in a tattered business suit, his face gaunt and streaked with gore. The dead eyes fixed on Hector, and a primal growl erupted as the creature lunged forward.

Hector's heart hammered in his chest as the figure lunged. Time seemed to slow as he swung his wrench with all the strength his fatigued body could muster, aiming for the undead man's head. The wrench met its mark with a sickening crack, but the force of the blow wasn't enough to stop the creature entirely. The man reeled back, but only for a moment, a low growl escaping from his cracked, bloodied lips.

Hector quickly sidestepped, realizing the situation was worse than he'd anticipated. The Undead movements were erratic, unpredictable—It was fast, desperate, and relentless, a far cry from his previous encounter.

The creature charged again, its teeth snapping dangerously close to Hector's arm as he narrowly dodged. He felt the rush of air as its breath grazed his skin. Panic gnawed at him, but he forced himself to focus. He couldn't afford to panic—not now.

With a sharp exhale, Hector swung the wrench again, this time aiming for the thing's shoulder to throw it off balance. The blow landed with a satisfying crunch. The undead stumbled sideways, crashing into the doorframe of the apartment. Hector didn't hesitate. He moved in, swinging the wrench upward this time with all the force he could muster, and with a sickening squelch, the wrench connected with the undead's skull.

The man dropped to the ground, crumpling into a heap.

Breathing heavily, Hector stepped back, staring down at the body. It wasn't human anymore—not really. He wiped his brow with the back of his hand, the reality of what he'd just done sinking in. His breath came in ragged gasps, but the adrenaline was still running high.

That could've gone worse.

But there was no time for self-pity or reflection. The hallway was still far from secure, and more threats could be lurking around any corner. Hector glanced over his shoulder toward the stairwell. There were still floors to clear, and he needed to stay focused.

He wiped his wrench clean on the dead man's shirt and proceeded down the hallway, his footsteps echoing in the silence that followed the fight.

Hector moves cautiously down the hallway, the sound of his footsteps muffled by the carpeted floors. The air smells stale, as if it's been trapped in the building for far too long, mixed with the faint scent of decay and he wonders how he didn't catch it the first time. As he approaches another set of apartments near the staircase, he hears something—a shuffle. A low, guttural groan. His pulse quickens, and his grip tightens around the pipe wrench.

He stops dead in his tracks, listening. The sound is unmistakable now, coming from one of the nearby apartments—probably one of the single-bedroom units. Hector glances around, looking for a place to take cover. The hallway is too narrow for him to hide easily, and the door to the apartment is just a few feet away.

Without a moment to lose, Hector makes a decision. He edges closer to the door, pressing himself against the wall to minimize his profile. The shuffle grows louder, and then—just as he braces himself—a thud echoes from the other side of the door, followed by the unmistakable rattle of a door handle.

"Shit," Hector mutters under his breath. The infected inside is trying to get out.

Hector holds his breath, preparing for the worst.

He knows there's no turning back now. Whatever happens, he has to deal with it.

Hector presses his back against the wall, his heart hammering in his chest. The infected on the other side of the door continues to groan, its desperate attempts to reach the door handle becoming more frantic. Hector's grip tightens on his pipe wrench, the cold steel giving him a sense of assurance, even as the uncertainty of the situation gnaws at him.

He can't afford to waste time. The more noise this creature makes, the more it'll attract others. He quickly scans his surroundings, calculating his next move. The hallway is dimly lit by a flickering overhead light, the shadows it casts stretching long and eerie across the cracked walls. Hector shifts his focus back to the door, listening to the creature's increasing agitation.

It's too close. He needs to be quick.

Hector takes a deep breath, quietly pulling the hand axe from his belt. The weight of it feels reassuring in his hand. With one final glance down the hallway to ensure no other threats are nearby, Hector makes his move.

He pushes open the door slightly, just enough to create a small opening, and peeks through. The sight that greets him is what he expected: an infected, its body pale and bloated with decay, its once human features now contorted and grotesque. It claws at the door with frantic energy, its hands scraping against the wood as though it can smell Hector on the other side.

Hector's heart skips a beat.

The moment he opens the door wider, the creature's bloodshot eyes snap toward him, and with a guttural scream, it lunges. Hector swings the hand axe in a wide arc, slashing it across the creature's exposed throat. The infected lets out a horrible, gurgling scream as the blade sinks into its flesh, but it doesn't stop. Instead, it swipes at Hector, its hands like claws aiming to tear into him.

The impact knocks Hector back against the opposite wall, but he quickly recovers. He raises his pipe wrench with a swift motion, bringing it down hard onto the creature's skull, the impact sending a sickening crack through the air. The infected crumples to the ground, twitching in its final moments before the stillness of death settles over it.

Hector stands there, panting, his body tense with the aftermath of the struggle. He wipes his brow, his hands shaking from the adrenaline, but he knows this is only the beginning. There's more to do, more floors to clear, and the ever-present threat of the undead waiting for him.

With the room now silent, Hector takes a moment to compose himself. His heart rate begins to slow as he surveys the apartment for any signs of more danger. The room is eerily quiet, with no more sounds of shuffling or moaning. But Hector knows better than to let his guard down.

He moves forward, stepping over the dead body of the infected, his mind stays focused on the task at hand: securing the building, clearing the next floor, and surviving the day.

The silence is only broken by the occasional creak of the building's structure, a reminder that this world is no longer the safe place it once was.

Hector takes a deep breath, knowing the challenge ahead of him. The other side of the apartments is littered with infected, their presence a constant threat. With the hallway growing quieter after the first encounter, Hector moves cautiously, but he knows the danger is far from over.

His next few steps are met with more resistance. He clears the first apartment without issue, using the pipe wrench to knock out another infected who's been dragging itself aimlessly through the living room. One swing to the head, and the creature crumples with a satisfying thud.

As he moves down the hallway, Hector encounters the next wave. A pair of infected stand hunched near an apartment door, their heads jerking toward him as soon as they sense his presence. With his hand axe raised, Hector moves swiftly, his first strike taking one of them down instantly. The other lunges, but Hector sidesteps, slamming his pipe wrench into its skull. The impact reverberates through his arms, but it's enough to bring the creature to the ground, motionless.

He continues onward, heart racing, as the silence amplifies the tension in the building. The next apartment proves to be trickier. Three infected shuffle through the dark, their groans almost deafening as they converge. Hector doesn't hesitate. He swings the hand axe to take down the closest one, then brings his wrench down on another. The third moves too fast, but Hector ducks under its swiping hands, elbowing it back, and finishes it off with a solid wrench strike to the temple.

The hallway grows silent once more, but Hector is far from done. The last few infected are more spread out, scattered across the floor, still unaware of his approach. He uses his hunting knife to silently take one out in a cramped hallway closet, catching it by surprise before delivering a swift, precise stab to the neck.

By the time Hector reaches the last of the infected, it's clear: this side of the floor has been secured. The final creature, a larger one with an unnervingly broken arm, charges at him with unsettling speed. But Hector's reaction time is quick. With a well-timed swing of his pipe wrench, he knocks it back, buying himself just enough time to bring the hand axe down on its exposed neck. The infected is ended with one final strike.

Hector, drenched in sweat and breathing heavily from the battle, wipes his brow as he looks down the hallway. The other side of the third floor remains a daunting, silent expanse. But his muscles ache, his grip tightens around the hand axe, and his body screams for a break. He knows he needs to rest before attempting the rest of the floor.

With a groan, he turns and heads back toward his apartment. Each step is slower than the last, the weight of fatigue settling in like an anchor. The hallway stretches out before him, an empty corridor echoing only his footsteps and the occasional creaking of the building settling.

Hector enters his apartment and locks the door behind him, his head already heavy with exhaustion. He collapses onto the couch, the harsh light outside filtering through the curtains. The faint hum of the city, quieted by the weight of the chaos outside, seems to amplify the silence in his mind.

As he rests, he reflects on the battles of the day. The first half of the floor had been cleared, but the fatigue and tension had worn him down. He needs to pace himself. The thought of the mission rewards, the Life Points, the chance to secure more resources for his survival—it's all there, hanging in front of him like a distant goal. But the body has its limits.

Closing his eyes, he drifts into a light sleep, mind racing with plans and uncertainties. How long would it take to secure the rest of the building? Could he withstand another round of encounters? But as his body settles into the comfort of rest, he pushes the concerns aside for now.

The afternoon will come soon enough.

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LP: 9 Infected × 30 LP = 270 LP

XP: 9 Infected × 10 XP = 90 XP

New LP Total: 350 + 270 = 620 LP

New XP Total: 50 + 90 = 140 XP

[Congratulations for leveling up, you are now level 1]

[Here is a 100 LP as a reward use it wisely]

[Total LP: 720]

[Level 1: 40/200]

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