Survival Shop: Zombie Edition

The hours after Hector's initial foray are spent in tense stillness. Back in his apartment, the fatigue from the morning weighs heavily on him. He eats a simple meal—a can of beans warmed over a gas stove—and takes the time to sharpen his hand axe using a small whetstone he'd found among his tools. His pipe wrench, though heavy and reliable, bears the marks of constant use, its once-smooth handle marred by the grip of bloodied hands.

Hector reviews the floor plan of the building in his mind. The other side of the third floor mirrored the one he'd cleared, but the layout wasn't what concerned him. It was the unknown—the infected he hadn't seen, the ones that hadn't been drawn out by the noise of his earlier skirmishes.

As the afternoon sunlight filters weakly through the window curtains, Hector steels himself. He's rested, prepared, and focused—or so he thinks.

The moment Hector steps into the hallway leading to the uncleared side, he notices a difference. The air feels heavier, the faint smell of decay thicker than before. The eerie silence is punctuated only by the soft creaks of the old building, each sound setting his nerves on edge.

He moves carefully, testing each step to avoid making unnecessary noise. The first two apartments are empty, their doors ajar as if the inhabitants had fled in haste. But as Hector peers into the third apartment, his blood runs cold.

The door is intact but marked with deep gouges—scratch marks that seem too deliberate, too forceful, to have been made by a panicked human. Inside, the furniture is overturned, and the walls are smeared with dark, congealed streaks of blood. On the far wall, a message is scrawled in shaky handwriting:

"Don't make noise. They're changing."

Hector backs out of the room slowly, his heart pounding. What did that mean? He clenches his pipe wrench tighter, his senses now hyperaware of every creak and groan around him.

As Hector nears the fourth apartment, he hears it—a sound that makes his blood freeze. It's not the low groan of the infected he's become accustomed to. This is something else entirely—a guttural, rasping growl, like a caged animal ready to attack. He stops in his tracks, every instinct screaming at him to turn back, but he forces himself to move forward.

The growling grows louder as he approaches, coming from behind a partially open door. Hector nudges it wider with his foot, peering inside. His breath catches at the sight before him.

A single infected stands in the center of the room, but it's unlike any he's encountered before. Its body is grotesquely twisted, its limbs unnaturally long and wiry. Patches of skin hang loosely, revealing raw, pulsating muscle beneath. Its head twitches erratically, bloodshot eyes darting in every direction, as if it senses something but cannot locate it.

And then, it stops. Its head snaps toward Hector with an unnatural speed, and a guttural shriek erupts from its throat. The creature lunges with terrifying speed, its claw-like fingers slashing through the air as Hector barely manages to dodge.

This is no ordinary infected.

The creature's scream echoes down the hallway, sending a spike of fear through Hector's chest. The other infected were slow and predictable, but this one moves like a predator—swift, deliberate, and calculating.

It lunges again, its gangly arms swinging in wide arcs. Hector raises his pipe wrench just in time, the heavy steel catching the claws mid-swipe. The force of the impact nearly knocks the weapon from his hands, and Hector stumbles backward, crashing into the wall.

The creature doesn't relent. It hurls itself at him with a feral intensity, its sharp claws slashing across his jacket. He barely sidesteps, the tips of its claws tearing through the fabric and grazing his skin. The pain flares hot, but there's no time to focus on it.

Hector swings the pipe wrench in a desperate arc, the weight of the tool adding force to the strike. It connects with the side of the creature's head, a sickening crunch reverberating through the room. The creature staggers, but instead of falling, it twists unnaturally and lets out a guttural snarl.

"Why won't you go down?!" Hector yells, his voice tinged with panic.

The creature charges again, this time using its elongated limbs to leap forward, closing the distance in an instant. Hector grabs a nearby chair and hurls it at the creature, buying himself a few seconds. He pulls his handaxe from his belt, gripping it tightly in his off-hand.

The fight devolves into a chaotic frenzy. Hector slashes and strikes with desperate precision, every move aimed at keeping the creature at bay. Blood sprays across the room—some of it the infected's, but some of it his own. The creature's claws leave deep gashes in his arms and legs, and Hector can feel his strength waning.

Finally, with a primal roar, Hector swings his pipe wrench with all his might. The blow lands squarely on the creature's skull, the sound of bone shattering filling the room. The creature collapses in a heap, twitching violently before falling still.

Hector stumbles backward, panting heavily. His hands tremble as he looks down at the grotesque corpse. Blood pools beneath it, the metallic scent mixing with the stale air of the room.

As Hector leans against the wall, catching his breath, the now-familiar system notification flickers into view.

[System Message: New Features Unlocked]

World Stage Introduced

The World Stage represents the ongoing evolution of the environment, survivors, and external threats as time progresses. Each day survived brings the World Stage closer to advancing, introducing new challenges and dangers.

Infection Stage Introduced

The Infection Stage tracks the evolution and spread of the infected. As the Infection Stage increases, the infected will grow in number, strength, and variation. Surviving against these odds will require adaptability and resourcefulness.

Current Stages:

World Stage: Initial.

Infection Stage: Initial.

Notice: The longer you survive, the greater the challenges you will face. Prepare accordingly.

Hector stares at the message, the weight of its implications settling over him like a lead blanket. His mind races. If this creature was just the start, what else could be out there? What would happen as the stages advanced?

For the first time, the full scope of his situation begins to dawn on him. This wasn't just about surviving another day or another fight. This was a race against a world that was actively working to break him, evolving faster than he could hope to adapt.

And he was entirely on his own.

Hector limps back to his apartment, leaving a trail of blood in his wake. Each step feels heavier than the last, the adrenaline of the fight giving way to exhaustion and pain. He collapses onto his couch, clutching at the gashes on his arms, and glances at the system window still hovering in the corner of his vision.

The World Stage and Infection Stage—both were inevitable. But Hector knew one thing for certain: if he wanted to survive, he'd have to grow faster than the world could break him.

His next moves would have to be careful, calculated, and ruthless.

Hector winced as he dabbed a soaked cloth over the gash on his forearm. The stinging sensation made his fingers twitch, but he bit down on the inside of his cheek to stifle any sound. He couldn't afford to make noise, not after that fight.

The bathroom mirror reflected a pale, sweat-drenched face with dark circles under his eyes. His jacket was shredded, and his arms bore fresh scars layered over the ones he already had. His legs, too, were peppered with long, shallow cuts.

[Kill Confirmed: Special Infected - "Stalker"]

XP Earned: 60

Life Points Earned: 80

[Achievement Unlocked: Hunt the Predator Defeated 100 LP rewarded]

The words Special Infected and Stalker sent a chill through him. The system wasn't just hinting at new dangers; it was naming them.

"That thing could've gutted me." He muttered, grabbing another strip of torn bedsheet to fashion into a makeshift bandage.

The infected he had faced earlier weren't like this. They were feral and violent but slow, predictable. This one was something else entirely. If the others were shambling corpses, this was a predator. Its speed and ferocity had left him barely standing, and it wasn't hard to imagine facing two or three of them at once.

The thought made his stomach churn.

Sitting back against the couch, Hector opened the system menu. He needed to understand what this was all about—this World Stage and Infection Stage. He also needed to figure out what this "Life Points" currency could do for him.

The system window materialized before him.

[Total LP: 900]

[Level 1: 100/200]

Hector frowned. "Eighty LP and 60 XP... from killing the infected earlier. But it doesn't feel like much after what I went through."

He tapped on the Store icon, and a new screen appeared.

Hector's eyes darted across the options, frustration bubbling under his exhaustion. The supplies were practical, but the costs were steep. He could buy enough to patch himself up and maybe eat something, but it wouldn't be enough for another fight like the last one.

"What's the point if I can't even buy something to make fighting easier?"

He swiped to another tab titled Leveling Perks.

[Second Wind: +10% Endurance Recovery | +5% Wound Healing]

[Cost: 300 LP]

Hector's lips tightened. The perk wasn't much, but it was better than nothing. His stamina was one of his biggest weaknesses during the fight. and recovering from these injuries will take days.

[Congratulation on picking up a new perk]

[Second wind: +10% Endurance Recovery | +5% Wound Healing]

Hector leaned back and closed his eyes, replaying the fight in his mind. That creature was smarter, faster, and deadlier than anything he'd seen so far. If this Infection Stage concept was real, then it meant things would only get worse.

"Outnumbered, outmatched, and running on fumes," he muttered bitterly. "If the stalker is just Stage One… what the hell comes next?"

And it wasn't just him. His family, his friends—if they were out there, they'd be facing the same horrors. His father, Edward, wasn't young anymore, and his mother wasn't in great health. Paul was always good in a crisis, but David... David was still out there in the mountains, probably with no idea what was going on.

And Emit... Hector's chest tightened. Emit had been here just days ago. If he was still alive, what was he up against?

"If I'm barely making it through this," he whispered, "how are they supposed to survive?"

His hands clenched into fists. Resting wasn't an option. Not yet.

"I need to move faster," he muttered. "Clear the building. Stockpile supplies. Prepare for… whatever this world stage throws at me."

His arms trembled, not from exertion alone, but from the raw sting of torn skin and the deep, throbbing ache of bruised muscles. He knew he should stop—rest, regroup—but the thought of more infected wandering the halls he needed to secure made his stomach churn.

"If I stop now," he muttered, "it'll only get worse. They'll multiply. I can't let them pin me in here."

The soft hum of the emergency lighting above flickered as if mocking his decision. He glanced down at his dulled hunting knife, the blade chipped from years of neglect. It wasn't ideal, but it was quiet, and quiet was what he needed.

"No mistakes. No noise." The mantra echoed in his mind like a lifeline.

Grimacing, Hector pushed himself to his feet. His legs protested with sharp pangs, but he forced them to move. Every step toward the far end of the hallway felt like a gamble with death.

Here's a draft for Hector's desperate attempt to clear the remaining floor while injured, highlighting his pain, desperation, and strategy:

Chapter Draft: A Desperate Gamble

Hector leaned against the wall, his breathing shallow and ragged as he applied makeshift bandages to his wounds. His arms trembled, not from exertion alone, but from the raw sting of torn skin and the deep, throbbing ache of bruised muscles. He knew he should stop—rest, regroup—but the thought of more infected wandering the halls he needed to secure made his stomach churn.

"If I stop now," he muttered, "it'll only get worse. They'll multiply. I can't let them pin me in here."

The soft hum of the emergency lighting above flickered as if mocking his decision. He glanced down at his dulled hunting knife, the blade chipped from years of neglect. It wasn't ideal, but it was quiet, and quiet was what he needed.

"No mistakes. No noise." The mantra echoed in his mind like a lifeline.

Grimacing, Hector pushed himself to his feet. His legs protested with sharp pangs, but he forced them to move. Every step toward the far end of the hallway felt like a gamble with death.

The Stealthy Approach

The final stretch of the floor was eerily quiet. Moonlight filtered through cracks in the boarded-up windows, casting long, jagged shadows across the narrow corridor. Hector flattened himself against the wall as he rounded the first corner, scanning for any signs of movement.

His ears caught a faint, wet shuffling. It came from an open doorway just ahead. Dropping to a crouch, Hector crept forward, his every movement deliberate and controlled. His heart pounded with the force of a drum, the sound nearly deafening in the oppressive silence.

He peeked into the room—a kitchen. A single infected stood by the sink, its back turned as it clawed aimlessly at a cupboard. Its skin hung in rotting patches, and its head jerked with unnatural twitches.

Hector adjusted his grip on the knife. He approached slowly, each step measured, avoiding debris scattered across the floor. When he was close enough, he surged forward, his hand holding the creature's head against the cupboard to muffle any sound as he drove the blade into the base of its skull.

The infected spasmed violently before going limp. Hector eased it to the ground, his breath shaky.

"One down," he whispered, wiping sweat from his brow.

Room by room, Hector moved with the precision of a predator. Every kill was a test of nerve and skill. His knife grew stickier with congealed blood, the blade losing what little edge it had left.

In one room, a pair of infected wandered aimlessly, forcing Hector to wait in suffocating silence until one moved closer to the door. He struck quickly, dragging the body out of sight before dispatching the second.

But the strain was catching up to him. His injured arm throbbed with each strike, and the growing pain in his side forced him to pause more frequently.

By the time he reached the final room, Hector felt like a shadow of himself—exhausted, bleeding, and dangerously close to collapse.

The last infected on the floor stood in the hallway near the stairwell—a hulking man with tattered clothes and a bloated frame. Unlike the others, it wasn't wandering aimlessly. It stood still, its head tilted as if listening.

Hector froze, gripping his knife tightly. This one was different. The faint gurgling noise it made sent chills down his spine.

With no other option, Hector moved closer, his steps silent despite the agony coursing through his body. He prayed the creature wouldn't turn. Just a little closer.

Suddenly, its head snapped toward him, its milky eyes locking onto his. Hector's heart dropped.

"Damn it—"

The creature lunged with shocking speed, its massive frame barreling toward him. Hector sidestepped at the last second, slashing wildly with his knife. The blade sank into the creature's shoulder, but it barely reacted, swiping at him with inhuman strength.

The blow sent Hector sprawling against the wall. Stars danced in his vision as he scrambled to his feet, narrowly avoiding another charge. Desperation took over as he ducked under its next swing and drove the knife into the side of its neck.

The infected gurgled, its movements faltering as black ichor poured from the wound. Hector twisted the blade and shoved the creature back, finally sending it crashing to the ground.

For a moment, he stood there, panting heavily, blood dripping from his knife and his own injuries.

A chime echoed in his mind, shattering the silence.

[Floor Secured: Basic Survival kit awarded]

[XP Gained: 100 XP]

[Level Up! Level 2 Unlocked]

[Total LP: 930]

[Level 2: 110/300]

Hector barely had time to process the notification when another message followed:

[Warning: Infection Stage 1 Active]

[The longer you survive, the greater the infected threat. Prepare for increased numbers and mutations.]

[World Stage 1 Active]

[The world will respond to your survival. New dangers will emerge over time.]

Hector sank to the floor, his knife slipping from his grasp.

"Infection stages? World stages? What the hell am I dealing with?"

He glanced down at his trembling hands, his exhaustion and injuries suddenly feeling far heavier.

"I need to get stronger… and fast."

With a groan, Hector forced himself to his feet. The floor was secure, but his journey was far from over.

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LP: 11 Infected × 30 LP = 330 LP

XP: 11 Infected × 10 XP = 110 XP

[Total LP: 930]

[Level 2: 110/300]

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