Undead

Chapter 3

"Please excuse the surname Zhou, the character 'rong' from 'bing ge rong ma,' not the 'rong' from Huang Rong's younger sister."

"We've been stuck in this unlucky city of T for over half a month. We haven't seen a single cent of field allowance. Our ammunition and supplies have run out, and it's as chaotic as adding oil to a fire, like we're committing a crime."

"How do you think this virus broke out? Is it a mutated form of rabies, or is it the insane genetic warfare tactics conducted by the American imperialism and Western powers against our country? A couple of days ago, we were still watching the news, but last night, we lost both television signals and shortwave broadcasts. I've been following 'People's City Management Team' and 'People's Broadcasting Bureau' for almost a year, and now it's gone, which is a pity."

Zhou Rong snapped his fingers and lit a cigarette. He took a deep drag, looking back at the team members. The windows of the carriage were wide open, allowing the wind to rush in.

"Let's... let's go," one of the team members said, "I just climbed out through the window..."

"When did you leave?"

"When the news broadcast was on."

After a brief silence, Zhou Rong sighed with regret, saying, "Too bad, I was just about to recommend the 8th season of 'People's Development and Reform Commission' to him."

---

The zombie horde had moved to the southeast, and now there were only a dozen or so living dead wandering the streets. The young man flipped over and landed on the ground. He took a few steps and pressed himself against a wall, then quickly entered a messy pharmacy.

Overhead, fluorescent lights flickered. The walls were covered in splattered blood, and several mutilated bodies had crushed the glass counter. It was easy to imagine the horrific scene when the virus first erupted.

With the growing demand for gender equality and information suppression inhibitors for Omegas, many countries had lifted bans on these inhibitors. However, they were still strictly controlled prescription drugs. The young man held a carbine rifle in front of him and walked around the lifeless body of a pharmacist who had fallen on the counter. He smashed the glass counter with the back of the rifle, revealing the familiar vials. He sighed in relief and quickly unpacked them and injected them into his arm's vein.

The pharmacy had likely been looted several times, but there were still some supplies left in the corner—protein powder, nut bars, energy drinks, and more. He picked up a blood-splattered canvas backpack from one of the bodies and packed everything he could find, including two bottles of purified water.

After completing these tasks, he looked up and, through the broken mirror behind the counter, saw himself. His motorcycle helmet and jacket were rusty, and his jeans had lost their original color. The high-top boots were covered in dried flesh.

Then he noticed something and unzipped his jacket slightly, pulling out a pendant from around his neck. It was an ordinary brass locket, about the size of a pocket watch. He opened it to reveal an old photograph beneath a thin sheet of crystal.

In the photo, a young couple smiled, holding their five or six-year-old son. The wife was of European descent with blonde hair and amber eyes. Despite the limited photo technology of years past, her extraordinary beauty was evident. The husband, an East Asian man, had a clear and refined look, an air of intellect, and a face that was extremely familiar.

His own face.

The young man closed his eyes, unable to stop himself from panting. In his mind, there were flashes of incomplete memories: a turbulent aircraft cabin, screams, zombies, ejected shell casings, and a handheld suitcase that emitted a cold silver glow.