"John! Get down!" Sam's roar echoed through the dead street.
In that split second, John reacted on pure police instinct, dropping into a low crouch.
Almost simultaneously, the twisted figure lunged past where he'd been standing, its foul stench washing over him.
Immediately following, BANG! Sam's gun fired.
The bullet accurately drilled into the creature's cheek, the impact tearing open a gruesome, bloody hole, instantly exposing white teeth and dark, viscous blood.
However, the creature merely staggered, the horrific wound that should have incapacitated anyone seemingly having no effect.
It shook its head, letting out another inhuman roar.
BANG! BANG! Sam didn't hesitate, firing two more shots that struck its left shoulder and the center of its chest.
More dark blood sprayed out like cheap paint, soaking its purple shirt.
But it still didn't fall.
Its movements paused for only the briefest moment before it resumed its snarls, trying to lunge again at the nearby John.
By now, John had also drawn his Glock, gripping it tightly with both hands, muzzle steady on the "attacker" that resembled a battered doll yet still stood roaring.
Maintaining his defensive crouch, he yelled with all his might, "Stop! Police! Drop your weapon… No, just STOP!"
The creature obviously couldn't understand, nor did it care about human warnings.
It swayed its mangled body, its eyes filled only with primal, insane aggression, stubbornly shuffling another step closer to John, opening its gore-streaked mouth as if to tear out his throat in the next second.
John hesitated no longer.
He slightly raised his muzzle, his finger squeezing the trigger steadily—the bullet entered precisely under the creature's jaw, instantly penetrating its cranial cavity and blowing out a larger hole at the back of its head, spraying a mixture of blood and brain matter.
This time, it was as if the creature's power cord had been yanked.
All movement ceased instantly.
Its body went rigid and fell straight backward like a board, hitting the asphalt with a heavy thud.
It twitched twice, then lay completely still.
Silence descended once more, broken only by John's heavy, ragged breathing and the acrid smell of gunpowder hanging in the air.
He quickly got to his feet, gun still raised defensively, while grabbing his radio.
He tried to keep his voice steady, but the tremor from the adrenaline rush was impossible to hide completely: "714 to Dispatch! Shots fired! Officer involved shooting! Repeat, shots fired! Location Southwest 17th Avenue and 4th Street! Suspect… suspect is down! Requesting immediate backup and ambulance!"
After reporting, he took deep breaths, shaking his head slightly to clear it, then turned to Sam, his face still pale but his eyes filled with a complex mix of emotions.
"Sam! Quick! Get the first-aid kit from the trunk! Whatever the hell this thing is, we gotta follow procedure! We have to make a show of providing medical aid!"
"I think… he's one hundred percent beyond needing that, John." Sam slowly lowered his still-warm pistol, his voice tinged with the exhaustion and dark humor of someone who'd just experienced the surreal. "Besides, I don't think this thing's 'family' will be hiring a lawyer to sue us for excessive force. It wasn't exactly human anymore, right?"
"What the hell are you talking about?! What do you mean 'not human anymore'?!" John stared hard at Sam, all the suppressed confusion, unease, and Sam's strange foreknowledge boiling over. His voice was shaky with shock and bewilderment. "Sam… tell me the truth! All of this… you knew it was going to happen like this, didn't you?! You knew what this was all about from the start?!"
"I didn't know! I swear!" Sam immediately shook his head, though he knew his expression probably wasn't convincing. "I just thought… this is exactly like something out of a goddamn horror movie! Exactly the same! Really!"
Suddenly, Sam noticed something, sharply raising his hand to point down the street, his voice taking on genuine urgency, "John, look over there! We need to get back in the car, right now!"
John instinctively looked in the direction Sam pointed—several blocks away, at an intersection, multiple shambling, awkwardly moving figures appeared.
They were moving with an unnerving, stumbling gait that was nevertheless disturbingly fast, heading relentlessly in their direction… sprinting.
John slammed the car door shut almost simultaneously with turning the key.
The engine let out a reluctant roar, tires screeching on the asphalt, leaving black marks as the patrol car shot forward.
As they swerved past the approaching figures, several sickening thuds echoed as something slammed hard against the car doors and bullet-resistant windows.
Sam even saw a handprint, smeared with dark red gore, briefly appear on his window before sliding off.
In the rearview mirror, the lurching, twisted shapes chased them relentlessly for a few steps, throats emitting that chilling, animalistic death rattle, before finally being left behind.
There was no reason, no pain in those roars, only pure, primal hunger and madness that seemed to want to tear apart any living thing in its path.
"Huff… huff…" John gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, forehead beaded with cold sweat, his chest heaving.
He shot a glance at Sam, who was equally pale beside him.
"Sam, kid… tell me about those 'movie plots' you mentioned, your damn 'hunch'… whatever the fuck it is, tell me everything you know! What… what the hell are those things?!" He grabbed the lukewarm mocha, gulping it down more than drinking it, trying to douse the terror in his heart.
"Calm down, John." Sam looked out the window.
Several blocks away, the street seemed to return to its normal appearance, cars driving, pedestrians scattered, as if the hellish encounter moments ago was just some elaborate prank video—except for the new dents and bloodstains on their car.
Just then, the pale blue system prompt quietly popped up in his vision: [Encounter Ended. Mission "First Patrol" Completed. Hope Points +100.]
[That's it? It's over?] Sam felt slightly puzzled by the system's completion criteria but prioritized answering John's terrified questions.
"John, if… if you're willing to believe those, uh, yeah, you called it, those B-list horror movie setups," Sam tried to make his tone sound like he was recounting an absurd story, "those things, they're called 'Zombies'."
"You can basically think of it like… super-fast, super-contagious rabies, but a million times worse. It doesn't spread through normal contact, mainly through biting."
He instinctively patted his uniform pocket – empty, not even a lighter, let alone cigarettes.
"Once bitten, the virus—or whatever the hell it is—quickly invades the brain, destroys reason, and turns people into… well, walking corpses that only attack and bite the living. The shittiest part is, people bitten by them, quickly… very quickly, turn into new zombies too. Like a snowball effect, more and more."
He pointed behind the car.
"Those things chasing us just now, and the one on the ground… I guess that's how they all got started."
"One bite… turns you into that monster?! And it's contagious?!" John's voice cracked with shock, the color draining completely from his face, replaced by disbelief and a creeping dread.
But decades on the force didn't allow him to completely break down.
Professional instinct took over immediately.
He grabbed the radio mic fiercely.
"I have to report this immediately! This is…"
He hadn't even pressed the transmit button when the radio exploded with loud, chaotic static, overridden by an emergency broadcast that bypassed all standard protocols, the voice laced with panic and a background cacophony of screams and alarms:
"HQ Emergency Broadcast! HQ Emergency Broadcast! All patrol units, disregard current assignments, proceed immediately to the Downtown Business District! Repeat, all units converge on the Downtown Business District! Mass violent attacks reported city-wide… preliminary classification: terrorist attack! Large numbers of unidentified, extremely aggressive 'rioters' are indiscriminately biting civilians in the streets! Situation critical! Command authorization: engage hostile targets unresponsive to non-lethal force with all necessary force, including lethal force! Weapons free is authorized!"
The broadcast cut off abruptly right there, leaving only dead static hissing.
John tried hailing back, but the radio was silent, as if the lines were completely jammed or cut.
John's hands dug into the steering wheel so hard his knuckles turned white, the muscles in his arms bulging.
He was silent for a few seconds, his face pale, then his jaw tightened, his expression hardening into grim resolve.
"Buckle up, Sam." His voice was hoarse, as if each word was forced out. "We're going downtown."
He wrenched the steering wheel, roughly merging the patrol car onto the main road, accelerating towards the distant high-rises where faint sounds of chaos could now be heard.
Sam's pale blue system panel refreshed almost simultaneously, the cold text devoid of any emotion:
Main Quest Updated: Face Your Fear
- Directive: Follow partner John to the Downtown Business District, execute evacuation and rescue orders, confront unknown threats.
- Reward: +300 Hope Points.
- Failure Penalty: -150 Hope Points.
"No! We can't go there!" Sam's voice was sharp, almost hysterical with a fear greater than when the zombie had lunged at him. "John, listen to me! Downtown! That place must be hell on earth by now! Full of those biting monsters! What can we possibly do driving this piece of junk in there? We'll just be two fresh pieces of meat waiting to be torn apart! Or worse, get bitten and end up shambling down the street with them!"
"Shut up! Sam!" John cut him off with a roar, but the white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel betrayed his own fear and struggle. "You think I don't fucking know the danger?! But think about how many ordinary people are trapped there! In the office buildings! The subway stations! There's an elementary school downtown, and they have after-school programs today! We're cops! Our job is to save them! Even if we have to run, we fulfill our duty first!"
"Something this big should be handled by the National Guard or the army! We're just cops! With handguns and three spare magazines each! This is suicide!" Sam pleaded, his voice filled with despair.
But John seemed not to hear, or perhaps, refused to listen.
He just stared dead ahead, his eyes a mixture of fear, duty, and a desperate, cornered resolve.
The police car weaved aggressively through the increasingly chaotic traffic, siren now blaring defiantly, charging headlong towards the heart of the city that was being consumed by darkness and madness—