Lucas Kane let out a sigh and shook his head, faintly amused.
"What a foolish girl," he muttered. "Calling me a good person? She's got it all wrong."
In the apocalypse, the moral compass of the old world had already shattered. There was no longer any absolute right or wrong—only survival. And survival meant making hard, calculated decisions.
Lucas turned his attention to the newly acquired maps, carefully unfolding one and smoothing it flat against the wall. He studied the layout, comparing it to his own fuzzy memories of the surrounding area.
Tianhe Street. A real estate agency nearby. A small supermarket next door. A residential complex behind them—Yujing Bay.
There. That was it.
His current location was within the Yujing Bay apartment complex, just 500 meters north of Tianyang University. Only one intersection separated him from the university gates.
Five hundred meters.
That might as well be five kilometers now.
Lucas glanced out the window toward the street where danger roamed freely. A simple stroll had become a perilous endeavor. For now, the university would have to wait. He needed to grow stronger.
But he smiled grimly. He had supplies. Time. And now, direction.
He scanned the neighborhood map again and noticed something promising—another small supermarket, located right near the complex's main gate.
"Tomorrow," he whispered. "I'll try my luck there."
With that, Lucas opened the auction interface again and listed a bottle of beer.
[Listing: 1 Bottle of Beer – Seeking: Key]
Then he sat back and watched.
The chat exploded almost instantly.
"Whoa, another badass putting up water? Beer counts as water, right?!"
"It's even better—malt sugars mean calories! That's survival fuel!"
"Wait, this guy wants... a key?"
"Damn it! I had a key earlier but thought it was useless. Threw it away. Big mistake."
"I swear, everyone wants weird stuff now. First crystals, now keys. What's next, a compass made of zombie toenails?"
Lucas chuckled quietly.
Most of the messages were nonsense, a symptom of fear and stress. People joked and flirted to ease the terror pressing on their chests. But beneath the noise was a clear trend:
The survivors were adapting.
Some were even starting to analyze. Think.
Lucas watched as a few male survivors attempted to flirt with attractive girls in the chat, tossing around compliments or desperate innuendos. It was all surface-level nonsense—no real exchange of value. Just people trying to reclaim a sense of normalcy.
But normal was dead.
And the undead were very much alive.
He noted, with some satisfaction, that Victor Cross hadn't made another appearance in the chat. Not a single message. But judging from the volume of food and water he'd listed for sale, Victor had likely holed up in a well-stocked supermarket. For now.
The sun dipped behind the jagged skyline. The final rays faded from the rooftops, and like clockwork, the street lamps flickered on—automated, still obedient to old-world programming.
That's when the zombies grew restless.
Lucas moved away from the window. He kept all the lights off and crouched near the edge of the curtain, watching.
The apartment's insulation was decent. Despite several zombies passing right beneath his window, none of them stopped. None seemed to notice him.
He held his breath.
Then one zombie—leaner than the rest—raised its head, sniffing. A low groan escaped its throat.
Moments later, a horde responded.
Three dozen undead creatures surged across the street and disappeared into a nearby alley, their snarls fading into the night.
Someone was about to have a very bad night.
Lucas exhaled slowly. "Better them than me."
He had his habits to thank—habits born from countless hours reading apocalypse novels. They'd made him cautious. Smart. Alive.
Then came the cries from the chat.
"Oh God! They're sniffing us out! I'm on the tenth floor—no lights, no sound, but they're battering my door!"
"I hid in a bus all day. Now there's zombie handprints all over the windows. I think they know I'm inside!"
"They're tracking us by scent. Shut all windows. Stay sealed. Do not open up for anyone!"
"They move faster at night too. One jumped over a meter-high barrier near my shop! They weren't doing that earlier!"
As panic spread, a familiar name lit up the feed.
Ethan Cole.
Lucas paused, reading carefully.
Ethan: "Friends, please stay safe. The zombies' senses are enhanced at night—smell, hearing, and mobility. But they don't react to light. You're safe to use lamps. Let the lights help you find one another. We've set up a small safe zone near the city sports center. Survivors are gathering here. You are not alone."
Lucas raised an eyebrow.
Ethan had already built a survivor base? Recruited people? That was fast—suspiciously fast.
Still, the information was useful.
More lights began to flick on across the nearby buildings. Lucas counted at least a dozen rooms lit within his view—shops, apartments, maybe more.
He did the math.
If this sample held, there could be three or four dozen survivors within this cluster of buildings alone.
"Not bad," he whispered. "Looks like I'm not as alone as I thought."
He returned to the map pinned to the wall, eyes tracing paths and intersections. Soon, he'd move. Explore. Test his strength.
But for now, he sat silently in the dark, armed with knowledge, patience, and a half-empty bottle of beer.
The night was long.
But he had survived one more day.
And that counted for everything in this new world.