The room was silent except for the faint hum of the ceiling fan, its blades slicing the stale air with a lazy rhythm. Ajay sat on the edge of the bed, his dagger still wet with the rotten ichor of the corpse lying outside his door. The metallic tang clung to his nose, sharp and sour, a reminder that the world he had returned to was no longer the same one he had left behind.
The screen still hovered in front of him, faintly glowing in pale blue light. He studied it in silence, his cold eyes moving across the lines.
---
[Status Screen]
Name: —
Race: Human
Class: None
Level: 1
HP: 100
MP: 50
Strength: 10
Agility: 12 (+1)
Dexterity: 13
Endurance: 10
Intelligence: 11
Free Stat Points: 1
---
Ajay's lips barely moved, but the words left him like the whisper of steel being drawn.
"…So it wasn't an illusion."
He tapped the glowing screen with his fingertip, expecting resistance. None came. The translucent panel shimmered, adapting to his will as if it were alive.
> "Strength. Agility. Dexterity… these aren't random. It's measuring me. Quantifying me."
His assassin's mind churned. Numbers gave order to chaos. If these stats were real, then survival wasn't just instinct anymore—it was mathematics.
But the screen was stingy with information. No hints. No tutorials. No benevolent guide.
Ajay narrowed his eyes. "Fine. If you won't explain yourself… I'll learn through blood."
He dismissed the panel with a thought. The light flickered out, plunging the room back into shadows.
The city outside wasn't quiet. Ajmer was bleeding. From his window, Ajay saw smoke rising in different quarters, heard the distant screams of civilians mingling with the low, guttural groans of shambling corpses.
The chaos had begun too quickly for order to form. He knew governments, organizations, and leaders would try to react—but monsters like these didn't wait for elections, strategies, or policies.
> "The strong adapt. The weak rot."
His eyes swept the room. Minimal supplies—two knives, one silenced pistol with limited rounds, a bag with a change of clothes, and a cheap smartphone that had already lost its signal.
Not enough. Not nearly enough.
Ajay moved to his wardrobe, pulling out a locked steel case hidden beneath folded clothes. With a flick of a small key, it opened to reveal his true companions:
A black Beretta M9, cleaned and oiled.
A small box of 9mm rounds.
A kukri with a darkened edge, forged not for beauty but efficiency.
A collapsible baton, reinforced.
He ran his hand across the weapons with a stillness that bordered on reverence. They were not tools—they were extensions of his will.
"First rule. Secure food. Second rule. Secure shelter. Third rule…" His lips curled faintly. "…Kill anything that gets in the way."
---
Ajmer's Collapse (Shift POV)
On the street below, panic reigned.
A middle-aged man tried to drag his daughter through the crowded marketplace, shoving past stalls overturned in chaos. The girl screamed, "Papa! It's coming!"
From behind, a half-rotted shopkeeper lurched forward, jaw unhinged, black saliva dripping from its mouth. Its nails, broken and jagged, raked the air.
The man tripped. People scattered, each for themselves. No one stopped to help.
Above, loudspeakers crackled with static—the city's emergency system struggling to function. A voice shouted over the din:
> "All citizens are advised—remain indoors! The government is dispatching—"
The message cut off in a shriek of feedback.
Far away, in Ajmer's administrative block, police officers were locking themselves in the station, arguing about whether to fire on civilians who had become "infected." Commanders yelled, their voices laced with fear, not authority.
Ajmer was crumbling.
---
Back to Ajay
He slung the kukri onto his hip, holstered the Beretta, and shouldered his bag. The assassin's calm returned to him like an old cloak. Fear was a stranger to him. Panic was for the untrained.
But he wasn't arrogant. He knew enough to respect the unknown.
> "One bite. One scratch. And I may be one of them. Caution is survival."
He tied a cloth mask across his mouth, pulled his hood low, and moved silently through the hall. Each step was measured, each corner cleared.
At the apartment stairwell, he saw his second zombie. This one wasn't sluggish. Its head jerked unnaturally, eyes cloudy but twitching toward the faint sound of his boots.
Ajay crouched, assessing. Its movements were faster than the first.
He muttered under his breath. "…So they evolve."
The kukri slid from its sheath without a sound. He stepped low, circling the creature's blind spot. One clean motion—slice. The head rolled before the body crumpled.
---
[System Notification]
You have slain: Mutated Zombie (Lv. 2)
50 EXP
Item: [Dull Beast Core]
---
Ajay paused, eyes narrowing at the faint crystal in his hand. It pulsed with weak energy, almost alive.
"…Beast core?" He rolled it between his fingers. Currency? Fuel? Or bait?
The screen pulsed again.
---
[Tutorial Unlocked: Beast Core Functions]
Can be consumed for a small amount of mana.
Can be exchanged (System Store – Locked).
Can be used to strengthen equipment (Requires Class).
---
Ajay's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "So… this is your game."
He pocketed the core. Knowledge was more valuable than food—for now.
But hunger would come. And when it did, even an assassin couldn't live off blood and steel.
---
Plans for Shelter
By the time he reached the street, Ajay already had a list forming in his mind.
> Food: non-perishables, canned goods, water.
Shelter: isolated, defensible, high ground.
Weapons: bullets will run out. Cold steel won't.
Information: observe, record, adapt.
The city stank of burning fuel and rotting flesh. Every alley whispered with the shuffle of feet that weren't human anymore.
He kept to the shadows, his presence reduced to nothing, an old assassin's trick. Civilians ran past him, blind in their terror, never noticing the hooded man who moved like a ghost.
Ajay wasn't interested in saving them. Not yet. His oath was survival. Attachments were luxuries.
But even as he told himself that, his eyes lingered on Ajmer's streets. His hometown. His resting place between contracts. He knew these roads better than anyone.
And now… it was a graveyard in the making.