A swarm of Omnispace alerts flashed across Kevin’s eyes before the dark rolled in.

  He started with 3 Stamina, jacked up by a 1-point difficulty bonus, a 3-point hidden task haul, and 1 more from that brass ring—8 Stamina total, 80 HP left to burn.

  This time, one walker hit racked up 39 tearing damage, 10 crushing damage, and 25 bleeding damage—74 HP total. Kevin’s hanging on by a damn thread.

  Good thing that Bulletproof Vest ate 10% of the physical hit, or that bastard would’ve been Kevin’s fucking end.

  Worldhopper health thresholds: mild injury at 80%, serious at 50%, critical at 10%. Critical status reached: natural healing disabled. Medication required, or termination imminent.

  Kevin’s head was swimming, lost in old kid memories. Some faint tune hummed—close yet miles away. Grandma used to say you hear music when death’s creeping up.

  This it for me?

  Then, through the haze, Mallow’s voice scratched through the fog, “Yo, bro, take this.”

  Mallow jammed a chunk of bread into Kevin’s mouth. His throat was dry as hell, but he chewed anyway. Warmth hit his gut like a shot, and strength started creeping back. He sucked in a deep breath, chugged water from some nurse nearby, and caught Mallow grinning wide.

  “What’d you shove in me? I was damn near toast,” Kevin said, gratitude all over his voice.

  “Yo, bro, it’s this Energy Toast I snagged,” Mallow shot back. “Found it scavenging a grocery joint. Special health grub—pumps 30 HP back if you’re outta combat. Grabbed it, alarm tripped, walkers swarmed, and we bolted. Just fed it to you.”

  Kevin eyed him. “Why’d you pull me through?”

  Mallow shrugged. “You had my back first, man. Blasted those creeps earlier. Just squaring it up.”

  Kevin nodded hard. “We’re tight now, no doubt. Debt’s cleared. From here on, we’re brothers, through the shit and the shine.”

  The little dude’s eyes popped wide. “Man, that’s slick! I always pegged you for a badass—a legit hero. Having a guy like you watching my back in this hellhole might just keep me kicking a bit longer.”

  Teams were a thing in Omnispace, but newbies like them couldn’t roll their own yet—gotta join up with the big dogs first. Shouldn’t be long before they can squad up for real, though.

  They swapped contact digits to ping each other or shoot the breeze whenever.

  Mallow picked “Soft Marshmallow” for his tag—guess this chubby candy freak’s got a sweet tooth. His trick, Metabolism Rush, we’ve been over—Stamina started at 4, juiced to 6 with that 50% newbie boost. Tougher than your average Joe, but the rest of his skills? Meh, just regular dude stuff.

  Kevin checked in with Mallow, who said he’d been out cold for eight hours. Third morning already. Kevin sucked in a big breath and scrolled through last night’s fight log.

  No shockers—the “Defend the Camp” gig wrapped up, dishing out the usual haul: 1,000 survival points, 2 attribute points, and 2 skill points. Kevin smoked 152 walkers too, racking up 400 survival points—3 a pop for melee kills, 2 with a gun. Plus, he snagged 4 white keys, worth about 100 points all told.

  After that wild-ass fight, a new ping hit his mind:

  “Worldhopper 4444, in a brutal melee clash, you carved up a hefty chunk of enemies with close-up weapons, unlocking your potential and auto-mastering Melee Mastery.

  Level: 1

  Effect: Enhances melee weapon skill, passively increasing melee damage by 5%.

  We encourage Worldhoppers to test diverse combat styles. Engage actively, tap your potential, meet the criteria, and master skills independently.

  Skills earned via self-training or mission arcs outclass those juiced up with skill scrolls at the same level, offering greater growth and faster scaling.”

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  So, Omnispace plays it straight—big risks, big payoffs. Kevin wondered if nearly biting it would score him some defense points. But even if it did, who’d be nuts enough to gamble their neck for that shit?

  He figured he’d chill till his HP topped off, then rolled outta bed to gear up for the next scrap.

  Sun poked over the horizon again, and the vehicle camp was locked down—for now, anyway.

  While Kevin was knocked out, walkers hit hard. Shit looked bleak till Jungwoo and his mentor Glenor roared back on bikes, hauling the guns and ammo Razor Hawk dumped. With that firepower, the camp crew blasted the walkers clean outta there.

  Kevin caught Jungwoo yapping and laughing with Rikk and the gang, probably racking up mad team points and loot. Razor Hawk was pissed as hell, and Marissa’s squad was steaming with jealousy.

  That’s how it rolls—the grunts who bust their asses get the side-eye every damn time.

  But Kevin didn’t walk away with squat.

  Rikk was pumped to see him back on his feet. “Hey, man, you’re a straight-up hero! Saved at least four heads back there and fought like a madman to hold the camp. We owe you big.”

  A ping flashed up—team points jumped to 25, all from his grind.

  Kevin had scoped the team points stash before, but nada caught his eye. Gear prices were off the charts, and he didn’t need that junk anyway. Deyl’s crossbow was the slickest piece, but it ran a fat 1,000 team points.

  What really hooked him were the skills the story crew rocked.

  Rikk had Speech Mastery at level 6—guy could talk his way outta a damn coffin.

  Sharn was a monster with heavy guns, Medium Firearms Mastery clocking level 7.

  Deyl was a beast with that slick crossbow, Crossbow Mastery hitting level 7.

  Melk and Deyl tracked like damn hounds, both rocking Tracking at level 6.

  Rikk and Melk were melee kings too, packing level 6 Melee Mastery and Small Firearms Mastery.

  Omnispace had mentioned skills come from scrolls you snag or trade, no word on cost or grind though. Kevin figured they ain’t cheap—more skills mean more badassery, juicing up your fighting and crafting game without clogging inventory slots.

  So, Kevin pegged these skills as his big play, thinking about dumping his scarce points right there.

  For the rundown, level 1 skills run 100 team points, level 2’s 300, and level 3 hits 500.

  Worth it, though. Kevin reckoned everyone’d clocked this, no wonder they’re hyped as shit over team points. Bet your ass the crew’s gonna claw harder for those points down the line.

  “Alright, everyone gather up,” Rikk called, voice steady and loud. “We held off the walkers for now, but staying here’s asking for trouble. Marissa’s crew didn’t finish their mission, but they scored a solid win—a fortified prison a few miles out. Good thing too.”

  Rikk tossed Marissa a quick grin, and she nodded back, eyes practically lit up.

  Kevin nearly choked on his spit. Shit was obvious—those two had some deal brewing behind closed doors. Marissa’s getting the VIP pass thanks to their little fling, no doubt. The poor saps who went with her on that prison scout? Clueless pawns, totally in the dark.

  Rikk went on, “We need to stick together and secure a safe spot before nightfall. Plenty of work ahead—load up the vehicles.”

  Fifteen minutes later, they pulled up to that prison they’d heard about.

  From the rides, they scoped it: electric fences, tall walls, watchtowers—defense gold. One big hitch, though: walkers everywhere.

  The prison was packed with walkers—ex-inmates and guards shambling all over. The team had to sweep the dark cells clean before they could set up camp.

  Omnispace dropped a new mission:

  “You’ve pulled the team through the mess for now, but a safe spot’s still out there. Go solo into the prison, wipe out every walker in Zone D, no help from plot characters. Earn team points and extras based on how you handle it.”

  Teamwork wasn’t on the table, but the payout was team points—probably a hefty stack. Everyone knew it was worth the gamble.

  Right as the task popped, Razor Hawk and his boys smashed a door down, hollering like lunatics as they stormed in. Marissa grabbed some folks and led with that jacked rifle through another way, but after screwing the old man last time, half her crew bailed on her ass. Jungwoo and Morimaru split off solo, while Sally roped in a bigger posse to tail her.

  Mallow stuck with Kevin. “Kevin, I’m stuck to you like glue. You are the boss now. Whatever you call, I’m in—no bullshit.”

  Kevin spat a rough chuckle. “Let ‘em run off. We’re finding a spot… and something else.”

  Mallow’s voice cracked a bit. “They’re already in there, piling up points off walker kills. What’s our move?”

  Kevin flashed a grin. “Mallow, name one time I’ve tanked.”

  Mallow scratched his head. “You play fast and loose sometimes, but damn if you don’t always scrape by.”

  Kevin drew his pistol and marched into Zone D, Mallow tailing tight.