Drawn by the screaming alarm, walker waves crashed toward the control room.

  Marissa tracked the noise, hauling her crew that way. Half her squad kept peeling off, popping walkers that got too close. Marissa pissed fire and cussed, but her hold was crumbling. Team points from kills were pulling harder than her bark. Plus, her old stunts had newbies leery—they were over her hot air and wanted cold cash.

  Marissa toyed with going lone wolf, but facing walkers and dark solo? Nah, not her jam. She stuck with the pack.

  ***

  …

  Mallow couldn’t quit cackling—walkers were damn near queuing up to fry. The corridor ran over 90 feet, and after 60 feet of hellfire, they crumbled to ash. When the flames dipped, Mallow whooped and splashed more diesel down the corridor, lighting ‘em back up.

  “Come on, you bastards! Daddy’s got a fire bath for ya!” Mallow bounced around, wild as shit, arms flailing. Seeing the walker kill count shoot through the roof, he was riding a high—the world looked a little less crappy, a bit more fun.

  Kevin stayed cool, wiping down his sidearm, greasing it good. Nothing fancy, no crazy stats, but it still needed love.

  Like Melk always growled, “Keep the weapon clean, you’ll score the green. Slack off once, doom’s got your ass in a dance.”

  “We’re rolling into another scrap soon,” Kevin said, voice low and steady. “And we’re running dry on diesel.”

  Mallow eyed the two leftover fuel buckets. “Hey, boss, I’ve been counting. We’ve smoked over 400 walkers already. If we play it tight, these two’ll get us another hundred or so. Zone D’s gotta be running thin, right?”

  “Omnispace ain’t no softie. It won’t hand us a death sentence, but it ain’t laying out a welcome mat either. We’ve carved out a fat edge torching these walkers, but don’t think Omnispace is gonna kiss our asses. We wanna stay ahead, we gotta roll the dice.” Kevin slammed a fresh mag into his gun and snatched his knife.

  Mallow’s mug went hard. “Alright, boss. What’s the move?”

  “Hold off on that fuel. This corridor’s built to choke ‘em—only two walkers can squeeze in at once. I’ll take point; you watch my back. If it gets dicey, we’ll soak those creeps in oil and spark ‘em up. Then we slug it out till we’re done.” Kevin’s grit locked in, Melk’s words ringing in his head.

  The fire dimmed, showing walkers still sizzling, clawing ahead with crispy hands.

  Kevin held his spot, first shot popping the lead walker’s head clean off. He lunged in, knife slashing hard, lopping the next one’s skull with a nasty swing. The rest kept coming, burning hulks that wouldn’t quit—grim as hell.

  Kevin hacked away, fighting like a trapped dog. No slick moves, just raw guts, Melk’s lessons pumping through him. He worked the corridor, dodging chomps, hitting when the walkers froze up after a lunge. His blade rammed into their heads. He pulled back to 20 feet from Mallow, slicing forward and back.

  Ten walkers down, but he ate two claw swipes. Luck held—no big cuts—but his health dropped 30-plus points. He waved Mallow in.

  Mallow hustled, splashing diesel down the corridor and torching it up. Kevin fell back, sucking air and wrapping his cuts. The bandages were basic as hell—no Omnispace quick-fix bullshit—but they plugged the bleeding good enough.

  A pack of walkers shambled into the blaze, groaning like hell as they fried, dropping into crispy piles along the corridor.

  Kevin snagged a quick break, health crawling back to 60 points. Teeth clenched, he tipped Mallow a nod and rushed in as the flames fizzled out.

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  Close-up scrapping’s a bitch, but you don’t get tough without swinging. Bigger uglies down the road’ll be a real pain in the ass.

  Plus, walkers were mutating again tonight. Kevin didn’t know the how, but they’d turn nastier. They were already a bitch to handle. He had to cash in now, or it’d be a shitshow later.

  Kevin’s brutal stab hit home, jamming his blade through the walker’s jaw and into its brain. Before he could rip it free, the crazy bastard clawed back, raking his shoulder for 12 damage.

  Kevin’s Strength was at 7 now, nearly matching the walker’s, and his Stamina was up to 8 points—80 HP. With tighter defenses, he could eat a few hits. Still, one swipe from a dying walker clocked 12 HP.

  For a newbie with 4 Stamina, that’d be a gut punch—serious trouble. No shock beginners ducked close fights and hugged guns. One slip, and you’re toast.

  Once you’re dead, ain’t no rewind.

  Kevin’s ticker skipped when an Omnispace ping hit:

  “Worldhopper 4444, you’ve taken 252 damage, over 300% of your HP. Your relentless combat and bold moves earned you Physical Defense Mastery, level 1. It enhances your skill with non-shield gear, raises defense, and cuts physical damage by 5%. Keep testing new fight tactics to build your edge.”

  Kevin sucked wind, health down to 30 points, teetering on the edge of screwed. He swung his knife, carving through a walker’s neck, then booted it aside.

  Pulling his pistol, he snapped off headshots, walkers closing in at 10 feet. Even with his so-so aim, he nailed ‘em clean.

  Two more dropped, but a dying cop walker chomped his left hand. Prison guard gloves took the brunt, but it still drew blood, health crashing to 20 HP—damn near critical. He waved Mallow it was clear to roll.

  Mallow dumped the last diesel bucket and lit it up. Kevin staggered back, gasping.

  Mallow hustled over, “You good, boss? Why you tangling up close with those bastards? We can’t take ‘em, we can still haul ass outta here.”

  Kevin, chest still pumping from the scrap, rasped, “Pretty sure we’re boxed in. This is the only way out. They can’t bust through, and we ain’t slipping past.”

  “So, we’re stuck like rats?” Mallow’s voice cracked with nerves. “Hey, chill for a sec. I’ll take point next round!”

  Kevin nodded, shut his eyes, and crashed for a breather. His health inched back up.

  Mallow scoped the flames as they flickered out, two minutes draining their kick. The fire had smoked another 60 or so walkers—if you could even call them dead at this point.

  Walkers rushed again, no diesel left to torch ‘em.

  Mallow planted a boot in the lead walker’s chest, sending it sprawling back into the pack. The stumble slowed ‘em down, and he splashed the last diesel drips from the bucket, sparking a quick blaze that held the bastards off for a hot second.

  Kevin flicked Mallow a thumbs-up. The kid was quick on his feet, turning scraps into wins in this tight-ass corner. Not half bad.

  Mallow bellowed a war yell to pump himself up and barreled down, shovel swinging.

  He’d clocked Kevin’s moves before, so he knew the drill. He smashed the shovel into the walkers’ soft necks and heads, turning skulls to mush from high ground. Brains and blood sprayed everywhere.

  The other walkers didn’t give a damn. They kept clawing and grunting, scrambling over the mess.

  Mallow unleashed a string of cusses, voice thick with panic and piss-off. Then his foot snagged a tossed diesel bucket, and he ate dirt hard. His shovel flew, clocking his leg with a nasty thud—pain hit so sharp it stung his eyes with tears.

  Kevin let out a groan, gut dropping as shit hit the fan. He yanked his pistol and popped off a quick burst, dropping a few walkers ready to jump Mallow and pulling his ass out of the fire. Mallow, still rattled, clawed back up and gripped his shovel tight.

  Kevin scoped his health bar and chilled the fuck out when it hit 45 points, yanking him out of the red. He knew they were toast if Mallow didn’t get backup soon.

  Kevin stashed his pistol and barreled down the slope, ready to tangle with the walker swarm. Mallow’s vibe jumped when he clocked Kevin rolling in. The two pals linked up again—Kevin scrapping up close, Mallow swinging his long shovel to bash walker heads from a safe spot.

  The tight choke held ‘em sweet, capping it at two walkers a pop. They fought like mad dogs, clearing out 30-plus of the bastards.

  “Hey, boss, fuel’s smoked out. Another wave’s gonna hit soon. What’s the play?” Mallow, covered by Kevin, only took one scratch and had juice left, but he was beat to shit.

  Kevin, cool as ice, shot back, “Chill, man. We’ve been scrapping for ages. The crew’s gotta roll in soon. They’ll spot the walkers and blast ‘em for sure. They don’t know we’re holed up here, so they ain’t turning those creeps on us. Even if some asshole tries, the rest won’t pass up team points. Shit hits the fan, we fall back to the control room and dig in. That spot’s the prison’s heart—door’s a tank, walkers won’t bust it anytime soon.” Kevin had it all mapped out.