After slogging 100 yards, their eyes locked on the door from the diary. It stuck out, smack in the middle of a thick, curved concrete wall. The whole damn thing looked like one solid chunk, just like the diary swore—built to “eat a nuke and keep standing.”

  It sat 60 feet off from the other cells, with a clear stretch out front.

  Kevin stomped up, jammed the diary’s key in, and gave it a twist. Smooth as hell, no fight—just slid right around. He cranked it again, but the key jammed tight.

  A minute crawled by. No clicks, no hums, no sci-fi beams. Dead nothing.

  Everyone’s sharp stares melted into confused squints. A few weak coughs cut the quiet, then light chatter sparked up.

  Kevin and Mallow were gutted. Was this some bullshit trick? They felt ripped off.

  They’d been suckered into blowing all their cash on weird-ass junk—birth control vibes from Hyper Serum, massage oil vibes from Stone Skin Potion, Viagra vibes from Adrenaline Shot, and a submission kink with Sheep Potion. They were pumped to slug it out with the boss, but now? Jack shit was happening. What the hell was this?

  “Maybe the key’s fuckin’ useless. Maybe they swapped the lock after it got lost—or it’s just a big damn joke. Who knows?” Melk sneered, grinning like a dick.

  He took a slow drag, puffed out a smoke ring, flicked the cig to the ground, and waved the crew to roll with him.

  Kevin barely caught the rumble before the whole prison shook like a bitch.

  An electronic voice blasted:

  “Warning! Warning! High-security zone C-03 is opening! Attention all guards—stand by! Unauthorized entry will activate Article 04! Repeat: all guards, stand by!”

  The curved concrete wall in front sunk into the ground with a low growl, peeling back to show a hulking steel beast—cold, mean, and scary as hell. It screamed sci-fi flick, all slick panels fused into one badass slab of tech.

  A low hydraulic whine cut through, gears clicking steady as the giant metal door creaked open. Built tough—three feet of reinforced steel, a wall nothing could bust.

  What kinda secrets were stashed deep in this, the country’s nastiest max-security joint?

  What screwed-up shit had the guards pulling triggers on prisoners, no trial, after the world went south?

  What crooked game got a pile of SWAT boys buried in this jail’s black guts?

  The door swung wide, peeling back to a monster elevator—big enough to cram a truck in. Inside gleamed with metal, slick and spotless, like some sterile lab wet dream.

  No backing out now. Kevin stepped up first, Mallow and the crew piling in behind. He shot a look at Melk, who didn’t flinch an inch. That stone-cold bastard always held steady—seeing him dialed Kevin’s nerves down a notch.

  With T-Bone, Guilan, and a handful of others, ten hard-asses stood locked and loaded. If shit hit the fan, they’d go down swinging.

  The elevator dropped, dragging on like forever, then jerked to a stop. No floor numbers, just a gut guess—way the hell underground.

  Omnispace cut in:

  “Worldhopper 4444 and 4445 have uncovered a hidden main storyline location: a top-secret military lab, code-named JBA-2B.

  Nightmare-level hidden main storyline mission 1—Exploration is now active. Explore the JBA-2B lab and dig up the cause of the global disaster.”

  Kevin’s face went tight. Back in the original tale, Rikk woke up in a hospital with the world already screwed. No one asked why—just rolled with the chaos. No answers, just scrapping to live. (Walkers muttering, “Hell if we know—the writers left us hanging too.”)

  Shit was getting weirder every second. Cracking this puzzle could hand ‘em some real juice. This secret gig looked like it was all about rooting out the apocalypse’s trigger and blasting it wide open. Might even flip the whole damn story on its head.

  But this mess was creeping Kevin out bad, cash or no cash. Money’s only good if you ain’t a corpse, right?

  Kevin played it cagey—your classic “farmer” type in game speak. Risk was fine, but eating dirt wasn’t his style.

  Too bad Mallow had snagged that cursed diary. Omnispace shoved ‘em into this nightmare gig—no heads-up, no upfront pay, no protection—like it was begging for a fuck-up.

  Kevin let out a tired grunt. No way out now. Just keep breathing, stay sharp.

  He scoped the crew—Melk, T-Bone, Guilan, and a few other tough bastards. Maybe him and Mallow’s shot at crawling outta this hellhole hung on these guys—just NPCs, but still packing heat.

  Even with his tricks, Kevin’s survival game was no sharper than T-Bone’s. Melk probably had the edge. No clue if they’d all walk out alive.

  “Hey, boss! Found the lab!” Mallow hollered, barreling toward Kevin, voice lit up with dumbass glee.

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  Kevin shook his head, sucked in a breath, and steeled himself. “Dead or alive,” he growled hard, “we’re going out swinging.” With a fresh fire, he tailed Mallow toward the lab they’d sniffed out.

  Kevin couldn’t shake the bad vibes as he scanned the joint. Flanking him were monster cultivation tanks, sloshing with red-yellow goo like some twisted baby juice. Inside floated pale husks—half-human, half-freak, all dead as hell, each warped by some sick mutation.

  “Holy crap, what the hell are these things?” Mallow sputtered, voice cracking.

  “Omnispace says this is a top-secret military lab. Post-apocalypse, some shady bastards hauled in SWAT, iced all the test meat. Looks like they were messing with bio-shit, then—boom—leak city. Kinda like Umbrella Corp in Resident Evil,” Kevin said, face locked grim.

  “So we’re staring down some jacked-up super walker?” Mallow pressed.

  “Yeah, way it’s shaping up, that’s the bet,” Kevin shot back, eyes hard.

  Bright side? Kevin’s tricks were built for walkers—Walker Slayer juiced damage against ‘em by a fat 20%. That’d pull some weight.

  “Yo!” Melk barged in, snagging Kevin by the collar. “Listen up, dumbass. What’re you two yapping about? I missing the party?”

  “Alright, from what we’re clocking, we’re likely facing some seriously screwed walkers soon. And yeah, we’re shitting bricks,” Kevin owned up, steady but tense.

  “I don’t got a damn clue about these walkers, but I’m ready to blast ‘em to hell,” Melk bragged, shrugging like it was nothing. “You chicken, you better haul ass back to your coop.”

  I’m dying to bounce outta this cursed Omnispace trap! Kevin growled low.

  Kevin and his crew fired up the lab computer, and after some rooting, it spat out an audio diary. (Kevin: “This joint’s twisted as hell. Prisoners scribble diaries, bosses record ‘em—anybody filming their own ass like Hilton?”)

  “…we’re on the verge of a breakthrough. Subject 03 is in the final stages of modification. Our gene weapon, designed to target specific genetic profiles, is nearly complete…”

  “…the cellular activity exhibits remarkable stability. These black cells appear capable of erasing memories while preserving basic survival instincts. Fascinating…”

  “…Congress wants to investigate us? Screw that noise!”

  “…that bitch Hillianna sold us out. Unforgivable! But I’ll make her bleed. Former First Lady, now Secretary of Defense—she’s still no match for the political muscle I’ve got. I’ll dig up a new puppet for her spot. Meantime, I’m leaning on Philip to speed this shit up…”

  “…I’m smelling a rat with Philip. His kid’s caught some weird-ass virus, damn close to the crap we’re cooking here. What’s that bastard hiding?…”

  “…Philip’s off the rails! He’s scheming to swipe some test serum for his girl. Can’t let that fly. He’s crossed me—he’ll eat dirt soon enough…”

  “…I axed Philip and caged him up. Now he can rot 100 yards off, stewing in his own piss, watching us hit the big time from his shitty little cell…”

  “…Oh, hell no! Philip rigged some virus code before we dumped him! The lab’s gone to shit—test freaks are loose, chewing on everybody! Son of a… (scream, chomp sounds)”

  Kevin and Mallow clutched their gear tight, a cold jolt slamming ‘em. Kevin’s brain kicked into overdrive: “Philip? The lab rat? Hold up—Governor Philip? What are the damn odds!”

  Outta nowhere, Omnispace’s voice cut in:

  “Warning! Worldhoppers 4444 and 4445, you’ve uncovered the ultimate secret in the world’s plot. Nightmare-level hidden main storyline mission 1—Exploration is complete. Moving on to mission 2—Survival.

  A five-time mutated Test Subject 03 will drop in soon. Waste it.

  Note: Due to regulations, the original legendary-level hidden main storyline mission is downgraded to nightmare-level. Test Subject 05 and Test Subject 11 are scrapped. Test Subject 03’s head now has the Vital Point attribute—double damage when you hit it. Rewards get slashed accordingly.”

  A bone-shaking crash ripped through the lab as something heavy slammed the deck.

  Kevin swung to Mallow, voice thick. “Gear up, brother. This is the real shit. If I bite it, don’t let my folks hear how I went down, for God’s sake.”

  Mallow’s face locked in grim steel, matching Kevin’s. “Damn straight, boss. Same here. My mom’d lose it if she knew the screwed-up crap I’ve seen before I cash out.”

  With a quick boot, Melk sent ‘em both stumbling ahead. “Need meat shields up top—hustle it!” he growled.

  Kevin clocked the hulking shape that’d dropped from the ceiling. It was a giant, nasty-ass walker.

  Five-time Mutated Walker King:

  Backstory: Some big-shot nation runs the bioweapon game. They’ve been cooking up gene-killers to waste their rivals. This prison? Secret lab cover. Shit hit the fan, though—apocalypse is just their latest screw-up. Started with a death row brute, big as hell, pumped full of experiments and infections. Five mutations later, he busted out. Took a whole SEAL team to bag him. Now it’s your shot.

  Weight: 2,000 lbs (Mallow: “Now that’s a fat bastard! Guess I ain’t the chub king here.”)

  Strength: 25 points (Hits the cap Omnispace sets for newbie trials.)

  Agility: 7 points (Don’t bet on a 2,000-pound meat slab outrunning Bolt.)

  Stamina: 25 points (Caps out under Omnispace’s newbie trial rules.)

  Intelligence + Wisdom + Charisma = 3 points (No need to explain this crap.)

  Skills:

  1. Fury Charge: When this beast hauls ass, it slams like a sedan at 60 mph—damage is 2x its Strength plus whatever ground it covers.

  2. Flesh Tear: This fat freak was a meat junkie alive, and death didn’t kill the craving. If it grabs you and rips in, you’re rolling Stamina and Toughness checks. Flunk it, you’re toast—instant. Pass, you’re still screwed, just limping or bleeding out.

  3. Fat Wall: Lab coats couldn’t cut through its blubber with scalpels—had to bust out chainsaws. That grease slab shrugs off 25% of physical hits, and its slick hide makes 25% of bullets slide right off.

  4. Genetic Mutation: This ugly bastard’s blood pumps back at 5 HP a second. Drops below 50%, it’s 10 HP a tick. Near death—under 10%—it jacks to a sick 30 HP a pop.

  5. Giant Physique: Picked this meat slab for its tough-as-hell bones. Freak crash—20,000-pound truck smashed him, just a busted leg. Lab rats sniffed out pure giant blood in his veins, some ancient badass strain. Slaps on 3,000 HP, no joke.

  6. Boss Privilege: Nightmare-level boss ain’t playing. Tacks on another 3,000 HP. (Legendary level? Brace for a fat 10,000 HP extra.)

  7. ??? (Skill name’s AWOL for now.)

  “Holy shit!” Mallow and Kevin hollered together. “This thing’s a damn freakshow!”

  Mallow’s mug cracked, tears pouring. “We’re screwed to hell,” he wailed like a bitch. “Gonna get flattened like bugs…”