The sight of this giant, fuckin’ terrifying beast locked ‘em all dead quiet. This wasn’t no regular punk.

  “I don’t give a rat’s ass if it’s a monster or a walker,” Melk said, cold as steel, hoisting his Bushmaster. “It’s clogging our road, so it’s dead meat!” With a boom that’d wake the devil, he blasted the walker’s eye—prime weak spot. The big bastard grabbed its face, howling a roar that’d split your damn skull!

  This is just one of ‘em! Kevin’s head spun, gut churning. Omnispace Law’s holding back the other two Walker Kings, and even this one’s dialed down. Now the exits are locked tight, elevator’s toast, and we’re trapped in this shithole lab. If all three of these juiced-up freaks hit us here, we might as well eat our own barrels.

  Melk, relentless as a pitbull, unloaded a storm of lead from his Bushmaster pistol, shredding the Walker King like it was born to do.

  The Walker King screamed bloody hell, a sound that’d make your ears bleed.

  Mallow got jacked, hollering, “Hell yeah, Melk! Let’s pile on!” He chugged a vial of “Viagra”—Adrenaline Shot—grinning like a damn fool as it juiced his firepower. Then he snatched his M16 and sprayed a shit-ton of bullets at the Walker King’s head. Lousy aim, but that fat skull at close range? Couldn’t miss if he tried.

  T-Bone, Guilan, and the other gunners shook off the daze and jumped in, unloading a hail of hot lead—machine guns, rifles, pistols, the works.

  The Walker King, pissed and hurting, let loose its Fury Charge! That one-ton meat slab barreled forward, shaking the damn lab like an earthquake.

  “Everybody, move your ass!” Kevin barked, yanking the trigger-happy Mallow outta the line of fire.

  The crew behind weren’t dumbasses—they scattered like spooked rats. This Walker King wasn’t no joke, so ducking first was the play.

  After days of hellish bullshit, none of these survivors were green. Once they spread out, they locked on the Walker King’s bald dome and cut loose another shitstorm of lead. Mallow kept blasting, cocky as hell.

  Anyway, the bastard’s head was its only soft spot—nail that, drop it.

  The Walker King, mad as fuck again, ripped a giant metal pole—a 15-foot support beam—straight outta the damn floor. With its freak strength, it swung that bitch like a bat at the crew.

  People screamed and bolted, but the poor sap closest didn’t have a prayer. The steel beam smashed his skull—bam!—and then…

  His head fucking exploded!

  Just a pale neck stump left, nerves twitching like some sick puppet.

  “Whoa…” Mallow puked his guts out. He’d wasted walkers before, but seeing a guy get smashed that clean? First damn time. No torn meat, no bloodbath—just one swing, like swatting a fly with a sandal. Head gone, like it was nothing.

  Kevin knew his math was off—way off. He pegged 25 Strength at five regular joes combined, but this bastard swung a 2-ton pole like a damn toothpick. That 25 wasn’t fucking around.

  The Walker King looked starved as hell. It lumbered over, snatched the headless corpse, and roared like a psycho. Tore it in half like wet paper—guts splashed into its drooling maw. That dumbass “heh-heh” laugh now sounded like pure nightmare fuel.

  Just thinking about tangling up close with this freak later, Kevin’s ass clenched tight.

  But Melk wasn’t backing down. “Hey, shithead!” he bellowed. “He’s chowing down! Can’t let him juice back up! Get your ass up front—distract that ugly fuck and keep him busy!”

  Kevin swallowed hard. “Damn, even a bottom feeder’s got some dignity! Let’s hit it!”

  While the Walker King was busy munching that corpse like a happy pig, Kevin slipped in close and hacked deep into its calf—slash, slash, slash. He dodged fast, barely ducking a wild swing that’d crush a truck. The floor split like shit under that monster’s power!

  Kevin wasn’t some punk regular walkers could fuck with anymore. His Agility hit 8 points—faster than this fat bastard. Feather Boots juiced it 30% more, giving him a damn edge. Plus 30% dagger damage, 10% attack speed, 20% less hurt, and 10% dodge boost—shit piled up, and he felt cocky.

  He’d take a gamble, long as it wasn’t a death wish.

  Why the calf, not that bald dome everyone was blasting? Walker King’s HP was a fucking mountain—too thick to burn fast. Head shots hit harder, sure, but not enough to flip the fight. Its real soft spot? That slow-ass speed—just a regular joe’s pace.

  The space wasn’t some wide-open playground, and that pinned the Walker King’s fat ass down. That giant steel pole? Pure fucking nightmare fuel.

  Kevin figured if he kept carving its legs—really fucked one up—it’d crawl slower than a hungover hog. All that HP and armor wouldn’t mean shit if it couldn’t move. Slow bastard’s just a fat target.

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  Melk caught Kevin’s play and gave a sharp nod. “Everybody, blast its damn head—keep it pissed!”

  With that, he jumped in. Six feet of grit, Melk moved like a cat—military drills carved into his bones. Walker King roared like a psycho, swinging that steel bitch in a screaming arc at Melk’s ass.

  Melk rolled clean, ducking the sweep like it was nothing. He lunged fast, blade flashing, and ripped a nasty gash in the Walker King’s calf. The beast howled bloody murder as Melk’s sharp-as-hell edge tore a chunk outta its leg.

  Walker King’s 25-point defense—jacked from its freak strength and Fat Wall—made it a damn tank against physical hits. Kevin’s full-on slash earlier barely tickled it. Melk’s cut, though? That showed the gap—master versus rookie in knife work.

  The Walker King slammed its steel pole down again, but Melk dodged tight, rolling behind the bastard. In one slick move, he jammed his blade deep into its calf—crunch, right to the bone. Kevin heard that sick snap from across the room.

  Walker King lost its shit. It spun that steel pillar wild, a full fucking circle—no dodging this time!

  Looked like its seventh skill kicked in! Still close-up dirty work, but built to smash every last asshole in range. (Kevin: “Damn, this fucker won’t choke in a group bang… I mean, fight.”)

  Melk jumped back, but that steel whirlwind tagged him hard. He flew like a damn ragdoll—smashed into another pole mid-air. Bones cracked loud, blood sprayed from his mug as he hit the deck, out cold.

  “Melk!” Kevin bellowed, voice raw as hell. He charged the Walker King, the bastard panting after its spin. No hesitation—Kevin aimed for that fucked-up right calf, slamming his blades in deep with everything he had.

  As the steel sank in, Kevin felt some weird-ass twist—like the muscle was fighting back.

  He flicked a look at the combat log and his gut dropped.

  “Worldhopper 4444 attacks Walker King’s leg. Due to Walker King’s physical defense bonus and Fat Wall skill, damage cut by 80%. Your attack bonus is 20%, so total damage drops 60%. Dealt 16 points of damage.”

  Kevin roared like a mad bastard, ripped his blades free, smeared ‘em with Mamba Venom, and jammed ‘em back into Walker King’s leg with all his damn juice.

  This time, shit flipped. Walker King bellowed and smashed its steel pole down—bone-busting hard. Kevin rolled out fast, barely ducking the hit.

  He shot a glance at the combat log, grinning like a psycho: “… Dealt 17 points of physical damage. Mamba Venom applied, dealing 60 points of corrosion damage…”

  Walker King laughed off poison, but corrosion? That hit different. Its rotting ass was wide open to that nasty burn.

  Kevin weaved and dodged, stabbing that fucked-up right calf over and over with his Navy Knife, dripping Mamba Venom. Meanwhile, T-Bone, Guilan, Mallow, and the crew didn’t sit on their asses—bullets rained hell on Walker King’s head and right leg, keeping its ugly mug off Kevin.

  Walker King got pissed, unleashing that Steel Pillar Whirlwind again—the same brutal shit that’d flung Melk. Kevin scrambled hard, but the whipping steel tagged his ass, numbing his left arm like it was busted on the spot.

  He shot a look at the combat log—fuck, that one hit ripped half his HP clean off.

  “Dammit! That’s some nasty shit!” Kevin growled low.

  But right then, Walker King’s ugly mug swung to the buzzing little bastards on the other side.

  Fury Charge!

  A one-ton freak barreled ahead, stomping the ground like a damn quake with that inhuman strength.

  The gunners bolted in a panic, but one slow asshole didn’t make it. Walker King plowed into him, smashing him into a concrete wall with a wet, sick crunch.

  Kevin and the crew couldn’t help sucking air—holy hell, that guy was fucked. His body splattered like a bloody rag, red guts smeared up the wall, blood dripping everywhere. The damn concrete even cracked from the hit!

  Walker King let out a creepy-ass “heh-heh,” dipped its fat finger in the gore, and licked it like a sick bastard.

  That lit a fire under the gunners’ asses. They snatched their pieces and unloaded hell.

  “We ain’t your damn chow, you freak! D-i-e!”

  Pure gut fear of this unknown shit was driving ‘em now.

  But the lead storm just pissed Walker King off more, and it cut loose another Fury Charge.

  In this tight-ass box—60 feet wide, 100 feet long—this meat mountain could wreck everything.

  Mallow, itchy for a shot, held off dodging ‘til the last damn second, but he was too slow.

  Fury Charge wasn’t about Walker King’s shitty 7 Agility—it was that freak 25 Strength, making it fast as hell.

  “NO! Mallow! Get your ass outta there!” Kevin hollered, dumping his clip into the bastard, but his rounds bounced like piss against that unstoppable rush.

  Mallow roared, “I ain’t dying like some punk—!”

  But right then, T-Bone, the big motherfucker, jumped in and slammed Mallow outta the way with all he had.

  Mallow flew, catching T-Bone’s big, shit-eating grin mid-air. That bastard’s jokes usually had him rolling, but this wasn’t no damn comedy hour.

  T-Bone ate the full hit, smashing into a table with a hard grunt. He groaned, clawing to get back up.

  Walker King cackled like a psycho, lurching at the downed T-Bone.

  Teeth grinding, T-Bone yelled, “You ugly freak, choke on this!” and chucked an assault grenade right into Walker King’s gaping maw.

  The beast chomped it twice like fucking candy—then BOOM! Grenade popped off. Its mug twisted, beady eyes burning holes into T-Bone, pissed as hell at the asshole who fed it “poison.”

  With a roar that’d wake the dead, Walker King snatched T-Bone up and ripped him clean in half. Mallow’s scream tore through the room as blood and guts splashed the deck.

  Their buddy, cracking wise ten minutes ago, was gone—fucked up bad.

  Kevin and Mallow were pissed to fuckin’ death!