Chapter 6

  Ethan crouched low, moving carefully through the desolate city streets. The streets were empty, save for the occasional growl or screech of distant monsters. Every step was calculated. He couldn’t afford to fight; else he gets overwhelmed

  His eyes darted around, scanning the wreckage ahead. His priority wasn’t food—he could replicate that when needed—but weapons. They were harder to come by. He needed something more than a pipe.

  Then, his gaze landed on a wrecked police car up ahead. It was battered, half-crushed, and clearly abandoned. The sight of it made his pulse quicken. There might be a weapon inside, he thought. His breath caught in his chest. A gun would give him an edge.

  He moved quickly, staying low to avoid detection. The street was eerily quiet—no monsters, no sounds. He took his chance. Reaching the car, he crouched down behind it, his eyes scanning for movement. There was nothing. He approached the trunk, which was half open, and peered inside. A handgun.

  Ethan grabbed it without hesitation, checking the chamber. A few rounds. Not many, but it would work for now. He could summon replicated bullets if needed. He shoved it into his waistband. The weight of it felt strange—he wasn’t used to carrying a weapon like this.

  This is real, he reminded himself. This is what I need to survive.

  He shook the thought away and focused. His parents were still on the other side of the city. But what if they were gone? That thought tugged at him, but he refused to dwell on it. He couldn’t.

  Ethan crouched once more, scanning the street. The city was silent, but that silence was deceiving. He didn’t know where the monsters were, or when they’d show up.

  If there was one thing Ethan realized, he needs to kill more monsters, to level up. But he needed to do it safely. Only aggroing a few monsters at a time.

  The handgun weighed heavy in Ethan’s waistband, cold steel biting against his hip with every step. He moved like a shadow, ducking between collapsed buildings and burned-out husks of cars, every nerve lit up and screaming run.

  Then he saw it.

  Half-buried under vines and ash, squeezed between two sagging office towers, was a supermarket.

  Or what was left of one.

  The sign was barely legible, half the letters missing, the other half scorched to hell. The front entrance was a mess—smashed glass, overturned carts, piles of rubble—but the building was still mostly intact. Mostly.

  His eyes scanned upward. The roof was reachable via a fire escape on the adjacent building. A light bulb flicked on in his head.

  His breathing steadied.

  He circled around the back. No time to waste. If monsters were nearby, they’d hear his heartbeat at this rate.

  The emergency exit hung open by a hinge, creaking slightly in the breeze. He slipped inside.

  Dark. Quiet.

  Shelves collapsed in tangled rows, aisles twisted into unnatural mazes. Mold and blood painted the walls, and there was this god-awful stench of spoiled meat and something... worse. The kind of smell that lingered in your throat.

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  His footsteps echoed softly over shattered tile. The place looked like it had been looted a dozen times over, but something about the air—it was charged. Like whatever had been through here hadn’t just eaten. It had nested.

  Ethan didn’t stick around to guess what.

  Instead, he moved fast.

  He blocked off two of the exits using fallen shelves and wreckage, grabbing a busted mop handle to jam one of the back doors shut. The layout worked in his favor. He could funnel anything that entered straight down the center aisle.

  Time to bait the hook.

  He replicated a raw meat scent grenade—gross as hell, but super effective. The replica shimmered faintly, pulsing like a heartbeat. He threw it into the middle of the store.

  The scent hit him first. Even he nearly gagged.

  Then came the sounds.

  Snarls. Heavy breathing. Claws scraping pavement.

  Three monsters appeared from the wreckage outside—thin, wiry things with sickly skin stretched over bone, eyes like dying stars. They didn’t hesitate. They charged.

  Ethan bolted up the emergency stairwell and climbed to the roof of the adjacent building, crouching just above the store’s entrance. As the monsters barreled into the trap, he waited.

  One beat.

  Two.

  Click. He dropped the last barricade behind them.

  They were locked in.

  Then all hell broke loose.

  Ethan drew the handgun, aimed through a shattered skylight, and fired. One monster dropped instantly—hole through the head, twitching on the floor. The others howled, slipping on the oil traps he’d laid, crashing into shelves that fell like dominoes.

  He hurled a replicated molotov.

  Fire exploded across the floor, purple flames licking up old packaging and plastic. A screech echoed through the store as one of the monsters flailed into the shelves, its flesh crackling and curling.

  The last one, bigger than the rest, tore through a side wall and started climbing—actually climbing—up the interior shelves toward the second floor.

  Ethan cursed and dropped down through the roof hatch, landing hard on his shoulder with a grunt.

  Smoke curled around him. The monster lunged.

  Ethan ducked, rolled, then rammed a shelf into it. It shrugged it off like cardboard.

  He drew a replicated baton, cracked it across its snout, and went for the legs. The creature swiped, catching his jacket—but he was already moving, slamming his weight into its side and driving them both into a pile of rubble.

  The monster roared, pinned him down—and Ethan shoved the barrel of the handgun under its jaw and pulled the trigger.

  Silence.

  Then the system pinged.

  [Level Up.]

  The notification glowed faintly in front of him. A reward. Proof he wasn’t completely insane for doing this.

  He dragged himself to his feet, arm screaming in pain, lungs burning from the smoke. The fire was dying down, and so were the flames in his chest.

  He stumbled behind the counter. If there was one place still holding anything useful, it was the employee stash.

  Bingo.

  A rusted lockbox sat beneath the register. He busted it open with a replicated crowbar.

  Inside:

  – A hunting rifle. Scratched, but serviceable.

  – A combat knife with a cracked hilt.

  – Half a bottle of expired painkillers. Good enough.

  He tucked them to his bag, as he planned his next move.

  Luring more monster.

  Status Updated

  [Ethan Walker]

  Age: 22

  Level: 3

  Strength: 12

  Dexterity: 12

  Vitality: 12

  Wisdom: 11

  Intelligence: 11

  Stat Points: 2

  Skills

  Perfect Replication [Lvl. Max]

  Skill Points: 0