With the sample successfully collected, Lisa threw herself into her work without delay.
Staring at the state-of-the-art medical equipment before her, she felt an overwhelming sense of disconnection from reality, as if she were trapped in a surreal dream.
For a moment, it felt as though the apocalypse hadn't happened, as though she was back in the hospital she loved, immersed in her research.
As one of the nation's top medical doctors, Lisa was no stranger to genetic analysis. Her expertise often surpassed even that of seasoned biologists.
After several hours of meticulous research, Lisa wiped the sweat from her brow and headed upstairs with a report in hand. "Master, your assumption was correct. The genes of these zombies are drastically different from those of ordinary humans. From the sample, I identified an unusual cellular structure. These cells have incredibly low survival rates but are exceptionally active, replicating at an astonishing speed. In just a few minutes, they can multiply into billions."
Miles didn't bother looking at the report. "Just explain it directly. I trust you."
Trust? Lisa scoffed internally. If you trust me so much, why do I live in the basement?
Suppressing her amusement, she flashed a polite smile. "Master, I have a bold hypothesis. If we can understand the pattern of this cellular replication, it might be possible to transplant these cells into humans, potentially enhancing their physical abilities. They could become superhumanly strong."
The horrors of the zombies were already well-documented.
Even a single infected zombie could possess terrifying strength. But what about a primary host?
If they could capture someone like Andrew and transplant his cells into humans…
Miles felt a flicker of intrigue but quickly frowned. "If that's the case, how is cell transplantation different from infection? A human without consciousness is no better than a zombie."
"Well…" Lisa hesitated, clearly embarrassed. "In theory, cell transplantation wouldn't affect brain function, but since this is uncharted territory, I can't guarantee anything."
"Then shelve it for now," Miles replied curtly, losing interest.
For now, understanding the basics of zombies sufficed. His current environment was secure, and there was no immediate need to tamper with the human body.
At that moment, Miles' walkie-talkie crackled to life.
Ryan's voice came through, low and serious. "Miles, we just spotted a sizable group of zombies—at least ten or more. Andrew is among them."
Since the formation of the extermination squad, Ryan had been endlessly busy, scouring the buildings and updating Miles daily.
Miles wasn't surprised. "One person mutates, and countless others follow. This was inevitable. But for a group to appear so suddenly… Could zombies actually have collective consciousness?"
In his past life, Miles only knew of the existence of zombies, but it seemed he had barely scratched the surface.
If Ryan's observation was accurate, and zombies could operate as coordinated groups, the implications were terrifying.
Imagine a horde of zombies following a single leader—that would be catastrophic.
Miles' voice grew firm. "Ryan, inform the residents immediately. With the increased number of zombies, it's time to launch a zombie hunting competition."
"A competition?" Ryan chuckled. "Only you intellectual types could come up with something like that."
Miles smirked but quickly grew serious. "Zombies are multiplying at an alarming rate. Their infectiousness is exponential—one infects ten, ten infect a hundred…"
Ryan let out a sharp breath. "If that's true, in a few days, this community might be wiped out."
Miles nodded grimly. "Exactly. We need to control the spread, especially the primary hosts. They're far more dangerous, and we have no idea how many are out there."
"I'll take care of it," Ryan assured him.
Soon, a buzz swept through the residents:
The Zombie Hunting Competition!
The rules were simple:
The three existing squads of a hundred members each would be split into smaller teams of ten. For every zombie captured, a team would earn a roast chicken as a reward. Over the course of a week, the team with the highest count would win food rations for half a month. The second-place team would receive rations for three days.
The team in last place? They wouldn't just miss out on rewards—they'd have their rations deducted.
Lisa chuckled as she observed Miles. "You've mastered the art of hierarchy. Is this your plan to turn them all into your slaves?"
Miles didn't bother denying it. For the residents, he was practically a deity.
"This world has always operated on hierarchical systems," he said calmly. "Even in an apocalypse, rules will emerge. Unless humanity is wiped out entirely, order will always find a way."
"And what do you plan to do once you have control?" Lisa asked with a teasing glint in her eye.
In her mind's eye, she conjured an image of Miles, standing atop a skyscraper in the frozen wasteland, wielding twin Gatling guns as an army of devoted followers chanted his name.
A month ago, such a thought would have been absurd. But now, anything seemed possible.
Miles controlled enough resources to sustain half of southern China. It wouldn't take much effort for him to build an empire, complete with devoted disciples.
Breaking her train of thought, Miles chuckled. "Focus on the present. If these zombies overrun us, where will I find followers?"
The city of Chicago was home to roughly 300,000 to 400,000 survivors.
But with a looming zombie attack, even half of them surviving would be optimistic.
Miles could already envision it—a wave of zombies advancing relentlessly toward them.
Even the most desperate residents weren't fools.
Many had already reinforced their windows and doors, doing everything possible to prevent infection.
But Miles' promise of roast chicken, combined with his unforgiving reward system, drove some to recklessness. Fueled by hunger and desperation, they began their frantic search for zombies.