Hector stood on the roof, his eyes scanning the rain-slicked pavement of the Nuba Hills Apartments complex below. The morning sun broke through patches of overcast sky, giving the wet concrete a faint shimmer. From his vantage point, Hector could see the layout clearly: his building, the smallest of the three, sat separated from the others by a high brick wall and its own gated parking lot. The wall was a stroke of luck—it was already a natural barrier, and Hector saw the potential to fortify it further, effectively turning his building into a fortress.
He took a deep breath, the weight of his plans pressing against his mind. He had already ensured every weak spot in his building was patched up, barricaded, or reinforced. The ground floor was secure, the entrances were sealed, and the perimeter was swept clear of undead. But the idea of extending his defensive line to include the walls and the gate intrigued him. If he could secure the perimeter, he wouldn't just be defending his building; he'd be building a buffer zone, a critical layer of safety.
His daily patrols had shifted focus. No longer confined to the second floor, Hector now ventured outside the building itself, carefully navigating the parking lot and the immediate surroundings. While the undead wandered in small groups, their numbers had thinned significantly since he started clearing the area. Armed with his rifle and the silent confidence of his perks, Hector eliminated any stragglers, keeping the area as secure as possible. He moved like a ghost, "Urban Hunter" working in perfect harmony with his natural caution and growing survival instincts.
As he circled the lot during one of these patrols, his gaze fell on the small utility building near his own. He had seen it before, but now it piqued his curiosity. The squat structure was built of solid concrete, with a sturdy door and a faded sign that read Maintenance & Utilities.
Inside, Hector knew, was the complex's emergency petrol generator. The thought of power was both tantalizing and problematic. He had already noticed the increasing power shortages in the city. Nights were darker than ever, and the absence of light wasn't just unsettling—it was dangerous. The infected were unpredictable in the dark, and the thought of having even partial power in his building seemed like a lifeline.
But the generator wasn't without its downsides. It was old and likely loud, and fuel would be a finite resource. Noise, he reminded himself, could be a death sentence. The system's perks and buffs couldn't save him if a horde was drawn by the sound of an engine roaring to life. He could almost hear the hypothetical growls of the undead converging on his sanctuary, summoned by the generator's mechanical cries.
Still, the idea lingered. What if I used it sparingly? What if I soundproofed the room? His mind raced with possibilities. Power would mean refrigeration for food, light to stave off the oppressive darkness, and maybe even access to tools that could further secure his building or the surrounding perimeter.
The generator wasn't just a resource—it was a risk, but one he might need to take. For now, though, he filed the idea away. The perimeter came first. Hector needed to block off every potential entry point to his building and ensure the gates were secured. He would patrol the brick walls and inspect their condition, looking for weak spots or places where the infected might slip through. The perimeter wasn't just an extension of his defense—it was the next step in reclaiming a semblance of control over his environment.
As he finished his patrol and returned to the building, Hector paused at the edge of the parking lot, looking back at the complex. The two larger buildings loomed like silent tombs, their windows dark and uninviting. They were a reminder of what he still needed to do. Clearing them wasn't a priority yet, but they couldn't be ignored forever.
For now, though, his focus was clear. Secure the perimeter, scout the utility building, and figure out if the generator was worth the risk. Hector tightened the strap on his rifle, the resolve in his chest hardening like stone. The storm clouds above might clear, but the storm inside Nuba Hills Apartments was far from over.
Hector leaned back in his chair on the roof, staring out over the cityscape. The rain had stopped, leaving the air fresh and cool. From this vantage point, he could see the sprawling ruins of the city—silent, still, and menacing. It was weird in a way, how he always finds himself back on the roof whenever he planned his next step. The glass garden had become more than just a refuge for him; it was his sanctuary, his command center. Up here, he could breathe, think, and plan without the weight of the infected pressing down on him.
The digital map displayed in front of him. It was a lifesaver, an intricate blueprint of his surroundings that allowed him to strategize with precision. He had already marked the building as secure, the barricades in place, and patrol routes established. But his gaze drifted to the surrounding buildings and streets—uncharted, dangerous, and brimming with possibilities.
Hector tapped his fingers on the table, lost in thought. The Basic Info Package he had received after clearing the building was still sitting unused. He knew it held valuable data—the location of potential survivors or worse more infected. Yet, he hesitated. his district was largely residential with a few commercial areas and small parks he would there was a chance some people made it and are in hiding, it had been almost a month since he woke up to this mess and although he had been methodical in handling the situation he couldn't deny the emotional burden, the sense of dread that is constantly weighing in his heart. He was in the middle of a sprawling city that housed millions, he would often find himself overwhelmed with the choices he has to make at some point he considered abandoning this building and attempting to make it to the closest exit to the edge of the city yet find himself dwarfed by the potential resistance he would meet from the infected. while the system had kindly offered him a map of his district the other parts of the city remain unknown. Although dreadful there was a certain comfort in the unknown it made him cautious, patient and those were traits that would make sure he didn't lose his life, in the end he would be of no use to his family when he is dead or ... undead.
Again his thoughts shifted to the question of survivors. Are there still people out there? The memory of the weeper's cries still sent a chill down his spine. It had been a cruel imitation, a sinister trap, but the idea of hearing a real human voice now seemed just as daunting. Hector wasn't naïve. He had seen enough of the world before the outbreak to know what desperation could do to people.
He had read the headlines, seen the footage—civilians turning on each other in times of crisis, riots that ended in bloodshed, and chaos that stripped people of their humanity. If things could devolve into madness in a functioning society, what chance was there now, in a world ruled by the dead?
Still, the possibility lingered. The thought of finding survivors who could share the burden of survival, people he could trust, was a glimmer of hope. But hope was dangerous. It made you vulnerable. And Hector wasn't sure he could afford that.
He let out a sigh, rubbing his temples. "I'll cross that bridge when I get to it," he muttered to himself, the words as much a mantra as they were a decision. For now, his focus was on securing his territory, building his strength, and preparing for whatever the system or the infection threw at him next.
Hector stood and stretched, the familiar weight of his rifle slung over his shoulder. The roof had become more than just his personal space—it was his fortress of solitude, the place where he could detach from the chaos below and find clarity. But he knew it was only a matter of time before he would have to venture out beyond the walls of Nuba Hills. The world wasn't going to wait for him, and neither would the dangers lurking in the shadows.
For now, though, he had the high ground. And that was enough.
Hector sat at the small table in his apartment, the aroma of his hearty dinner filling the air. The meal was a testament to his cooking skills, made from the supplies he had carefully rationed and prepared. On the plate in front of him was a serving of pan-seared beef he kept in the freezer, seasoned generously with a mix of salt, pepper, and some dried herbs he had found earlier. Beside it was a side of rice he had cooked on his stove, perfectly fluffed, with a drizzle of olive oil and a pinch of chili flakes for a bit of heat. A handful of canned green beans sautéed with garlic powder completed the dish, their crisp texture a satisfying contrast to the tender beef and soft rice.
A small metal cup sat nearby, filled with freshly brewed coffee. Hector had used his hand-cranked coffee grinder to crush the beans he'd found in one of the apartments. The warmth of the drink paired perfectly with the comforting meal, and for the first time in a while, Hector allowed himself to savor the moment. This dinner was more than just sustenance—it was a reminder that, even in a world ravaged by death and despair, there were small pleasures to be found.
As he leaned back in his chair, the system's familiar chime jolted him from his thoughts. A new screen popped up in his vision, displaying four mission prompts. He set his fork down, already dreading what he was about to see.
[New missions unlocked]
-[Investigate Potential Survivor Locations]
Explore nearby areas with a higher likelihood of finding other survivors.
Reward: Experience Points, Basic Survivor Interaction Guide.
-[Clear the Remaining Apartment Buildings]
Eliminate all infected within the other two buildings of the Nuba Hills complex.
Reward: Increased building control radius, Advanced Fortification Package (Valued at: 8000 LP).
-[Secure Immediate Surroundings]
Fortify the perimeter and establish external defenses.
Reward: "Basic Surveillance Package" (Valued at: 2000 LP)
-[Undisclosed (Requires Level 10)]
Further information locked
Hector frowned as he scrolled through the options, his mind automatically evaluating the risks. The first mission struck a chord with him, especially after his thoughts on survivors earlier that day. But the dangers were obvious—if the weeper had been any indication, the infected were capable of setting traps. Any survivor he encountered could be just as dangerous, whether intentionally or through desperation. The thought made his stomach tighten.
The second mission felt like another death trap. Clearing the bigger apartment buildings might be feasible, but they housed family units—more space, more rooms, and undoubtedly more infected. Hector could already imagine the swarms waiting for him inside, not to mention the predators lurking in the shadows. It was doable, sure, but it was significantly risky and time consuming, perhaps if he was desperate for supplies but that can be managed by checking nearby shops something he did plan to do either way for now it just wasn't worth it.
The third mission, however, was the most appealing. Securing the immediate surroundings played to his strengths—methodical planning and resource management. Establishing external defenses around the building would buy him time and peace of mind, creating a buffer zone between him and the rest of the city. It wasn't flashy, but it was practical, and he could use the space on the parking lot to check some of the abandoned vehicles maybe he can get one of them working.
He tapped his fingers on the table, the rhythmic sound blending with the distant thunder that still rumbled through the sky. "The first two are suicide missions right now," he muttered, glancing at the glowing screen. "The last one's locked, so that's out. Guess that leaves securing the perimeter."
The decision felt logical, but even as he made it, a flicker of unease passed through him. Every mission, every action, so far brought him closer to conflict and death, forcing him to face the reality that he couldn't stay isolated forever despite the supplies he had accumulated, they could last him months even if the power and water were to shutoff. The system wasn't going to let him sit around it wanted him to take risks and to face the undead. But for tonight, he would focus on what he could control. Hector picked up his fork again, finishing the last bite of his meal.
Hector watched as the system's interface shimmered, reacting to his focus on the third mission. The prompt expanded, displaying more intricate details about the task. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing as he read the breakdown of what was required.
[Secure Your Immediate Surroundings]
-Fortify the perimeter and establish external defenses towards the surrounding brick wall.
[Rewards]: 1000 LP 1000XP
-Basic Surveillance Package. (Valued at: 2000 LP)
"This'll take time," he muttered, tapping a finger on the table. "But it'll be worth it. A stronghold like this? It's what I need to survive."
Hector leaned back in his chair, his dinner now finished, as the sound of rain echoed softly against the glass. The system's prompt and the mission to secure his surroundings lingered in his mind, but his thoughts drifted to something far more personal—his family. The empty, desolate streets of the city and the near-constant reminders of death cast a dark shadow over their potential fate.
He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze distant as he replayed the faces of his parents and siblings in his mind. His parents lived in a small, peaceful town just outside the city, a place where they could tend their garden and live out their golden years in relative quiet. But that quiet could have easily turned into an isolation that left them vulnerable. They were past their prime, and the thought of them fending off infected—or worse—sent a chill down his spine.
Then there were his siblings. His brother David, adventurous and free-spirited, was on a camping trip with his friends in the woods. Perhaps he was safe, far from the chaos of urban life. Hector hoped the wilderness offered a natural barrier against the infected. His Eldest brother Paul, however, was a different story. He lived in another city, possibly one as overrun as this one, and he doubted he had access to any system like his. He clenched his fists at the thought of him having to face the infected with no edge, no guidance just his wits and courage.
"This damn system," he muttered, his voice low but heavy. It was a blessing and a curse. Without it, he might not have lasted more than a few days in this hell. The perks it had provided—his endurance, his improved stealth, and, most importantly, the Sixth Sense—had saved his life more times than he cared to count. The weeper encounter was proof enough of that. If he hadn't felt that creeping dread, that unmistakable warning, he might have rushed into the room and been torn apart before he realized it wasn't a survivor in distress.
And yet, the system was a constant reminder that this wasn't just a nightmare he could wake from. It had introduced him to the reality of this dark world, a reality where survival came at the cost of blood, sweat, and moral compromise. He had survived these past weeks not just because of the system, but because he had pushed himself—physically and mentally—past what he thought were his limits. The LP he had saved felt like a safety net, but everything else, from his growing skills with firearms to the secured building he now called home, was a product of his own grit.
Hector exhaled sharply and shook his head. "I can't think like this," he muttered. The system had its flaws, but it wasn't the enemy. The enemy was out there, in the streets and shadows, waiting for him to falter. He had to believe that if he was immune to the airborne strain, his family might be as well. He had to cling to the hope that David's survival instincts, Paul's resourcefulness, and his parents' stubborn resilience had kept them alive.
For now, that hope was all he had. "Stay alive," he whispered, almost as if speaking to them. "I'll find a way to you. Just... stay alive."