The already desperate apocalypse was filled with an added sense of hopelessness.
Brother Hao’s face turned cold, his shotgun swaying slightly in his hand, "Kneel now, holding your ears, and tell me how scared you are, beg me not to shoot, and I just..."
It was as if time had stopped.
Before Brother Hao could finish his sentence, he felt the gun disappear from his hand. Looking down, the gun had vanished, and on closer inspection, it was now in the hands of the other person.
"How is that possible?"
Brother Hao, his mouth agape as if seeing a ghost, looked at Lin Fan, only to find Lin Fan holding the gun, his gaze calm as he watched him. Startled, he stomped on the accelerator; the armored vehicle zoomed towards the distance.
Lin Fan watched the fading vehicle.
He did not chase after it.
He had more important things to do, such as protecting the neighborhood and waiting for the birth of new life.
"As for the shotgun, once I’m busy, I’ll hand it over to the police station. Firearms can protect oneself, but they can also harm others. Those guys just now, not worth it."
Lin Fan walked towards the door, glancing out to see several zombies staggering towards this direction as if they were headed here.
He did not intervene.
Nor did he provoke the zombies.
If the zombies came close, he would communicate well with them, and if that didn’t go smoothly, he could only defend himself with the Frost Mourner in his hand.
Of course, he knew that communicating with zombies could be tricky.
Unless it was that zombie wearing a uniform.
He placed the shotgun in the corner, sat on the chair, legs crossed, flipping through a book. Being able to read a favorite book in such a quiet environment was a true pleasure.
He was feeling even better having just done a good deed.
Reading in a good mood helped him immerse himself better in the book.
Inside the armored vehicle.
"Brother Hao, why did we just leave?"
The woman sitting in the back asked, surprised by what had just happened. That was their only shotgun, not for killing zombies, but for intimidating other survivors. When encountering other survivors, holding a shotgun provided a significant advantage, enabling them to do anything they wanted.
Just recently, they were waiting outside a supermarket, unbeholden to risk, so they watched to see if any survivors would sneak out with supplies.
And indeed they had waited.
Without a second thought, Brother Hao floored the accelerator, hit them directly, then got out with the gun and finished off the other person with a bang. It was a thrilling scene for them—taking the goods was just that easy—like taking candy from a baby.
Reaping the profits with ease.
Even if the gunshots attracted the zombies’ attention, it didn’t matter, their armored vehicle was a moving killer machine, crushing any zombie into a pancake.
Brother Hao angrily said, "The gun is in his hands, what if he shoots?"
The woman said, "Brother Hao, but we have bulletproof glass."
"Shut up," Brother Hao snapped.
The woman obediently fell silent, though she was still a bit defiant. It was bulletproof glass after all, what was there to fear?
"Little Shui, Brother Hao has his plans, you don’t understand anything," someone said.
Little Shui pouted, "Brother Hao, sorry, I didn’t mean anything by it."
Driving the armored vehicle, Brother Hao’s eyes were filled with fury. He couldn’t listen to anything else, focused only on how to regain what was lost. He didn’t mean anything else, just wanted to show that what Brother Hao loses, he gets back with his own hands.
At the entrance of the neighborhood.
Engrossed in Stark’s nightlife, Lin Fan slowly raised his head at the sound of a zombie’s low growl.
The shambling zombies, moving slowly and rigidly like mummies, appeared at the entrance of the neighborhood, noticing Lin Fan sitting there.
Lin Fan folded the page of his book and slowly said, "Could you listen to me for a moment?"
A breeze blew, awakening the confused zombies, who shivered at the sight of flesh before them, as if they had seen their favorite thing.
Lin Fan sighed. He found that the hostility of too many zombies had reached an extreme against survivors; no reason, no rationale, just acting on impulse. This wasn’t genuine nature, but sheer stupidity.
There was no fierce battle, no exuberant shouting, only Lin Fan’s graceful steps, moving at will, his Frost Mourner’s blade piercing their heads.
Not chopping them in two.
Not slashing off their heads.
Just piercing through.
He cleaned up the entrance of the neighborhood; he didn’t want to see the clean ground become dirty because of them, and he certainly didn’t want viscous substances and the stench of blood affecting people’s spirits.
Moreover, there were children in the neighborhood.
He stuffed the three zombies into a trash can, not bothering to take it to the dump yet. He couldn’t leave now; he couldn’t control when the baby would be born, but he could control his own legs.
Staying here, welcoming the new life, was a very happy thing for him.
His ears twitched slightly as if he heard the breathing of the pregnant woman becoming hurried—a sound of pain. He could relate, much like a hand breaking, not screaming heart-rendingly but making a deep hum, a resistance to the pain.