Chapter 1：”Perilous Struggle: A Test of Survival“

Chen Dao cautiously opened a back door on the second floor of a villa and closed it gently behind him, all without making a sound. He was dressed in a thick sky-blue denim jacket and sturdy jeans, while layers of socks in his athletic shoes helped reduce noise. This allowed him to maneuver among the zombies undetected by sound, although not by sight.

Peeling off the balaclava that had been tightly hugging his face, he wiped the slight sweat from his forehead with a sleeve. The denim was uncomfortable, but such concerns were trivial now. Casually, he unbuttoned a press stud on his denim jacket in the summer heat—anything was better than attracting the attention of the undead outside.

He tiptoed through the living room, meticulously searching the ground-floor bathroom, kitchen, utility and laundry rooms. No signs of life; everything appeared untouched since the catastrophe. The dining table even held bowls of oatmeal and a big pot of congealed meat soup, which surprisingly didn't deteriorate as the oatmeal had, thanks to the thick fats and salt. No blood, no bodies—a good sign.

That is until... "Click"—what was that sound?

Chen's heart raced, and the unidentifiable noise from upstairs quickly shifted him into battle mode; he was no longer the newbie he'd been a week ago. His combat skills, honed significantly, allowed him to kill up to three attacking zombies with ease—excluding, of course, the stronger, running variety, which were a living nightmare.

In the early days of the outbreak, Chen Dao had witnessed more than once the despair of survivors as they were pounced on from behind, letting out cries of hopelessness. Chen drew a makeshift spear—a stick of oak with a kitchen knife taped and tied with nylon climbing rope to one end. Crude, but effective. His spear skill was now level 3, adequate for killing a runner, though within the confined space of a house, a spear was not ideal. Without alternatives, he had only one choice left: to ascend the stairs to the second floor.

Stepping carefully to eliminate noise, the flat wooden floor made his sock-covered athletic shoes dangerously slippery—a tactical oversight. Swearing internally, he paused mid-stairs to struggle with the stubborn nylon of his socks, which refused to peel off as if it had suddenly grown tough as leather.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he tugged, but a peculiar sound interrupted him. A hiss, not of something deflating but rather, an animal gasping its final breath—blood-flecked, yearning for life, unwilling to pass.

"Gurgle... Thud..." He looked up. At the top of the stairs stood a figure in a white lace dress—a young zombie girl. Not much of a threat, and likely attracted by noise. Her gaze was hollow, mouth agape, emitting dying gasps due to air passing through her mechanized muscles.

This was why zombies made mournful wails. They came in kinds; the common slow-moving walkers and the more recent and robust runners, who were living humans mere hours before and now pursued the living with athletes' speed—if they caught you, it was over.

Her white dress was stained with blood and torn flesh. The little walker girl probably had bad eyesight but better hearing. Otherwise, she wouldn't have missed Chen Dao right there beneath her.

Chen loosened his laces and prepared to dash upstairs. He struck the girl directly in the face, piercing her forehead, and his spear broke. They both fell—Chen struggling with the pain as he pushed himself up.

"Damn it!" he muttered under his breath, finding the windows in the upstairs hallway shattered, the floor covered in glass—and he had come up barefoot.

Unexpected dangers awaited survivors in the apocalypse, dragging them closer to the abyss, until potentially, even the entire population could become one of the undead roamers or runners.

Chen extracted his knife from the girl's skull and surveyed the second floor. From the staircase lay a long hallway with rooms lining the right side and street-facing windows on the left—the glass near the stairwell was shattered, fluttering curtains likely luring the young zombie.

No other movement was visible, though the end of the hallway told a dire tale with its smeared bloodstains. His watch read July 7, 1993—15 days since the first walker sighting and just three since the Independence Day catastrophe.

Taking no chances, he wrapped his foot with multiple layers of bandage and cloth from his backpack—bandages so tight they'd protect against further cuts and prevent slips.

With an ironic smile, he acknowledged this incident as a lesson in improvised dressing. Searching these homes was new to him; food shortages had driven him here from his suburban refuge.

The secured community was affluent, surrounded by high fences and monitored gates; even patrols roamed at night.

Inside, each villa was luxurious and uniquely decorated. Some loved pink, and got pink, others desired florals and obtained green lawns and walls of flowers. This place was a far cry from the modest homes of the western suburbs—certainly, the food in the kitchens was plentiful. It had been worth traversing the entire length of the river town.

Although his spear had snapped, the attached kitchen knife was still useful. Chen modified the grip with torn tape, creating a makeshift handle, tiptoeing down the hall to explore.

Old bloodstains dry and putrid, the living quarters were eerily silent. Finally, he entered a room marked 'Lizi', according to the blood-spattered tag, probably the little girl's. Her room spoke volumes about her parents' love...

There, a post-it note lay on the floor, detached possibly due to its age or maybe vibrations. Chen squatted to pick it up. It read, "Rest in peace, my loved ones."

Despair resonated from the note—the man who wrote it spoke of multiple loved ones. But why?

Thud! The outward-opening door suddenly struck, knocking Chen on the head. A runner's force had hit it. Without hesitation, he pushed the door back, trapping a woman's arm, jeweled bracelet and all, thrashing before him.

Chen knew his carelessness would cost him. He slashed fiercely at the arm, severing it at the elbow, then kicked the door wide open and lunged at the female runner behind it, a weak woman easily kicked down by his 90kg frame.

Reaching her, Chen drove the knife into her eye socket. "Now your 'loved ones' can truly rest."

Yet, Chen did not let his guard down, surveying the villa to ensure all threats were contained. He headed to the upstairs bathroom and found tweezers, disinfectant, bandages, and incredibly—two adrenal injectors, indicating the homeowners had severe allergies.

Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, he meticulously removed the glass from his foot. The adrenaline surge had drained him, but Chen remained focused, recalling the events that had led him here.

Playing games at home, then suddenly waking in a strange new world—a parallel America where he was a licensed doctor named Seth Chen Macfarlane and not Chen Dao.

He hadn't seen another soul since traversing the river town a week ago. But his experience, mirrored in the game's skill system—physical, craftsmanship, combat, dexterity, marksmanship, survival—had all grown alongside traits that seemed to reflect his own capabilities:

Traits:

Overweight (-1 Physicality; -10％ success rate climbing obstacles, noise radius +2)Doctor (+4 First Aid; familiar with various medical items; 50％ faster and 100％ more effective treatment)Smoker (Nicotine-addicted, anxious without it, but smoking calms him)Bad Luck (Poor fortune)Shortsighted (Blurry vision at a distance without glasses, does not hinder sight range)Well-Organized (Apprentice stash +35％ space)Weak Stomach (Food poisoning chance +100％, recovery rate -50％, best avoid uncooked food)Firearm Novice (Inexperienced with guns -50％ experience accumulative, attribute vanishes upon reaching level 2 in firearms)Agile (+50％ action speed)

Carefully disinfecting and bandaging his foot, Chen reflected on the quiet unfolding of his new existence in this apocalyptic parallel world.

Had his misfortune led him here? He lit a crumpled cigarette, his injuries minor and treated, just scratches that would soon heal.

Chen reviewed his skills:

Passive Abilities:

Physicality: 4Strength: 5

Craftsmanship Skills:

Carpentry: 0Cooking: 1Farming: 0First Aid: 5Electrical: 0Welding: 0Mechanics: 0Tailoring: 2

Combat Skills:

Axe: 0Blunt: 0Short Blunt: 1Long Blade: 0Short Blade: 1Spear: 3Maintenance: 3

Dexterity Skills:

Sprinting: 2Lightfooted: 2Nimble: 1Sneaking: 2

Firearms:

Aiming: 0Reloading: 0

Survival Skills:

Fishing: 0Trapping: 0Foraging: 1

His interface was just as it appeared when he first started the game: a survivor's display where only the medical skills stood out prominently. Chasing the tension away with a puff of smoke and regaining substantial vigor, Chen Dao cautiously stepped on the ground, finding the cut was indeed not serious. This comforted him enough to leave the bathroom and head into the corridor, where he caught sight of a girl by the stairway in the dim light, before glancing at the one-armed woman lying in the room at the end, exhaling deeply.

Before turning in for the night, it was crucial to tidy the scene a bit. Luckily, the horde that followed him had wandered off; his scuffle with the two zombies didn't attract any attention from the other walkers.

At such a time, anyone's lover might become what they now faced. To keep living, he—not just he, but all survivors—must first confront this new reality, battling for every breath.

If there were indeed other survivors out there.