4 Zorvax's Dilemma: When Survival Costs Humanity!

In the skeletal remains of what was once a city bustling with life, Zorvax moved cautiously toward the two humans he had been observing. His heart, still in the form of a human, knew the danger, but his rational mind, now a zombie's, urged him on. "Got to try," he rasped to himself, "Can't be alone."

He attempted to soften his steps, which sloshed and squished in a way that was not human at all. His attempt at speech came out as a hoarse whisper, "Let's meet them," as he pushed a loose strand of hair away from where his forehead used to be, more out of habit than necessity.

The survivors were engrossed in their conversation, but as Zorvax's disfigured shadow fell upon them, they spun around with a gasp. Their faces twisted in horror, and their hands shook as they raised their guns.

"Wait, don't—" Zorvax's plea was lost in the roar of gunfire, and he stumbled backward, instinctively seeking cover behind a heap of debris.

As the gunshots rang out, their sharp reports bouncing wildly off the crumbling walls, a chaotic symphony of echoes filled the air. Zorvax crouched low, his hands instinctively covering the sides of his head, though they did little to block out the deafening noise.

He tried to shout, to make his presence as thinking, the reasoning being known, but the sound that came out was garbled and deep, more growl than words, lost beneath the cacophony of the gunshots.

When the relentless firing finally ceased, Zorvax found himself behind an old, overturned table, its surface scarred by time and neglect. The dust around him was unsettled, dancing in the slivers of light that pierced the desolation. He shook his head slowly, realizing his error. "Stupid, stupid," he chastised himself with a gravelly murmur. "Why would they listen? Why would they trust a zombie?"

He paused, the reality of his condition sinking in anew. "I forgot what I am... No wonder they shot first," he said aloud, his voice a hollow echo of human speech. His fingers traced the table's edges, wood flaking off under his touch. "Of course, they're terrified. I'd be, too. Look at me... What did I think would happen?"

A rueful chuckle, dry and humorless, escaped him as he considered the absurdity of his mistake. "I'm not the man I used to be. I'm something else they can only see as a monster."

In the silence that followed the gunfire, Zorvax's breaths were the only sound—a reminder of the life he once led and the isolation of his current existence.

Then, as he watched the pair regroup, a dark thought crossed his mind. He knew that each zombie kill granted him points, and a terrible wonder crept into his mind about the value of human life in this new, gruesome economy.

The survivor whispered to her companion, her eyes wide and flickering around the room. "I thought we cleared this place," she said, trembling.

The man nodded, squaring his shoulders and gripping his gun with a newfound determination. "Stay back," he told her. "I've got this."

He stepped forward, moving with an exaggerated caution that bordered on theatrics. His eyes were wide and alert, scanning every shadow as he said, "You can't hide from us!"

Zorvax watched them from hiding, feeling a stark disconnect from his former self. "Not like them," he mumbled, his mind churning with possible strategies.

The man kept shouting, his voice getting louder. "Show yourself!" he demanded, his gun moving from one potential hiding place to another.

Seizing an opportunity, Zorvax picked up a small, broken brick and threw it toward the opposite side of the room. It clattered against the hard floor, and the man spun around, his gun aimed at the noise.

"There you are!" he shouted triumphantly.

But Zorvax had already moved, circling back behind the man in the dim light. With a speed that belied his decayed form, he closed the distance between them. In one swift, silent motion, he used his blade, ending the man's life before he even knew what hit him.

"One less to worry about," Zorvax muttered to himself, almost regrettably. His gaze then shifted to the woman, who stood frozen with fear, unaware of the grim fate of her companion. 

The man he had just silenced lay motionless, an unsettling stillness enveloping the area. It was a strange moment for Zorvax, filled with an odd sense of accomplishment mingled with a pang of something he could almost call regret.

Then, the familiar voice of the interface broke the quiet [Evolution Points: +25].

Zorvax, his fingers stained with evidence of the recent encounter, let out a low, satisfied growl. "Twenty-five, huh?" he mused. "Not too shabby for a day's work."

But his momentary triumph was interrupted by the soft, cautious steps of the woman survivor. "John? You okay? Talk to me!" Her voice trembled, revealing her fear.

She moved closer, her hand clutching her weapon like a lifeline, her eyes searching for signs of her friend. "John, this isn't funny," she called out, her voice a mix of worry and growing dread.

As she stumbled upon the scene, her body froze, and a sharp breath escaped her. "Oh, no... John, please," she whispered, her words trailing into the silence.

Zorvax watched from the shadows, his murky eyes tracking her every move. He was aware of the ethical quandary, the human side of him battling with his new survival instincts.

The woman knelt by John, her hands shaking as she reached out to him. "This can't be," she murmured, tears filling her eyes.

Zorvax stepped forward, his movements deliberate. "I'm... sorry," he hissed, almost inaudible. With one swift and decisive motion, he brought the blade down, and the woman joined her fallen companion in stillness.

The interface chimed once more, [Evolution Points: +25]

Standing in the quiet aftermath, Zorvax took a moment to gather his thoughts. "Fifty points richer," he said, trying to justify his actions. "This is the way of the new world."

He knew he had crossed a line, but the urge to survive, to become more than a mindless eater of flesh, drove him forward. "Two hundred points isn't so far now," he reasoned, his voice hollow in the empty city.

"I'll make it," Zorvax vowed, the words escaping his lips like a whispered promise to the wind. "No matter the cost."

With the bodies of the two survivors behind him, Zorvax stepped back into the desolation, his quest for power unfazed by the lives it disrupted. The pursuit of his goal, to evolve, to become the Zombie Elite, had become his singular focus, and he would not be deterred.