Chapter 60: Garlic Invincible Arc (7)
Chapter 60: Garlic Invincible Arc (7)
【Team Member: Jibu Shao Ye, Deceased.】
【Team Member: Zhen Nan Qu, Deceased.】
The system’s voice echoed in Wang Tan Zhi’s ear. He quickly opened the game menu, confirming both names marked with “Deceased.” After a moment’s thought, Xiao Tan spoke, “Brothers, could they have died in the underground research facility of this building?”
“Oh? What makes you think that?” Pan Feng kept walking, not turning back. His tone suggested indifference toward the two’s fate—as if their deaths or survival barely affected his progress. Given his and Hua Xiong’s combined strength, such confidence wasn’t unwarranted.
“Think about it,” Xiao Tan pressed. “One was level fourteen, the other twelve. They’re stronger than me, right? Even I’m not afraid of blood wolf zombies on the streets. They’d have no trouble with those either. But if they entered this Ailebo Building, saw the blueprint on the ground floor, and went to the underground facility…” He paused. “We haven’t cleared that area yet. It could be dangerous—maybe even a boss. If they encountered a zombie-werewolf…”
“Hmm… Makes sense,” Hua Xiong replied, though his tone hinted he’d already considered this. “But since they’re dead, going back now changes nothing. We’re nearly at the Top Floor. Let’s clear the path first, then—”
“Wait,” Xiao Tan interrupted. “You two keep going up. I’ll return to the ground floor.” He pulled his baseball bat from his satchel—unused until now, tucked away during combat-free stretches. “The remaining player is my friend. He might not have reached the building yet, but he’ll come. I’ll wait there to warn him against heading to the basement. He should join you first.”
Pan Feng and Hua Xiong exchanged glances before shrugging. “Fine. Watch yourself, kid,” Hua Xiong said.
Xiao Tan nodded, turning back the way they came. After rounding a corridor, he sprinted into the fire escape stairs. Unaware that Feng Bu Jue was already in the underground facility, he misjudged Jibu Shao Ye and Xiao Ming’s death location, relying solely on his deduction.
Once he’d gone, Pan Feng’s voice turned serious. “Before their deaths, those two players shared the same coordinates for a long time. That location was far from this building.”
Hua Xiong replied, “I noticed too. That area wouldn’t have minor bosses. Before nightfall, only scattered blood wolf zombies roam the city. And their deaths were mere seconds apart… Unless they jumped off a building together…”
“Could it be the ‘derivative being’?” Pan Feng mused. “It’s targeting players already. We’d better speed up. We must prevent the other two from encountering it.”
“Better they’re gone. We can move freely now. The return path’s relatively safe—we’ve cleared most threats. He’ll be fine for now,” Hua Xiong said. “But that player ‘Mad Bu Jue’ is in trouble. His vitality’s at 73%, but infection’s the issue. Once mutation phase hits, he’s dead. We need to act before then.” He inhaled sharply. “Only four players entered. The dead are lost, but if three—or all—die before clearing, our record’s ruined.”
Pan Feng nodded. “Agreed. Let’s ‘kill’ Ashiford quickly. Once we enter that plot line, victory’s near. First, get the players out of this scenario. Then focus on the ‘derivative being.’”
………
Feng Bu Jue advanced through the research facility’s corridor, Winchester shotgun in hand. The lighting functioned normally, and zombies were sparse—only a pack near the elevator, with encounters otherwise matching surface levels.
The shotgun proved deadly in the narrow corridor. He waited for monsters to close in before firing. Accuracy mattered little; a shot to limbs meant dismemberment and collapse, while torso hits sent them flying or shattered them entirely.
He cleared a vast area, most electronic doors accessible. Rooms held rows of metal shelves stacked with paper files and folders. Feng Bu Jue skimmed some—mostly redundant reports, key sections blacked out.
Other rooms housed massive computers, walls lined with monitors and strange control panels. All devices were destroyed, unresponsive. These rooms were quickly dismissed—glance inside, move on.
After navigating several corridors, he found a high-security door requiring iris and fingerprint scans. Conveniently, a zombie in a white lab coat lay nearby.
Feng Bu Jue shot its waist, sending entrails spilling. He switched to his baseball bat, crushing the zombie’s arm and knee bones. Then, with a kitchen knife, he severed its head and hand. He searched its pockets thoroughly before proceeding.
The door unlocked. Feng Bu Jue tossed the head and hand aside, stepping inside.
This was clearly a plot-critical room. Directly ahead loomed a massive metal vault door, reminiscent of a bank’s. Along the left wall stood glass columns—meter-tall, thirty-centimeter diameter. Once filled with pale green semi-transparent liquid, now shattered, their contents pooled on the floor, leaving green stains.
The room’s computers were dead, screens black. Near a console lay two corpses in lab coats. Feng Bu Jue approached cautiously, confirming they were ordinary cadavers, not hidden zombies.
The men appeared fifty and sixty, one balding with glasses, the other gray-haired with a mustache. The bald man had a headshot; the elder had chest and abdominal wounds. Their undisturbed positions confirmed no postmortem movement.
Feng Bu Jue reconstructed the scene: The killer, someone they knew, entered via the electronic door. At close range, he shot the seated bald man in the head. The mustached man, hearing the shot, turned—only to meet two bullets. He fell forward, gripping the console’s edge before collapsing sideways.
As a mystery novelist, Feng Bu Jue deduced this effortlessly. He’d crafted countless locked-room murders, even testing mechanisms for realism.
“Heh… No infection. They must’ve had the serum,” he muttered, eyeing the corpses. “Only core researchers handling the virus directly would get that privilege.”
Reconstructing events, he hypothesized: The killer—a serum-injected researcher—killed them, shattered the virus prototype container, and fled with liquid samples. In the corridor, he infected others, spreading the outbreak. Yet surface zombies differed—why?
Or perhaps the killer never escaped, subdued by guards. The surface virus might be unrelated.
Another thought struck him: “The guard outside had access. He should’ve had the serum… So why did he turn?”
Seeking answers, Feng Bu Jue searched the bodies, finding a key in the mustached man’s pocket. Nearby, a desk awaited. He tried the key, unlocking the bottom drawer to reveal two syringes, stationery, and—beneath them—a locked folder.
(End of Chapter)
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