In middle school, Clay challenged one of his friends to an arm wrestling match.
The cafeteria was serving ice cream that day, and he'd forgotten his money at home, so he was forced to get creative. A one-dollar bout between him and a more athletic kid he sat with was the only chance he had at a popsicle, with the promise that the moneyless Clay would bring his losses the next day when he lost.
He obviously would have liked to challenge one of the weaker kids, or even someone on his level. There was nothing for it, though, as none of those kids wanted to risk the loss of their own ice cream day for such little gain.
It was only Vince, easily the strongest out of all of them, that would take the bet. It was easy money from his perspective.
"After you lose, you better not cry like you did during that chick flick we watched!" Vince taunted as he rested his elbow on the table between them.
Clay practically snatched his hand as he got into the same position. "Molly and Me is not a chick flick, and I was not crying!"
The rest of their friends made room for them and watched silently. Once the designated referee counted down from three and the game started, they immediately broke the silence to make commentary and jeer as if betting on fighting chickens.
"You better not lose me this, Vince! I put the house up!"
"Go, Clay, go! Your superior speed should definitely help you get the win!"
"Rip his goddamn arm off!"
"What the hell does speed have to do with arm-wrestling?"
It was all Clay could do not to immediately lose, barely keeping their hands somewhat equal. When the other boy predictably took the edge and started bringing Clay's hand closer to the table, it was time to enact his plan.
With their hands out of the way, Clay puckered his lips and leaned forward as if to kiss his opponent. Vince instinctively drew back to keep the kiss from connecting, taking his weight off his elbow and allowing Clay to win the match before he could recover.
"Hey! What the hell was that!? You gay or something!?"
"Gay for money! Pay up, loser!"
"No way am I paying a cheating rat fuck like you!"
The fuss Vince kicked up made his popsicle taste all the sweeter.
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The first thing he felt was his dry mouth, and the first thing he saw once he opened his eyes was a number of flies buzzing around him. They must have been there the whole time, left unnoticed in the darkness. Now there were thin rays of sunlight beaming in through small gaps in the lid.
His head felt heavy and his nose burned from the smell, but the world outside his dumpster had finally grown quiet.
It took him a long time to finally work up enough courage to sit up and gently raise the top of the dumpster with his head. Narrowed eyes peeked out around him in search of danger.
There were two of them. One was shambling aimlessly in front of the café's backdoor, while the other was further down the alley, only a few feet away from stepping out onto the sidewalk.
Things died down a lot faster than he expected. What time even was it?
Right, no watches or anything. The sun directly overhead at least told him that it was somewhere close to noon. The heat bearing down on the dumpster was probably what woke him up; it had felt particularly stuffy, and he could actually feel the sweat stains on his clothes weigh down the fabric.
He couldn't take it any longer. Clay stood up completely, letting the lid flop back and stand against the wall behind. The zombie loitering around the door immediately took notice of him and ran in his direction. A commotion could easily break out if he didn't work out what to do.
Luckily, he had. The moment the zombie slammed its body against the dumpster, Clay used [Sound of Silence] to snatch up the resulting sound. If it didn't require moving decisively to take advantage, he might have stopped to take more notice of how surreal it was to see something that should have made a bang make no noise at all. It was like watching a silent movie.
Clay's position was higher, and he was poised for this. He brought the hammer down on the thing's head just as it was hooking its elbow on the rim of the dumpster to climb in.
He hadn't been confident in his strength, but the power of a blunt force weapon on a rotting body might have been the reason why he did even more damage than he expected, or perhaps the human body was more fragile than Clay knew. A dull thud and some lighter cracking noises followed the blow, but the zombie's body went limp and fell backwards onto the ground before Clay could get a good look at what he'd done.
He didn't want to see it. The little he could make out as he stared down at its twitching form was enough to put a pit in his stomach. Soon, even that little bit of movement was gone.
>+10 XP!
Jesus. The feel of it wouldn't be all that different from hitting a regular person. Clay had practically killed someone, a step away from doing so with his bare hands.
He wasn't naïve enough to get broken up over the death of this creature. It was already dead, after all, and the person it used to be would probably even agree that it was Clay or him. No doubt he'd hate having his grotesque remains stumbling around and killing more innocent people as well. It was a mercy to put it down. It just…didn't feel nice.
Clay had to put it out of mind, though. Continue to the next stage.
The other zombie hadn't noticed the commotion yet, so Clay was able to enjoy another breath of relatively fresh air and lower himself back into the dumpster. He lowered the lid back down as well, maintaining a small gap to keep his view of the entire alley.
Test #2. He focused on the opposite end of the alleyway and 'deposited' the sound he stole when the first zombie slammed against his dumpster.
SLAM!
As if a similar occurrence took place where he'd been looking, the sound resonated and predictably caught the zombie's attention.
Clay thought he would need more practice to get used to [Sound of Silence], but it felt so intuitive. It was as if he'd stopped riding bikes for years and then decided to take one for a spin, an activity with intricacies his body refused to forget. There was no way he'd end up using it by accident or in a way he didn't intend.
The zombie didn't run towards the sound. Instead, it strolled towards it in almost leisurely fashion.
Clay supposed they might only run if they see humans, but most of the ones that had been running to break down the apartment door yesterday hadn't even seen him yet. Strange.
Once the zombie stepped past the dumpster, but still within a range that Clay was confident he could strike it from, he emerged from the dumpster once again and took a swing at the back of the monster's head.
His swing hit nothing. The reasons why were small, but many.
Clay wasn't particularly coordinated.
Clay was still reeling from the sensation of killing the first one.
His body felt weak, despite the sleep.
His need to minimize risk meant that he didn't make a move until it stepped far away enough that there was zero chance it would see him.
Letting it get just far away enough meant that his sluggish, indecisive strike was just one step too slow to land.
Most importantly, he put too much energy into a strike that hit nothing and ended up overextending.
He fell forward onto the ground, landing right on his wrist and causing a shock of pain that made him let go of his hammer.
Clay didn't have time to inspect the damage. The zombie hadn't missed the sound of him falling out, promptly turning around and throwing itself upon him almost as soon as it saw him.
The hand that wanted to retrieve his hammer instead had to push against the zombie's chest to try and keep it from bearing down enough for its teeth to reach. It was stronger than it should have been. The stage of decay it was at, where he could see small parts of its skeleton through gnarled openings in its skin, should have meant it wouldn't have the muscle mass to put up a fight against him.
But it did. If it weren't for the fact that Clay was using both hands to keep it at bay, it would have nipped him by now.
When it couldn't immediately bite, it clawed. Its hands scratched haphazardly but dealt significant damage despite its randomness, if only to his mind.
Feeling nails rake against his arms, his neck, and his face put Clay into full panic mode.
It hurts! It's drawing blood! I can feel it!
All of his thoughts of concern about hurting these things that were once human melted away before primal instinct.
He didn't want to die. He wanted to live. It hurt. This thing was hurting him. It was going to kill him.
Kill it first.
Forget the hammer. He wouldn't be able to properly wind his arm back enough to deal damage from this position.
One of Clay's arms worked its way down between them, keeping it pressed against the zombie's body as his hand grasped something from his toolbelt. A screwdriver clutched tight in a reverse grip.
After more struggling, the zombie dugs its nails deep enough into his neck that the pain it caused was distinct enough to send a new signal to his brain.
He attempted to jam the screwdriver right through the zombie's eye, but the awkward angle had him jabbing hard into its cheek instead. It didn't flinch when he drew blood—thick, black blood mixed with pus.
Clay would have usually been disgusted at the idea that something like that could drip down and touch him, but he was in a heightened mental state and too focused to care. The screwdriver in its face was used to push it away a little more, then drawn back to try stabbing its eye again.
It took two more tries before it sank into the socket, crushing its eye and sliding into its skull, where Clay started wiggling the handle as hard as he could. He had to destroy its brain, whisk its grey matter until it was mush in its head.
He didn't stop even after its limbs seized up and stopped moving to scratch him. Their positions reversed, Clay taking the dominant position and straddling its body while he jerked the screwdriver as much as possible.
Once he was sure of his safety, Clay slowly stood up. He left the screwdriver protruding from its head and took a step back.
He was already starting to blubber as he examined the damage done to his arms. A lot of the wounds were shallow, but he'd sustained two that slowly bled into the sleeves of his bathrobe. What was left of them, that is. The zombie had done a good job tearing through the cloth at the same time it was wounding him.
Clay didn't have a mirror, so he had to use his hands to feel his neck. He wasn't hemorrhaging blood, at least. His panic had compounded during the struggle when he thought it was getting close to tearing through an artery on the side of his neck, but it hadn't reached deep enough to do lethal damage. It would likely leave a scar, though.
No way to check his face, unfortunately, but he already had a feeling that the damage done there was superficial enough that he wouldn't be left deformed or with noticeable scarring. Hopefully.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
Still panicking, all Clay could do was think of infection. He was immune to the zombie virus, but who knew what other types of bacteria had gotten into his system with every swipe of the zombie's claw-like fingernails. Shouldn't those have fallen off in the decomposition process!?
He brought up his window.
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You are Clay
HEALTH: 0/0 | STAMINA: 2/4
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LEVEL: 1/11 | EXP: 465/1000 | SKILLS: 2/2
---
STAT POINTS: 0/5 | SKILL POINTS: 1/5
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BODY -
Strength: 2 | Speed: 0 | Resilience: 0 | Endurance: 2
MIND -
🔒 | 🔒 | 🔒 | 🔒
HEART -
🔒 | 🔒 | 🔒 | CIDURAC
---
-SKILLS-
[IMMUNITY - LV 1] | [SOUND OF SILENCE - LV 1]
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-ACHIEVEMENTS-
(+1 Max Level | +1 Skill Slot)
---
CURRENT WORLD: Dead and Dying
OBJECTIVE: Survive
TIME REMAINING: ???
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Clay brought up the details on [Immunity].
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[IMMUNITY - LV1] (1SkP) - Passive - (CB: 10%)
Some people can shrug off the influence of dark forces on their biology. Now 'some people' includes you!
You are immune to the (Plague) of [Dead and Dying]. You also gain a 10% resistance against all other forms of disease and infection.
Upgrading this Skill makes you more resistant to diseases of all kinds.
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It explicitly mentioned that it could protect him against other kinds of infections, which logically included mundane bacterial ones. The 10% resistance wasn't enough for him at that moment; he needed as much as possible.
In a moment of panic, he thoughtlessly used his last Skill Point to upgrade [Immunity].
>You have acquired the Skill [Immunity - LV 2]!
He'd done all he could to protect himself now, but he was still rattled. How could he mess up so badly?
Clay slid down against a wall and brought his knees up to cover his face.
Fuck. He knew he couldn't afford to sit around right now. He knew what was important was that he was still alive.
But how could he mess up so badly?
This was what happened when he had the drop on them. Wouldn't he be doomed once something unexpected happened and he didn't have a convenient café to blow up? Clay felt pretty clever for a second there, but it turned out bad. Just like everything always did.
Shit! Don't start crying again!
At least nobody was there to see him, 22 years old and muffling his sobbing with his legs. A grown man. Why was he like this? Why couldn't he just stop crying?
God damn it! Why had he even bothered? He should have just--!
"Ow! What the--!?"
Clay was brought out of his stupor when he felt a sharp pain in one of his fingers. When he brought his hand up to look at it, he found there was a rat hanging from his ring finger by its mouth.
"Fuck! Get off!" Clay shouted while he whipped his hand away from his face in an attempt to send it flying. Just what he needed—more avenues for disease!
Oddly enough, it was actually pretty easy to get the rat to stop biting him. Instead of getting thrown against the parallel wall like he planned, the vermin let go at the moment he reeled his arm back to build up energy and plopped safely onto the ground next to him while Clay dashed his hand in the air for nothing.
Didn't matter to him. He was on his feet in less than a second and climbing up onto the dumpster to keep the less threatening but equally bitey new enemy from reaching him.
The rat took one look at him, squeaked dismissively, then scampered off.
Could he just not catch a break? Would he keep experiencing problem after problem? Was he going to slip on a banana peel and crack his head open next?
Seriously, when was his luck finally going to take a positive turn? Did he use it all up with the trick in the café?
Okay, it wasn't all bad. Clay thought he shouted sort of loud after the rat bit him, but there weren't any other zombies in earshot to take advantage. There'd been so many last night that he thought he'd never get to sleep; now the place was almost serene. That's good luck.
The rat bite didn't seem to cause any real damage, either. The throbbing of his scratch wounds overpowered any pain that might have held over after that little bastard's attack.
Hm. In all the new excitement, his thinking cleared up, too. Clay wiped the rest of his tears away with the torn remains of his bathrobe's sleeve and focused on his next move.
The bleeding wasn't a pressing matter, but he should disinfect his wounds and properly cover them up. Medical supplies.
He also needed things to eat and drink. Food supplies.
These clothes weren't going to last him much longer, either. It was also pretty annoying to walk around with only one shoe.
…So, more supplies. He needed supplies.
He'd originally come to this café in the hopes he could find food and water, then use the location to find more nearby businesses. Maybe now that he could break windows without worrying about the sound, it might be worth doing a little breaking and entering?
There had to be a priority to all this. First, he needed to deal with his wounds. Second, food and water. Third, finding new clothes. In the midst of all that, finding more weapons wouldn't be a thing. He also wouldn't mind if he ended up finding them out of order.
Clay ended up taking a sitting position on top of the dumpster without really thinking about it. He was mostly vigilant, but his deep thought caused him not to notice that the rat had returned. It hadn't reacquired his attention until it started squeaking up at him.
What? It wasn't done with him yet?
When he looked down at the rat, he also spotted a candy bar next to it that hadn't been there before. It still had its wrapper on it and everything. However, it was another case where he couldn't recognize the branding. Nowhere in his life had he ever seen an 'Ampz' bar.
The rat squeaked again and then moved away from the Ampz bar. It…brought him food?
Clay slowly stepped down from the dumpster and approached.
"Is this for me…?" He asked, then made a concerned face on his own behalf. Now he was talking to rats like he was expecting an answer.
Sure enough, it squeaked again and moved a little further away. Not only had the rat brought him food, it could also understand him.
Clay got the impression he was the one being treated like an animal, given food and distance to keep from scaring him. The degradation didn’t keep him from snatching up the offered candy and ripping open its wrapper.
There was a chance that it was tampered with in some way, but he was so hungry, and it smelled so good. It had to be worth the risk, right?
And it had been. Never has chocolate, nougat, and caramel tasted so good. It might have been a mediocre candy for all he knew, and it had probably gone bad in this apocalypse, but anything would have tasted like Nirvana after not eating for so long. His appetite ran off once he climbed into the dumpster, but getting to actually devour something like this was bringing it all back.
It made him feel so ungrateful to feel this way, but Clay was still hungry. Thirsty, too. He wanted so badly to wash down his snack with soda or juice, but he'd even take water at this point.
"Uh…" Clay began, but had to stop and clear his throat before continuing. "Thanks, man."
The rat squeaked back at him.
Somehow a rat that could understand him felt more otherworldly than anything else he'd seen so far.
Now what?
"I really appreciate you going out of your way to bring me something to eat. It couldn't have been easy with your, uh, little rat body, but I feel like I should also ask why you decided to bite me if you're a super smart rat."
It just stared at him.
Right. It might be a super smart rat, but he must not be a super smart human. It didn't have any way of answering him if he asked complicated questions like that.
"Okay, sorry. How about…" He spoke tentatively, "Did I do something to upset you?"
Its beady eyes continued to stare at him.
Maybe that was a no?
"Can you show me where you found this candy bar?"
It continued to stay silent.
Hmm…
There hadn't been any places nearby that he'd think would sell something like this, but it still returned so quickly. That quickness meant that the rat didn't just randomly find it and bring it back to him, so it probably came from a nearby stash. It might be that it didn't trust him with the location of the rest of its local food stores.
"I think I understand. You're not planning on just giving all of your food to me, right?"
It finally graced him with another squeak.
The picture was becoming clearer. Clay's expression became pained.
"You didn't help me because you're such a good rat, did you?"
Squeak!
A lone, helpless human like him…
"You want my help."
Squeak!
It makes sense. At this point, any useless humans like him were already dead or changing over to a flesh-only diet. The survivors would be well-established and likely to just kill the rat before it could make it clear that it was sentient, or simply ignore it in the best-case scenario. It demonstrated both its usefulness and its intelligence to Clay by feeding him, after all. Survivors in this world would already have some way of feeding themselves.
This rat was more shrewd than some people he'd known.
Clay didn't ask, but stated, "You know where to find supplies."
Squeak!
"But, being a rat, there are some places you can't go and supplies you can't reach. So you need an able-bodied human to do all the heavy lifting while you sit back and do nothing…"
Squeak!
He should've known something like this would happen. Movies Clay watched in the past raved that lesser specimens like him would end up as the slaves of some war-mongering psycho coalition, but he couldn't maintain enough dignity to be used by fellow humans. A rat. He was being taken advantage of by a rat.
His pride as a human being and general irritation told him to tell this animal to fuck off, but his empty stomach and the lingering taste of chocolate told him he should at least haggle.
"Listen, I'm not saying no, but I'm definitely not ready for any coolguy excursions right now." He held up his arms. "I'm roughed up. I'm also operating on no water and the one shoe I could steal from a dead guy. So…"
It screeched at him impatiently.
"I'm just thinking that you need to invest a little more than a candy bar in me, is all. There's no way I can do anything the way I am now…"
He tried to smirk, but it looked more like a nervous grin.
"So let's start this partnership off by getting me patched up. I'm no good to you if I drop dead of blood loss…" He looked away from the rat, then placed a hand against the wall to 'support' himself. "Oh man, I think I'm already starting to feel lightheaded."
Clay wouldn't have had the nerve to bargain like this with a person, but the more he thought about it the more he realized that he had a lot more power in this deal than one would initially think. When was this rat going to find another loser like him?
How shameless of him, but this thing did just bite him for no discernible reason and was being pretty open about wanting to use him. Why couldn't he take advantage, as well?
However, the rat chirped without hesitation, turned around, and ran to the sidewalk. It turned its head around to give him an expectant look.
Oh…it already planned to do all that.
Embarrassed at how cool he felt for a second there, Clay decided to just pick up his hammer and wordlessly follow behind his new master.