"Quick, block the door with the medicine cabinet... Hey, you're a prisoner, strange, I feel like I've seen you before!" The nurse, a pretty young woman, was in a state of panic. When her gaze fell upon Quentin, she was taken aback as if discovering a new continent, her large eyes wide open, apparently having forgotten the very murderer she had examined just days ago.

"Lily, come back, he's Joey Foster!" Hugh, with a taut face, pulled the little nurse back behind her, protecting her. Unlike the confused Lily, the Ice Queen clearly had a much better memory.

"Ah, I remember now, you're Quentin, the great devil!" The scatterbrained nurse finally recalled, shrieking and then hiding behind Hugh, peeking out with her large, fluttering eyes at Quentin.

The Great Devil! Quentin felt a bit bashful, sniffing and glancing around the infirmary, "The smell of blood is strong here, what happened? And what are those things outside?"

"See for yourself!" Hugh looked at Quentin in surprise, pausing before stepping aside with Lily.

Quentin and Lincoln exchanged glances and stepped into the infirmary. The scene was chaotic: medical equipment lay scattered, and the most shocking sight was a federal soldier on the right side of the stretcher, missing the top of his head, his remains smeared across the floor.

"He was already dead!" Lily clung to Hugh's waist, speaking softly.

"Of course, he's dead now, look at him!" Lincoln rolled his eyes as he turned back. He had seen enough death in the tournaments to not be disturbed by the sight.

"No, I mean he was already a dead man before we killed him!" Lily protested, brandishing her chubby little fists.

"What Lily means is... he was a living dead!" Hugh explained with a wry smile, "He came for a routine check-up, and after the incident, when we woke up, we found he had no pulse or body temperature. But... after about fifteen minutes, he came back to life and started attacking us..."

"Wait, you mean... he's a zombie!" Lincoln looked incredulously at the two women, "I didn't misunderstand, did I?"

"That's the truth. That zombie even bit Hugh, and I killed it!" Lily said with a bit of embarrassment.

"I believe you!" Quentin, who had been silent all this while, suddenly smiled, "When you locked the door just now, was it because there are more zombies outside the infirmary?"

"Yes! There's a bunch of them outside!" The two women nodded rapidly, like chickens pecking at grain.

"More outside?!" Lincoln was shocked and hurried to the door to peer through the crack. Seeing over a dozen figures staggering towards the infirmary, his face turned pale, "Help me block the door!"

"Don't block the door!" Quentin waved his hand with a smile, turning to the two women, "If you two weak women could kill a zombie that was once a federal soldier, these things can't be too hard to kill, right?"

"Well, that's... they seem so!" Hugh furrowed her brow in thought, "They're strong but not agile, like people in their sixties or seventies, and they only know how to bite."

"Grab the medical kit and find something long like an iron rod or a brace; we need to break out. Otherwise, if those things block the door, we'll have no choice but to wait for death!" Quentin commanded, his face still beaming with an easy smile.

The others were taken aback, but Lincoln and Hugh immediately sprang into action. Lily puffed her cheeks in defiance, glaring at Quentin, "It's all because you banged on the door so loudly. Otherwise, we could have hidden until rescue arrived."

"There won't be any rescue for a while. I'm afraid over ninety-nine percent of the people in the base have turned into zombies, and those who survived can only save themselves by escaping!" Quentin shook his head with a grin, "These zombies probably act on instinct. The smell of formalin in the infirmary temporarily masked the blood, but given time, they'll still sniff you out."

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Lily paused, no longer arguing. Though a bit ditzy, she wasn't lacking in discernment. Next to her, Hugh and Lincoln turned pale, having quietly discussed the situation in the cell block.

Considering the survival rate of one in ten in the cell block, it was likely that few remained in the base. The reason was simple: zombies lacked intelligence and were slow, posing the greatest threat to survivors during the initial awakening.

The cell block zombies, even with damaged doors, were unlikely to escape. The surviving death row inmates had just woken up, avoiding the initial onslaught. As they fled the cell block, anyone they encountered, living or undead, was an enemy. Unless cornered by hundreds of zombies, it was a breeze for killers like Disciple Hanso.

Elsewhere in the base, apart from a few lucky ones, most survivors probably met their end at the hands of zombies. Few would realize that their former colleagues and comrades, staggering to their feet, were no longer alive, especially with their modern weapons now useless.

...

"Bang!" Lincoln, wielding an IV stand, smashed it onto a zombie's head, knocking it to the ground. If it had been a normal person, they would have been concussed, unable to rise for half a day.

"Argh!" However, the zombie merely shook its head as if angered and staggered back to its feet, lunging at Lincoln again.

The cinematic scenes of decapitating zombies with a single blow, as if smashing a watermelon, did not materialize before them. Even if the zombies had recently died and their flesh was rotting, their bones were hard to decay, and the human skull is one of the toughest parts of the skeleton.

Facing over a dozen zombies crowded in the infirmary corridor with only a few iron rods, the group had to fight and retreat, slowly making their way toward the safety exit.

During the brief preparation, the group had discussed how to escape the base. The entire Sector 91 base was a massive niche-structured building, and since death row inmates needed to be ready for space-time transmission at any time, the cell block floor was located at the top of the building, about ten stories above the base exit.

With the base's elevators and transport tracks out of order, they had to use the safety exit to descend. However, the zombies proved unexpectedly difficult to deal with, and the group soon found themselves in a tight spot.

Although the zombies chasing from behind couldn't catch up, the noise of the group's battles attracted more zombies from the lower floors into the safety exit. While the scattered zombies couldn't stop their progress for now, as more zombies began to block the front, their pace slowed, facing the immense danger of being caught in a pincer attack.

"Huff!" Lincoln panted, swinging the IV stand, looking helplessly at the dozen zombies crowding ahead.

Initially, he had been dismissive of the zombies' sluggish movements, but after the struggle, he felt his arms growing weak and his entire body exhausted, and the fear in his heart surged uncontrollably.

Noticing their dire situation, Quentin at the rear, who had been blocking the pursuers, lost the smile from his face, turned pale, and beads of sweat formed on his forehead.

Realizing they might not make it out of the safety exit and could end up in the zombies' grasp, Quentin suddenly felt dizzy, his body trembling as he hunched over and began to retch.

"Hey, what's wrong with you, get up, they're coming!" Seeing Quentin's agony, Lily hesitated before stopping and reaching out to help him up.

"Don't worry about me, you go on!" Quentin's left hand covered his face, his wet bangs sticking to his forehead, his agony apparent. His right hand, braced against the wall, clawed deep grooves, and a low growl emanated from his throat, "Go on, he... he's coming out..."

"What's wrong, don't scare me, you're Quentin, the great devil, you can't just die here!" Seeing the zombies approaching Quentin from behind, Lily's voice quavered with a hint of crying, her bright eyes welling up with tears as she struggled to help him stand.

Lincoln finally noticed the commotion and, seeing Quentin's condition, his face turned ashen. A sudden burst of strength propelled him forward, knocking down several zombies as he rushed down the stairwell, widening the gap with the others.

"Lily, let go of Quentin and come over here!" Hugh, as if remembering something, showed a rare change in her calm demeanor and called out anxiously.

"Why?" Lily blinked in confusion, a bit perplexed, but suddenly felt the arm she was holding stop trembling. It slid out of her grasp, almost causing her to stumble.

"You..." The young woman pouted in irritation, turning back only to freeze, a chill creeping into her heart.

Quentin had straightened up, the hand covering his face still smiling. But through the gaps in his fingers, his eyes had taken on a sinister crimson hue.

The smile that had once seemed warm and welcoming now appeared twisted and malevolent beneath his hand, like a demon from hell, exuding an undeniable aura of evil.

"Bang!" Quentin's right hand, now holding a black dagger shaped like scissor blades, struck back without looking, piercing the eye socket of a zombie behind him. The blade protruded from the back of the zombie's skull, dripping with a string of yellowish brain matter as the body twitched spasmodically.

"Heh!" Quentin's left hand shot out like lightning, seizing Lily by her pale neck and yanking her in front of him, their bodies pressing together intimately.

Feeling the immense softness of her chest against him, the murderer pressed his cheek against Lily's, his tongue flicking across her tender earlobe, breathing a warm, moist breath into her ear.

"I'm not your great devil Quentin; you can call me Joey, Joey Foster!"