"Where the fuck am I?" Sam muttered as his eyes snapped open.
He found himself in a brightly lit space, seemingly infinite and without boundaries.
He was still wearing his prison uniform.
He touched his head, unsure of what had happened.
No one answered his unspoken questions.
Sam's last memory was being hit by a wooden plank that suddenly fell from the ceiling as he was being led away from the courtroom.
His mind had been full of fantasies about suing for huge compensation and applying for medical release to avoid that damn prison.
But what was happening now?
Just as Sam was puzzling over it, a white panel appeared before his eyes.
He reached out to touch it but found he couldn't; the panel seemed to be projected directly onto his eyeballs.
"Oh god, don't tell me I got turned into a vegetable and forced into some brain-interface experiment, or became some kind of brain in a vat?" Sam thought, starting to panic.
He yelled out loud, "Can anyone hear me?! If you can hear me, give me a sign! Also, if this is some kind of virtual world in my head, can you develop Minecraft or Grand Theft Auto for me to play?"
There was no reply, but the white panel suddenly changed, startling Sam.
A striking line of large text appeared: Savior System
"What's this?" While Sam was still confused, more text continued to display below:
Savior Designation: Sam,
Savior System Rules Initiated. Instructions:
1.Saviors need to obtain Hope Points by completing tasks issued by the system.
2.Besides main quests, other quests need to be triggered by the Savior. Failure to complete main quests and some other quests will result in a deduction of corresponding points.
3.Points are required for exchanges via a redemption list. The redemption list for a world's abilities and items can only be obtained after surviving through that world.
4.Saviors can activate the panel by mentally reciting 'Savior System' and exit the panel by mentally reciting 'System Close'.
5.If Hope Points are insufficient upon returning from a world or are negative, the Savior will be Abandoned.
Staring at the five brief rules, Sam felt completely bewildered.
What the hell is all this?
Seems like I've gotten myself into some serious trouble.
That word 'Abandoned' especially felt ominous, like being made an orphan, but Sam had a gut feeling it was far worse than the literal meaning.
Then, the rules on the panel disappeared, replaced by a message with a progress bar: Proceeding to: Zombie Apocalypse World. Savior, prepare yourself.
The progress bar filled faster than Sam downloading porn videos on a gigabit connection.
In an instant, the world before Sam's eyes abruptly changed.
The surrounding scene felt like it was forcibly shoved into his mind.
Sam found himself standing abruptly on a street, the cold, hard pavement beneath his feet.
The air held the faint smell of exhaust fumes and the distinct sour tang of city garbage.
It was a typical downtown street view, flanked by buildings a dozen or so stories high, their glass curtain walls reflecting the grey, overcast sky.
Shops displayed various English signs.
Bags of trash were piled up by the roadside, and next to them lay a heap of ragged clothes; maybe if he rummaged through them, he'd find someone inside.
A few people walked by, minding their own business.
I'm back? No… where is this? Immense confusion and dizziness washed over him.
Sam instinctively looked down at himself—the rough prison uniform he expected was gone, replaced by a crisp, well-fitting dark blue uniform.
A radio hung from his shoulder, a shiny badge was pinned to his chest, and the unfamiliar weight of a weapon rested in the holster on his hip.
It was a police uniform.
His hand trembled slightly as he reached into his chest pocket and pulled out a hard identification holder.
Flipping it open—there was his photo, with a determined look in the eyes he didn't recognize, and below it, his name—Sam—and his rank: Probationary Officer.
[Police? I became a cop? ]The thought exploded in his mind like thunder, so absurd it was almost laughable.
Just then, he felt a weight in his hand and realized he'd been holding a clear plastic bag all along, containing two still-warm cups of coffee, a few donuts, and a hot dog wrapped in paper.
Sam quickly recited 'Savior System' in his mind.
As soon as the thought formed, a white, semi-transparent screen—like something out of a game interface—instantly unfolded before his eyes, clearly displaying several lines of text:
Apocalypse Survival: Survive for 30 days in the impending "Zombie Crisis".
Reward: 300 Survival Points.
Zombie Killer: Accumulate 100 zombie kills.
Scoring: Gain 5 Survival Points for each effective zombie kill.
Penalty: At the end of the mission, if kills are less than 100, 5 Survival Points will be deducted for each kill short.
His eyes twitched.
Zombie Crisis?!
He wondered what kind of zombies they were.
If they were the slow, shuffling walkers like in The Walking Dead, it might be manageable.
But if they were the sprinting athletes from World War Z, that would be terrifying.
And if they were the Plants vs. Zombies type… he'd just find a place to bury himself.
The immediate priority is to gather as many supplies as possible before this damn crisis fully erupts.
He felt his pockets, wondering how much money this 'new identity' had.
But—he looked down at the police uniform and the badge he'd just found—a legitimate police identity, even probationary, was way better than his original one.
Could he use this identity to get a loan more easily?
Sam's eyes lit up, his mind racing: [Weapons! Ammo! Didn't need the biggest guns, but a shotgun, sniper rifle, and assault rifle for versatility were essential. Night vision goggles too. Maybe buy some football gear for protection, especially shoulders, legs, and neck, to prevent bites. And a sturdy, powerful truck for ramming… er, for transporting supplies. Food, water, medicine, various tools… the more, the better. Time, he needed time. If he moved fast enough, he even considered taking over a well-located small building, welding steel plates over the doors, turning it into a fortress. Then he could just leisurely snipe the 'moving targets' below from his window every day.]
Just as Sam was lost in his fantasies of building an apocalypse fortress, a loud male voice snapped him back to reality: "Hey! Sam! What are you daydreaming about? I'm starving! My coffee! And the hot dog! Faster, partner!"
[Partner?] Sam finally registered his current role.
He resignedly took the bag of food and sat in the police car from which the voice had come, opening the passenger door.
The Black officer in the driver's seat turned his head; he was powerfully built, looked about forty, his expression showing a slight impatience from the breakfast delay, but his eyes were relatively easygoing.
"Finally back? How's it going, rookie? First day running errands, feeling nervous?"
"Ah… It's, it's okay, sir." Sam handed over the bag—containing his own coffee and donuts, plus a mocha and hot dog clearly meant for his partner—while quickly fabricating an excuse. "Uh… I'm feeling a bit unwell, maybe caught a chill this morning? I wanted to ask, on the first day of probation… is it possible… to request finishing duty early?"
The other officer—John—looked like he'd heard something unbelievable, raising his eyebrows dramatically.
"Finish early? Kid, are you kidding me? Didn't they teach you at the academy not to leave early on your first day? You looked pretty damn excited when you went for coffee, didn't seem sick then!"
He unceremoniously took his mocha and hot dog from the bag.
"Told you before, just call me John. Don't be so tense, I've got your back, relax."
"Yes… John," Sam grumbled inwardly but complied verbally.
John took a huge bite of the hot dog, imparting wisdom while chewing indistinctly.
"Relax, just follow what they taught you in training and listen to me. Watch and learn, stick to the rules, I'll cover for you. You'll get used to it soon enough."
I guarantee police training doesn't cover dealing with zombies! Sam roared internally.
And I haven't had any goddamn training! Gotta find a chance to slip away!
He suppressed his anxiety, secretly plotting his escape, unsure when the zombie crisis would actually start.
Suddenly, the radio crackled with harsh static, followed by the dispatcher's calm but rapid voice: "All Southwest units, attention, Code 10-32 (Emergency/Possible Weapons Involved), vicinity of Southwest Street ST1206, report of a violent assault! Repeat, violent assault! Caller describes a white male in purple clothing randomly attacking and 'biting' other pedestrians—Dispatch confirms, the word used was 'biting'! Suspect currently appears unarmed, but multiple individuals are injured and down at the scene. Nearest patrol unit respond immediately, proceed with caution!"
"Shit! Biting? These druggies are getting crazier every day," John muttered under his breath, putting his coffee in the console holder and grabbing the radio mic.
He responded in a deep voice, "Unit 714 copies! We are in the vicinity, proceeding Code 3! ETA three minutes!"
Sam felt a chill shoot up from his feet to the top of his head, his heart seized by an icy grip.
It's starting!… So soon!
Almost simultaneously, the white, semi-transparent system interface forcibly popped up before his eyes again, the mission information crystal clear:
Mission Update: First Patrol
Objective: Assist Senior Officer John, proceed to the incident location at Southwest Street ST1206, investigate and respond to the assault.
Reward: Base Survival Points +100.
Failure Penalty: Survival Points -50.
The sharp wail of the siren suddenly erupted, the engine let out a low roar, and John yanked the steering wheel, flooring the accelerator.
The police car shot forward like a cannonball.
The immense force pressed Sam firmly into his seat.
He watched the rapidly receding, blurring streetscape outside the window, only one cold thought remaining in his mind—The game has begun.
And he had nowhere to run.