For Dan, it was a day like any other.
A third-year law student, his nights were spent drowning in textbooks and case law, and this one was no different. At 3 a.m., his head pounded from lack of sleep, his vision blurry as he tried to force his brain to absorb just a little more before finals. His jet-black hair was a mess, his dark brown eyes dull and lifeless—thanks to pulling his third all-nighter of the week.
He raised another mug of lukewarm coffee to his lips and choked it down. The bitterness barely registered anymore. But then—
A flash of light.
Blinding, white, and sudden.
Dan instinctively shut his eyes and cursed. When he opened them again, he froze. Floating before him were strange holographic words, projected seemingly from his own vision.
[Synchronisation complete. Trial begins.]
"What the hell is this?" he muttered.
He waved his hand through the words. Nothing. They just hovered there, silently glowing.
And then—screams.
He turned his head sharply toward the window. Darkvalley—the capital city of Bristonia—was usually buzzing even at night. Night owls, partygoers, students, workers. But this time, the usual city noise was gone.
Only screaming remained.
Dan moved to the window, and what he saw made his stomach twist. Chaos. Cars swerving. People running.
People—attacking each other. Biting, tearing, devouring. Bodies on the streets. Blood. Fire. Complete, merciless chaos.
He backed away from the window, heart racing. The words from earlier hovered still in his vision. As someone who'd spent a few too many nights reading apocalypse novels and watching survival anime, he swallowed his pride and tried the obvious.
"System," he said.
He almost laughed at himself—until the hologram changed before his eyes.
________________________________________
Daniel Hunter
Age: 18
Level: 1
XP: 0 / 100
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Class: ???
Health: 9/10
Strength: 10/10
Endurance: 10/10
Agility: 6/8
Intelligence: 10/12
________________________________________
The laugh caught in his throat.
"What the actual hell?"
**[Trial of Survival has begun. ***********. Your instructions are to survive and grow stronger. When your level is high enough, more information will be revealed.]
Dan groaned, rubbing his face. He was sleep-deprived, stressed, and now stuck in some twisted game system come to life. But he wasn't stupid. If this really was happening—the first hours were everything.
He forced himself up and went straight to the kitchen. He grabbed a broom, some duct tape, and a few knives. Within minutes, he'd created a crude spear. Not elegant, but it'd do.
Bag slung over his shoulder, he left the apartment and crept down the emergency stairwell, each step slow and silent. Fifth floor, then fourth. Third. Second. First. At the ground floor, he cracked the door open and scanned the reception.
Only one figure.
Emily.
Pink hair, flowing clothes, always smiling. She was an art student. Friendly with everyone in the building. He didn't know her well—but enough to recognise her face. Or what was left of it.
Her skin was pale, and deep bite marks covered her neck and cheek. Blood still dripped from her jaw as she twitched and sniffed the air.
Dan stared at her. Hesitated.
Then he killed her.
He kicked the door fully open and ran. One clean thrust. The makeshift spear pierced her skull and she dropped without a sound. Dan pulled it back out and dashed inside, slamming the door shut behind him.
XP: 100
Level Up ↑
Congratulations. You are the first to intentionally kill an infected with your own hands.
Reward: 1 Beginner's Trial Pack.
Would you like to open it? (Y/N)
"Yes," he said, without missing a beat.
In a shimmer of light, a small steel machete appeared in his hand. It was sharp. Real. Far better than the kitchen spear he had. He dropped the spear immediately and gave the blade a few testing swings.
That's when he heard the thump.
"Infected," he muttered.
The noise from earlier must have drawn them in.
Looking up through the open stairwell, his heart stopped.
They were falling.
Infected people from the upper floors were throwing themselves over railings or tumbling down stairs. Some snapped bones when they landed. Others just rose again, their eyes locked onto him.
"Fuck," Dan breathed, and ran.
He bolted for the first-floor door, kicking it open and rushing inside. The corridor stretched long ahead of him, lined with doors. But there—three infected.
Two noticed him instantly. They broke into a sprint. The third stumbled behind, slower.
Dan had no time to think.
The first lunged.
Dan ducked and slashed—a clean cut, head flying.
The second reached him and he stabbed forward, jamming the machete through its jaw. The blade tore through bone with shocking ease. It fell with a gurgle.
But its momentum threw him off balance.
He hit the floor hard. The dead weight of the infected he'd just killed collapsed on top of him, knocking the air from his lungs. His machete clattered away, spinning across the corridor floor, well out of reach.
Before he could recover, the third infected was already there.
It stumbled over the corpses, then dropped down, snarling. Dan had just enough time to throw his hands up — one gripping its throat, the other its blood-matted forehead. Its teeth snapped wildly, barely an inch from his face.
Hot, rancid breath hit him like poison.
He gritted his teeth and pushed back, arms shaking violently as he held it off.
But his strength was failing.
The infected thrashed harder, driven by something beyond hunger. Its fingernails scraped against his shoulders, trying to tear, trying to drag his face into its mouth.
He tried to shift his legs. The corpse underneath wouldn't budge. He was pinned.
The machete was too far.
No weapon.
No time.
No way out.
He was running out of time.
His arms were cramping. His grip slipping. Every second brought the infected's jaws closer. Closer.
Panic flared in his chest. His body wanted to give up. Just let go.
No. Not like this.
Stab.
The Infected fell limp. Dan shoved the body off and quickly pushed another one down to the floor. As he looked up, he saw a man standing at the end of the corridor—shaking with fear, eyes wide as he took in the carnage. Dan stood up, retrieved his machete, and finally turned to face the man.
"Thank you," Dan said, his voice sincere as he profusely expressed his gratitude.
The man, still stunned, focused on Dan—bloodied and bruised—before wordlessly grabbing his arm and dragging him into his apartment.
Inside, the man handed Dan a cup of water.
"My name's John," he said.
John was a short, skinny man with short black hair and thick glasses that made Dan wonder how he could see at all.
Dan took a breath and introduced himself before sitting down. Then, under his breath, he muttered:
"System."
Instantly, a wave of notifications popped up before his eyes:
Runner Dead
Runner Dead
+200 XP
LEVEL UP
Congratulations on being the first Player to achieve Level 3. Calculating rewards…
1 Instant Regeneration available. Would you like to use it? (Y/N?)
Daniel Hunter
Age: 18
Level: 3
XP: 0/ 400
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Class: ???
Health: 6.5/10
Strength: 10/10
Agility: 8/10
Endurance: 6/10
Intelligence: 10/12
"Yes," Dan said.
Instantly, his battered body began to recover. Cuts sealed, bruises faded, and the exhaustion that had weighed him down lifted. The dark circles under his eyes vanished. For the first time in days, he felt… good. Energetic.
John, watching in stunned silence, stood frozen—mouth agape.
Dan chuckled, invigorated by the change. He looked at John and began explaining everything he knew about the system.
John nodded along before adding what he had seen online. According to various posts, 50% of the population had transformed instantly—including most of the government. With leadership in disarray, global communication and control had collapsed.
Dan listened silently. When John finished, Dan stood and walked toward the apartment door.
"Where are you going?" John asked, rising from his seat.
"To hunt," Dan replied simply. "From what I can see, no help is coming. If we want to survive, we need to get ahead as fast as possible."
"Are you not scared?" John asked, his voice shaky.
"A bit," Dan admitted. "But it's either that, or wait to die. I'd rather fight."
John paused, deep in thought. Then, a flicker of resolve lit up in his eyes. He walked into the kitchen and returned with a longer knife in hand.
Dan gave a small approving nod. "Why don't you make a spear? If you've got duct tape and a broom, you'll get better range. That's what I used before I found this beauty," he said, gesturing proudly to his machete.
John's eyes lit up with realization. With a bit of effort and Dan's help, he crafted a makeshift spear. Soon, both were ready.
They nodded to each other.
Dan opened the door slightly. The corridor outside was empty, except for the bloodied remains of the infected they had just killed.
John broke the silence. "Sooo… what's the plan?"
Dan stood still for a moment, thinking.
"First, let's knock on the other apartment doors. As long as the infected don't hit the stairwell release button, we should be safe behind the security entrance."
John nodded and approached the door next to his. He knocked.
Thumping erupted from inside.
They exchanged a grim look. Another infected.
They moved door to door. Every apartment was the same—either abandoned or occupied by the Infected.
"What are the chances…" Dan muttered, dread growing in his chest. The silence that gripped the building was unnatural. Even the world outside was quiet now—most people were either hiding… or no longer human.
John's determination seemed to falter, and Dan noticed immediately.
"New plan," Dan said. "When I went to the stairs earlier, I attracted a few zombies. If we draw them one by one, we can fight them here safely and rack up some XP."
John nodded, regaining a bit of confidence.
They moved toward the stairwell at the end of the hall.
John was to go first. Dan would open the door just enough to let one infected in, then quickly close it again. John would handle the first one, and then they would switch turns—each gaining valuable experience in a controlled environment.
And with that, they began their first hunt together.
Dan gave him a look. "You sure you're ready?"
"I got the last one, didn't I?" John said.
Dan cracked the stairwell open and gave a sharp whistle.
Footsteps responded. Fast. Heavy.
A blur launched through the doorway — all teeth and madness.
John stepped forward, jabbed with his spear — hit clean. The infected crumpled.
"Boom!" John grinned. "Easy!"
Dan raised a brow. "Don't get cocky. One more."
He cracked the door again.
Two snarls this time.
Dan's eyes widened. "Get back."
But it was already too late.
The first one burst through — faster than the last. John stepped back and swung—
Slip.
His foot skidded in a slick pool of blood.
His legs shot out from under him.
He hit the floor hard. Glasses went flying, skittering across the tile.
"I can't see!" he shouted, stabbing blindly. "Dan— where are they?!"
"Stay down!" Dan yelled, but the infected was already on him.
Teeth sank into John's shoulder before Dan could reach them. He tackled the infected beast off, swung his machete, and silenced it — but John was already groaning, clutching his wound.
"Shit…" Dan muttered.
John looked up, dazed, eyes wide. "I… I didn't mean to. I tripped. I can't… see anything."
Dan crouched beside him. "Stay calm. Breathe."
But John was already shaking.
He let out a ragged breath… then another… then a growl.
Dan's eyes hardened. "No…"
John's limbs jerked. Muscles seized. His jaw snapped open in a sharp, unnatural snarl.
The infection had taken hold fast — too fast.
John lunged forward.
Dan barely had time to dodge.
His new friend that had once handed him water was now trying to rip out his throat.
He spun, swung the machete — missed. John was small, fast. Wild. His broken glasses crunched underfoot as he darted past Dan and came again, snarling.
Then somehow the stairwell door slammed wide open.
Another runner.
This one was faster — built like it had never stopped running since the world fell apart.
Dan found himself flanked.
He backed toward the wall, machete raised, breath shallow.
The new runner charged first. Dan stepped sideways and swung — connected, spine severed, body down.
But John didn't wait.
He came in low and fast, claws flailing, mouth frothing.
Dan didn't hesitate this time.
He brought the machete down in one clean arc.
John collapsed.
Still. Finally.
Dan stood there, chest heaving.
The corridor was quiet again.
He looked down at what was left of his first friend since the apocalypse started
"We should've tied your glasses to your head."
He turned away, blood dripping from the edge of his blade.
Sad, alone and worried about the future prospects and the grim realisation that one wrong step and you're gone.