NOVEL WEB Chapter 2: The First Loot
The infected riot cop stood frozen in time, a grotesque mannequin in tactical gear—matte-black body armor, a reinforced helmet, and a polycarbonate shield locked in its stiff fingers.
Lucas didn't hesitate.
"If they're statues… their gear's fair game."
He yanked the helmet off. No resistance. The visor was pristine, the interior unnervingly clean. These weren't the oozing corpses of old horror films; these were fresh turned—pale, veined, but intact.
No bites. No risk.
He jammed the helmet onto his head, then wrestled the shield free. The infected's grip was iron-tight, but Lucas leveraged his weight, muscles burning until—
Crack.
The shield tore loose. A quick pat-down revealed one last prize: a CS gas canister.
His eyes flicked to another armored infected nearby—this one clutching a revolver.
[20… 19… 18…]
No time.
Lucas memorized the spot like a sniper noting ammo caches, then bolted for the realtor's office.
The glass door shattered his reflection as he crashed through. Lock engaged. Safe.
For now.
On the desk, a half-empty water bottle glistened. Contaminated. Useless for drinking—but perfect for his next move.
He splashed the liquid across the glass, then slapped property flyers over every wet pane.
Instant one-way mirror.
[3… 2… 1…]
The world erupted.
A chorus of guttural shrieks split the air. Shadows lurched past the frosted glass, limbs twitching, mouths gnashing. None paused. None noticed him.
Safe.
Lucas collapsed onto a couch, his hands trembling. Adrenaline crash.
He willed his pulse to slow, then checked the global chat.
Messages scrolled slower now. Fewer survivors.
"They're everywhere—hundreds! I barely made it to an apartment!"
"Saw a guy get torn apart… Jesus, the blood—"
"This isn't a game. We die for real."
A female avatar pleaded: "Someone help me… please…"
No replies.
Smart.
Lucas smirked. This wasn't a game lobby. Every word here was a breadcrumb—and in the apocalypse, breadcrumbs led to predators.
He stood, scanning the office.
The crate.
Tucked in a corner, the Level-1 Supply Box hummed faintly. He touched it.
[Open? Y/N]
Y.
The lid hissed open, revealing:
A fire axe (gleaming, sharp)A Basic Stamina Serum (vial of cobalt liquid)500ml purified water
Then, he remembered: the ring.
His left middle finger bore a jade-green band—his storage ring. A mental nudge activated its interface:
12 slots. Unlimited stacking for identical items. No nested storage (no backpacks inside backpacks).
Two slots were already filled:
1lb canned meat500ml water (x2)
He stashed the shield, helmet, axe, tear gas, and new water.
6 slots left.
The revolver-wielder's location burned in his mind.
Tomorrow's prize.