[Survivor Fiona Woods, welcome to Infinite Doomsday. System 32588 at your service.]

[Ding—]

[Consciousness detected. Beginner mission activated: Find a door and use your system-issued key to establish a shelter within 30 minutes.]

[Beginner protection countdown: 60 seconds. Timer started. Beginners, note: once the countdown ends, the protective shield will deactivate. Stay alive.]

Fiona barely woke up when that cold, robotic voice echoed in her head.

Infinite Doomsday?

She opened her eyes. The sunlight stabbed like needles, forcing her to raise a hand to shield her face. A few seconds later, once her sight adjusted, the mess around her came into view.

She was lying dead-center on a road, wrapped in a transparent, dome-shaped shield. In the sunlight, it shimmered faintly.

Scattered across the road were at least ten others, all in a similar state. Survivors.

Like her, they squinted in confusion, shading their eyes from the glare.

Zombies wandered aimlessly nearby.

What filled the scene even more were the heaps of dismembered bodies. Bloodied chunks, white bones exposed, laid out across the pavement. Barely any spot remained clean enough to step on.

God knows how long this apocalypse had lasted. The zombies, half-starved, were gnawing at long-dead rotten corpses, tearing at flesh that couldn’t fight back.

A shrill scream cut through the chaos.

Fiona turned her head. A girl with twin ponytails had just woken and was now screaming at the bloody horror everywhere.

In an instant, all the wandering zombies snapped their heads her way and started moving fast.

Fiona frowned.

So they go by sound. Just like in the movies.

Tamara’s scream not only gave herself away—it also exposed the rest.

These people had no idea how zombies worked. Who knew if they'd start attacking everyone they passed, or just chase whatever made noise?

Fiona glanced at the countdown in her head.

45… 44 seconds left.

That shield of hers wouldn't last much longer. She was unarmed. No time to waste—she had to find some kind of weapon before it dropped. Map a way out. Fast.

"Shut up!"

A balding, middle-aged man not far from her shot out, voice low and angry.

"You screaming your damn head off! See those things heading this way? All your fault!"

Tamara froze, finally getting it. Those around her—none of them looked pleased.

She covered her mouth. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

"Where is this place? Why are we here? I was just cooking at home…"

Someone pointed out the shiny object by her hand. A closer look—turns out it was a spatula.

Fiona’s gaze lingered a second—spatula wasn’t much, but right now, it was gold.

She, on the other hand, had been out on a morning jog before all this hit. All she had was the slim waist pack strapped around her belt. Nothing useful.That pouch was called "invisible" for a reason—it looked just like a belt, flat and even, wrapped snug around the waist. From a glance, no one would think it held anything.

Aside from a phone, a key, and a palm-sized water bottle clipped on top, there was nothing else inside.

Then it hit her—the key.

Fiona Woods looked down and saw a silver key lying next to her hand. It was unfamiliar.

She picked it up. Right then, the mechanical voice rang out in her head again.

[Sanctuary Key: Insert into any unclaimed door to establish your sanctuary.

Reminder: Each survivor may possess only one key. Keep it safe.]

Fiona slid the key into the inner layer of her pouch.

Thirty seconds left.

She crouched to scan the ground for a decent weapon, all while memorizing everything around her.

Soon, she spotted a rusted metal shard.

Its edge was bent—probably from chopping something hard. Too short. To hurt a zombie with it, you’d have to get too close. That meant more risk. Way more chance of being bitten.

And if she cut herself? One look at the rust was enough—lockjaw waiting to happen.

Not worth it.

Just as her eyes were shifting away, she felt it—someone watching her.

She looked up and locked eyes with the middle-aged man nearby, the one with the thinning hair. He glanced at Fiona, then at the metal shard on the ground.

Like he was warning her.

Fiona turned her gaze elsewhere, calm, unreadable. But in those eyes, a spark flickered.

She already had her weapon picked out.

Rustle rustle—

The nearby zombies were closing in fast. Fiona tensed, but didn’t move.

Fifteen seconds of shield left.

They couldn’t hurt her yet.

But if they noticed her, the others that hadn’t gone chasing Tamara might swarm her instead. That’d be a problem.

The lead zombie paused half a second.

Then it turned away, continuing after Tamara.

A dozen more followed, staggering and lurching right past Fiona. A few brushed against her shield, leaving grim smears of dried blood on the transparent surface.

Tamara looked pale as ash, clenching a frying pan in both hands. She bit down so hard her lower lip had turned white. Eyes full of panic, she stared as the undead closed in, quietly begging the others for help—

But everyone else had their own problems.

Too many zombies. Nearly every survivor had some shambling right at them.

All busy trying to save their own skin. No time for her.

Fiona didn’t look at her either.

Her eyes were fixed on the weapon she’d chosen. At the same time, she kept an eye on the countdown.

5

4

3

2

1

Go.

The second the shield vanished, Fiona shot forward like an arrow, ducking low between two zombies. Her hand darted down.

What she grabbed was cold, wet, and sticky. Disgusting.

Didn’t matter. She had her weapon now.

Even moving quietly, her feet couldn’t help slapping against the blood-slicked ground with a wet, sick sound.

The nearby zombies snapped toward her at once—then lunged.Fiona Woods swung her weapon backhand with full force, smashing it straight into the forehead of the nearest zombie. No hesitation, one hit clean—like she’d done it a hundred times before.

"Thunk—"

Blood and brain matter sprayed across her face.

The zombie collapsed, limp and lifeless.

A nearby survivor happened to glance over and was struck dumb by the scene. At first, he thought she was holding a massive club—maybe a lucky find?

No—wait. That wasn’t a club.

His eyes widened as he squinted. The end of that “club” had a curved bulge—fifteen centimeters or so—and it had cracked open that zombie’s skull like a melon.

That wasn’t a club… it was a bone. A femur, to be exact. Snatched from the ground, slick with dried blood, the pale-white of bone barely visible under the filth. Flesh still clung to one end.

A real leg bone, used like a weapon.

The sight nearly made the man vomit, but he didn’t have time.

Right then, his protective barrier vanished.

Panic surged. He grabbed a bone lying nearby and tried swinging it like Fiona had.

Missed. Didn’t even dent the thing.

That’s when he realized—this girl wasn’t just lucky. She was sharp. And brutal.

Landing a clean headshot like that? That took skill.

Meanwhile, Fiona had already taken out the three zombies around her.

Her limbs, her clothes, her face—splattered with gore.

The stench of blood and rot choked the air, but she barely noticed. No time.

Her last fight had drawn even more undead, ones that had been closing in on Tamara.

She couldn’t dodge around them.

They were at the gate of a tech park. Behind them, the giant metal doors had fallen, twisted and broken, iron bars bent by the monsters' claws. Blood soaked the mess—they weren’t stopping anyone now.

To secure shelter with her key, she had to get inside the office building.

She’d already mapped the route during her sixty-second grace period. But that route passed through the thick of the zombies, right where Tamara was trapped.

Fiona didn’t hesitate. She ran.

Her footsteps pounded on the pavement, drawing more zombies in her direction.

Soon, a small horde tailed her.

Tamara was flailing with a metal spatula, smacking zombies in blind panic.

She got a few hits in, but none to the head. It wasn’t enough—

The zombies just shook off the blows and came at her again, arms flailing, jaws open.

One lunged, dark drool hanging from its open mouth, about to sink its teeth into her arm—

"Thunk!"

The undead dropped like a sack of meat, mouth still open wide.

"What are you waiting for? Run!"

A cold voice slapped the daze from Tamara’s mind.

Right. Run!

She looked up, just in time to see Fiona’s back disappearing into the chaos.Fiona Woods strode forward, short hair sharp and clean. In her grip, a blood-slicked club—a snapped-off femur. Each swing cut down another walking corpse. She wasn't fast, but every blow counted. A bloody path carved through the swarm.

Tamara clutched her dented frying pan and followed close behind, eyes wide with dread.

Fiona didn’t look back. She raised the bone again and sprinted toward Building 6.

The noise outside had pulled most zombies from the office building. They shambled stupidly toward the streets, leaving the halls thinner.

Still, even with the bone weapon, the clearing wasn’t easy. Fiona was breathing hard when three zombies surged from different angles.

Her eyes narrowed. With a grunt, she slammed her heel into the one on her left, sending it flying. She twisted, swinging hard at the one on her right—its skull cracked open, collapsed on the spot. Before she could pivot to the last one—

Clang!

The loud, metal crack of a frying pan. Tamara had struck the third zombie in the head, knocking it back a few steps. She stood trembling, jaw clenched, eyes red.

Fiona didn’t hesitate. She yanked Tamara’s arm and dragged her forward at a run.

They rushed through the side entrance of the office building.

Fiona gave the countdown a glance.

16 minutes, 48 seconds left.

She needed a door. A closable one. Shelter, as the system demanded.

If she failed, she’d spend the reset in this hellhole—zombies and all.

But every door around them? Wrecked. Hinges busted, locks snapped, likely mauled by the same creatures they were fleeing. Not one intact.

Fiona pulled the system key from her waist pouch.

[Error. Error. No closable door detected. Shelter requirements unmet.]

The alert blared in her mind.

Tamara behind her tried the same, hope briefly lighting her face before it crumpled.

“Keep looking,” Fiona ordered.

She knocked down another pouncing zombie without blinking, then shoved deeper inside.

Footsteps echoed from outside.

Other survivors. They’d caught up.

“Damn system! Such a tiny key, lost one already!”

“I saw those two girls pick up keys. We just take theirs!”

“The short-haired one looks tough. Grab the twin-tailed one first.”

“Tch. So what? Just two women."

Fiona’s gaze sharpened. Tamara’s panic flared—eyes wide, breath shallow.

Zombies ahead. Vultures behind.

Still, Fiona's face stayed cold.

She flung a zombie aside and lunged down a different corridor.

Toilets, the sign said.

Tamara hesitated only a heartbeat before chasing her in.

No zombies here—just rows of stall doors.

Still doors.

Fiona checked them fast. Last one could be shut tight. She slammed it shut, jammed the key in.

[Ding—Closable door detected. Shelter setup possible. Confirm?

Note: Once confirmed, shelter location is locked.]

Yes.

As soon as the system accepted it, a weight lifted from her body, and in the next blink, Fiona stood somewhere else entirely.