Chapter 1: Reborn in a Locked Room
This is a work of fiction set in a post-apocalyptic world featuring rebirth and a system. I’ve done my best to keep the setting logically consistent, though some aspects may prioritize pacing and enjoyment over strict logical efficiency. If you notice any obvious plot holes or contradictions, please let me know. I’ll read your feedback carefully and do my best to fix them. After all, this story is for all of you—and readers have the keenest eyes.
— The Author
A headache woke him first.
The back of his head was pressed against the concrete floor. A chill slid down his neck, stopped between his shoulder blades, and sent a shiver through him.
His mouth was full of dust and a metallic taste, like the one he’d had as a child after falling hard enough to break a tooth and biting through his lip.
didn’t open his eyes. He listened first.
Creak. Crack.
The wooden door shuddered under heavy impacts. Its hinges sounded as if they might give way at any moment.
Outside, the scratching was as dense as beans rattling through a sieve. Fingernails scraped against the wood, setting his teeth on edge.
Even through the door, he could smell it: the stench of rotting flesh soaked in black blood, drilling into his nostrils.
He wanted to curse, but his mouth opened without a sound.
Scenes flashed through his mind. A second ago, he had been a regimental of the Dragon Country. On the scorched border, shrapnel had whizzed past his ears. As he covered his comrades’ retreat, a booby trap exploded beneath his feet in a blinding flash of white light. He remembered dying with his rifle still clutched in his hands.
Then the scene cut.
An office that smelled of disinfectant. Screaming erupted outside the window. A low-level clerk he saw every day convulsed and lunged at a colleague. The clerk’s skin was ashen gray, his veins bulging, his eyes cloudy white.
This body’s name was also — of the .
His memories felt scattered, like shards pieced together at random. One fragment held the dirt of the border. Another held tea stains in an office.
He pushed himself up from the ground. His fingertips brushed against a crushed aluminum pill case.
Half a strip of . The foil had been twisted out of shape. Pills lay scattered in the dust; one was already broken.
An emergency kit sat right by his foot, unopened. The original owner must have been terrified.
The virus had broken out only an hour ago. A civilian official who had spent years behind a desk had suffered heart failure first.
A crack sounded.
The door was struck again, and a fresh split appeared near the top of the panel.
pressed his eye to the gap and scanned the hallway.
Three crooked shadows blocked the corridor. All three wore the standard-issue shirts of the . Their skin was ashen gray, their arms and legs twisted at unnatural angles, their joints bent backward.
One had a strand of dark brown saliva hanging from its mouth, stretching as it dripped. Its claws kept scratching at the door. The nails were split, and wood shavings clung to the splintered edges.
He reached for his waist, intending to pull out his radio.
His fingertips touched scorched, melted plastic. The radio’s casing was warped, its circuit board fused into a lump of black char.
Fragments of his memory told him that ten minutes into the outbreak, a global particle storm had swept across the world. Anything containing a chip had been fried—phones, radios, surveillance cameras. All useless.
Damn it.
An olive-drab tin box stood in the corner. Four white characters on its side read: “Emergency Breaching.”
The original owner had been scared out of his wits and completely forgotten about it.
moved over and hooked his fingers under the latch. The rusted lock core snapped when he twisted it.
Inside, a lay in a foam slot, its edge cold and gleaming. A rested on the other side.
He gripped the in a reverse hold, pressed one knee to the floor, hooked his left hand around the door frame, and pushed the door open a crack.
A heavy thud.
The zombie slammed into the door again, its head wedged in the gap. Cloudy white eyes pressed against the panel.
dropped his shoulder and drove the knife forward.
The sank into the bony crevice of the temple and buried itself to the hilt.
Gurgling breaths escaped the thing’s throat. Then it went limp.
Black blood splattered across the door. A few gray specks landed on his pant leg.
He pulled out the knife and stepped back half a pace. His hands trembled slightly.
He wasn’t sure whether it was because this body hadn’t moved in so long or because he himself hadn’t fully returned from the booby trap’s blinding white light.
The dull thud of the corpse collapsing had barely faded when a voice rang out in his mind, accompanied by faint static like an old radio.
“ , soul binding complete. Military soul authentication passed. Initial : 10. Basic unit available for summoning: , 5 points each.”
A pale blue interface floated before his eyes.
The most prominent feature was a two-dimensional map. The entire building was densely packed with red heat-source dots. Only on the west side did two faint green dots flicker.
closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the interface was still there.
He cursed.
“Fuck.”
It wasn’t a hallucination.
The words “ ” on the summoning tab were lit. At five points each, his ten points were exactly enough for two.
But he didn’t rush to use them.
He hadn’t figured this thing out yet. How long would it take a summoned unit to arrive? Where would it appear? Would it make noise and draw every zombie on the floor? He didn’t know.
First, he had to deal with the two outside.
He didn’t close the interface in his mind. He left it open, the lit summoning tab visible in his peripheral vision.
He gripped the and crouched back beside the door.
The corpse he had just dropped lay beside it, black blood slowly spreading across the floor.
There were still two zombies outside the door.