Dumbass, I Have a Gun
Lucas Kane steadied his breath, his gaze locking onto the dozen or so zombies circling the base of the tree. Luckily, the woman hadn't stopped screaming—not for a single second. Her piercing shrieks kept the undead rooted in place, distracted from anything else.
If those ten or more zombies had rushed him earlier, even with his shield and axe, it would've been a different story. Sure, Lucas was stronger, faster, and better equipped. But he couldn't afford even a single scratch. In a world like this, one cut meant death. The more zombies, the higher the chance of a fatal mistake.
No hesitation. He lunged.
Steel flashed. Limbs flew. With ruthless precision, Lucas cleaved through the remaining undead. Blood splattered across the pavement as the last zombie's skull cracked under the weight of his axe. The moment it hit the ground, the woman finally stopped screaming.
"You again?" she gasped, recognition flashing in her eyes.
Lucas raised an eyebrow. "Yeah… but how the hell did you get up that tree?"
He wiped his axe blade clean on one of the mangled corpses, chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Slaying over twenty zombies in one go was no small feat.
"I… it's a long story," the woman replied. "Actually—watch out!"
Lucas didn't wait. He trusted instinct more than words.
A sharp gust swept in behind him. He dropped low, raising his riot shield just in time—
CLANG!
A butcher's knife slammed into the shield with vicious force, vibrating through his arm.
Not a zombie.
A man.
Blades rained down, slicing into the shield again and again like a frenzied hailstorm. Whoever this was, they weren't here to talk. They came to kill.
Lucas blocked and retreated, dodging around the tree, creating distance. Only then did he get a good look at the attacker.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dual knives. Intense glare.
Lucas's eyes narrowed. "Victor Cross."
Of course. The guy who had flooded the trade channel with food and water the night before. Lucas had suspected Victor might be in the area—but this confirmed it.
"Well done, Lucas," Victor hissed, stepping forward. "I underestimated you."
Lucas remained silent, calculating.
Victor grinned. "You've reached the Exceptionally Strong tier too, haven't you? What was it—hundreds of zombie kills? Or some other trick?"
He didn't wait for an answer. "No matter. I won't let anyone surpass me. After I kill you, I'll figure out your secret myself."
Lucas's tone was flat. "You said you're Exceptionally Strong too?"
Victor smirked. "Surprised? I never left my apartment. People handed me energy cores in exchange for water and rations. They were desperate. Fools, all of them."
He raised his blades.
"Now let's finish this."
In Victor's mind, Lucas was already dead. Same tier. Similar stats. But Lucas had just fought two brutal battles. His stamina had to be drained. Victor was fresh.
Lucas's eyes flicked to his weapons, then—
Clank.
He dropped his axe and shield to the ground.
Victor hesitated. "What's this? Giving up?"
No response.
"Don't tell me you want to team up now? Swear loyalty?" He sneered. "Too late for that. You die today."
The last word had barely left his mouth—
BANG!
A gunshot echoed through the neighborhood.
A tiny, precise hole appeared on Victor's forehead. His eyes went wide, then blank. Mouth trembling, trying to form words—none came.
His knees buckled.
Clang. The blades fell.
Victor collapsed in front of Lucas, dead before he hit the ground.
Lucas holstered the smoking revolver with practiced calm.
"Dumbass," he muttered. "I have a gun."
No one said the apocalypse was fair. There were no rules. No heroic showdowns. No back-and-forth brawls.
Fast. Lethal. Efficient. That's how you survived.
He glanced up at the woman still perched in the tree.
Honestly, he owed her. Twenty minutes of nonstop screaming had drawn nearly every nearby zombie to her location. Without that, firing a gun might've alerted dozens more. This had been the perfect time.
And the headshot?
He was a little surprised himself.
"One bullet, one corpse," Lucas whispered. "Not bad."