Sweet Apocalypse System

Chapter 7

The stinging late afternoon sunlight slapped their faces as the manhole cover was slid open. After hours spent lurking in the sewage tunnels smelling of feces and rat carcasses, the outside air felt... well, not much fresher, but at least brighter.

Boby crawled out first, taking a deep breath, then immediately coughing.

"Ugh! Damn, the air in Bandung now tastes like a Damri bus exhaust mixed with rotten durian," Boby complained, brushing dust off his lab coat, which was now a brownish-gray color.

Irene followed with a tactical movement, immediately crouching with her knife drawn, scanning the surrounding area. Dogy came out last, limping slightly from the wound on his leg, but still trying to look brave.

They were on the edge of a main highway. The scene before them was the literal definition of a postcard from hell.

The Pasupati overpass—the city's proud icon—now looked like a giant dead snake. Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of cars were completely stalled on it. Many were scorched, leaving black iron skeletons. Car doors were open, glass was shattered, and between the vehicles, hunched shadows stumbled aimlessly.

The tall buildings in the distance looked hollowed out like an old man's teeth. Black smoke billowed from several spots, indicating fires that had never been extinguished since the first day of the outbreak.

"Welcome to the City of Flowers... that wilted," Boby muttered cynically.

"Focus, Clown," Irene nudged Boby's arm, pointing east. "Sector 4 is behind that overpass. We have to go under or cut through the dense residential area."

Boby looked under the bridge. There, in the shadows of the giant concrete pillars, hundreds of zombies stood still like statues, "sleeping" and waiting for the sun to set or a loud noise to wake them.

"Going underneath is mass suicide," Boby shuddered. "They're in battery-saver mode. The moment we step on a soda can, the whole district wakes up."

"Then we go over," Irene decided. She pointed to the bridge's maintenance ladder near them. "There are a lot of cars up there, but we can weave through them. Plus, the wind is strong up high, our scent will be carried away, making it hard for Sniffers or other dogs to track us."

Boby stared at the tall iron ladder. His legs still felt like jelly left over from a kindergarten birthday party.

[System: Uphill Route Detected. Host Stamina: 15%.]

[Advice: Ask the Tough Lady to carry you again. Your pride is already in the negative, so you might as well go all the way.]

"I'll walk myself, you damn System," Boby thought.

They began to climb. Dogy, despite his limp, refused to be carried. The dog jumped up the rungs one by one with a stoicism that made Boby ashamed to complain.

Once on the overpass, the view was even more horrifying. Inside the stalled luxury cars, there were still "drivers." Corpses strapped into seatbelts, dried up in the driver's seat, or scratching at the windows as Boby passed.

"Don't look them in the eye," Irene whispered. "Keep moving. Stay low."

They moved in a stealth formation. Irene in front as the point man, Dogy in the middle, and Boby in the back watching the rear guard. Boby gripped his small crowbar tightly, his heart pounding every time they had to squeeze between two tourist buses only half a meter apart.

Inside one of the buses, dozens of pale faces were pressed against the glass, their mouths opening and closing silently like goldfish in a dirty aquarium.

"Ew..." Boby shivered.

Suddenly, a classic problem arose.

Boby's nose itched.

Not a normal itch. This was an allergic itch. Volcanic dust from residual fires, wild plant pollen growing in the cracked asphalt, and the stale smell of old car seats mixed into a deadly cocktail of allergens for Boby's sensitive nose.

"Hhh..." Boby held his breath. His eyes watered.

Irene, whose instincts were razor-sharp, immediately turned around. She saw Boby's face reddening, his nostrils flaring, and his mouth beginning to open wide in preparation.

"Hhhh... Haaa..."

"Don't," Irene hissed, her eyes wide.

"HAAAA..."

Boby couldn't hold it. His autonomic nervous system demanded the release of a sneezing explosion that would surely be heard within a 500-meter radius.

Irene moved like lightning. She didn't tell Boby to be quiet. She tackled him.

Irene's left hand clamped over Boby's mouth and nose with full force, while her right hand shoved Boby's body until he was pressed against the side of a box truck next to them.

*BUGH!* (The sound of a body hitting metal, fortunately muffled by the wind).

"Mmmphhh!" Boby struggled, his eyes bulging. His sneeze was trapped in his throat, imploding, making his eardrums ring and his vision blur.

It felt like a firecracker had exploded inside his sinuses.

Irene stared intensely into Boby's eyes, their faces only centimeters apart. Irene's gaze seemed to say: *'If you get snot on my hand, I'm cutting off your 'magic wand.''*

Silence.

A few zombies wandering around the truck paused briefly, turning toward the *BUGH* sound. But since there was no follow-up noise, they resumed dragging their feet, moving away.

After a minute of agony, Irene slowly released her hand.

Boby immediately slumped onto the asphalt, gasping for air. His face was bright red, tears streaming down his cheeks.

"You... you tried to kill me..." Boby whispered hoarsely. "That was attempted murder..."

Irene wiped her hand (which was slightly damp with Boby's saliva/sweat) onto Boby's lab coat with an expression of disgust. "You almost got us turned into a happy meal. Hold your breath if you have to. Or stuff your nose with pebbles."

"Why are you so cruel?" Boby complained, massaging his sore nose. "It's an allergy, Ren. A biological reaction. I can't control my histamines!"

[System: Body Function Failure Detected.]

[Commentary: Weak. Seriously, you lose to dust? Dogy, whose nose is wet, isn't sneezing.]

Dogy looked at Boby with a condescending gaze, then yawned widely.

"You too, Dog. Don't join in on the bullying," Boby grumbled.

"Enough, drama queen. Let's move," Irene commanded, pulling Boby up by his collar. "We're close. Look."

Irene pointed toward the descending end of the overpass. In the distance, in an industrial area surrounded by high walls, a row of large warehouses with blue roofs was visible.

"Sector 4," Irene said.

Boby's eyes narrowed. Amidst the gray, ruined city, those warehouses looked strange. Too... intact. There were no signs of fire damage. The wire fence was still standing. And most suspiciously: There were no corpses piled up at the gate.

"It's too clean," Boby commented, his instincts sharpening (perhaps due to hunger). "Usually, places with food are the most messed up because they've been looted."

"Unless someone is *guarding* it," Irene added. Her tone was serious.

They quickened their pace, descending the overpass more cautiously. The sun was beginning to set in the west, painting the sky with a chilling blood-orange color. Shadows lengthened, making every car wreck look like a monster ready to pounce.

Upon reaching the end of the overpass, they hid behind wild bushes on the roadside, observing the main gate of the warehouse complex from 200 meters away.

Irene pulled out a small monocular from her tactical pocket. She observed the situation for a few seconds, then her body tensed.

"Damn it," Irene swore softly.

"What is it? Lots of zombies?" Boby asked, trying to peek.

"Worse," Irene handed the monocular to Boby. "See for yourself."

Boby put the monocular to his eyes.

[System Feature: Digital Optical Zoom x4 (Synchronized with monocular lens).]

Boby's view magnified. He saw the warehouse gate. On top of the guard post were two men. They weren't wearing military uniforms, but leather jackets covered in studs, ripped jeans, and colorful mohawk hair.

They were armed. One held a long, rusty machete, the other held a modified air rifle—or perhaps a homemade firearm.

"Thugs?" Boby whispered.

"Bandits," Irene corrected. "Looters. Raiders. Whatever you call them, they're scum who survive by oppressing the weak."

Boby shifted the monocular to the inner courtyard of the warehouse. There, he saw a large bonfire. A group of people were laughing and drinking from bottles. Near them was a large iron cage—like a dog kennel—but it held people.

Three men and two women, crammed into the narrow cage, shirtless, filthy, and emaciated. One of the bandits was seen splashing sewage water at the captives while laughing hysterically.

Boby's blood boiled. Not because he was a hero, but because he remembered the feeling of helplessness.

"They're keeping people like livestock," Boby hissed.

[System: Human Faction Detected (Hostile).]

[Analysis: Threat Level: HIGH. Morality: TRASH.]

[Side Mission Open: 'Diet Failure Robin Hood'.]

[Objective: Free the Captives or Seize the Depot.]

[Reward: Energy Bar Recipe (High Protein) + Karma Increase.]

"They control the depot," Irene took back the monocular. "We can't go through the front. They have the high ground and long-range weapons."

"But my chocolate is in there, Ren," Boby said, his voice trembling with a mix of hunger and anger. "I don't care if there are bandits or bald devils inside. That's *my* depot."

Irene looked at Boby. She saw that crazy glint again. The same glint he had when he slaughtered zombies in the minimarket.

"It's just the two of us, Bob. Plus one limping dog. They have... at least twenty people," Irene said realistically. "If we attack head-on, we'll die stupidly."

Boby felt his jacket pocket. Empty. No sugar. His energy was barely enough. He looked at Dogy, who was licking his wound.

"We're not attacking head-on," Boby said slowly, his cunning brain beginning to formulate a wicked plan. He looked at a pile of old oil drums and some leftover New Year's fireworks boxes lying in the trash near their hiding spot.

"Ren, have you ever seen a mouse steal cheese from a trap?" Boby asked with a wide grin, showing his dirt-smeared teeth.

Irene frowned, her bad feeling returning. "No. Why?"

"Because a smart mouse doesn't just take the cheese," Boby said, picking up a dented box of rocket fireworks. "A smart mouse... *burns the house down* so the owner runs away, then he takes the cheese."

"You want to burn down the food depot?!" Irene exclaimed, keeping her voice down.

"Not the depot, Beautiful. But their playground," Boby pointed toward the dry wooden guard tower. "We're going to have a fireworks party. I need a distraction so I can sneak into the kitchen."

The sun had completely set. Darkness enveloped the warehouse complex. Only the light of the bandits' bonfire was visible, and their terrifying laughter carried on the night wind.

In the bushes, the Clown Doctor, the Iron Bodyguard, and the Limping Dog prepared to execute the biggest heist of their lives.

"Boby," Irene called softly as Boby began to assemble the firework fuses.

"Hmm?"

"If you die in there... I'm taking your kidneys for Dogy's dinner."

"You're so romantic," Boby replied. "Just pray they have Nutella inside."