The Apocalypse's Safe Zone Minimarket

Chapter 6: Powering Through

"Son of a—!" Arman screamed, throwing his body hard to the left.

He grunted as his shoulder scraped violently against the rough, jagged brick wall of the narrow alleyway, sending a sharp jolt of pain radiating down his spine.

"That was way too close!" Arman yelled, his sneakers slipping on the wet asphalt as he scrambled to find his footing. "Missed me, you ugly piece of crap!"

The massive creature let out a wet, furious hiss, its split jaws snapping shut on nothing but empty air. It spun around with terrifying agility, its claws scratching against the concrete with a horrific metallic screech.

"Alert," the system’s mechanical voice echoed clearly in his mind. "Host armor integrity is currently at ninety percent. Minor dermal abrasion detected on your left scapula."

"I don’t care about a damn scratch!" Arman shouted, holding his makeshift spear with both hands, his knuckles turning stark white. "Tell me how to kill this thing before it actually rips my throat out!"

"Analyzing target anatomy," the system replied smoothly. "A critical weak point has been identified: the exposed muscular tissue directly beneath the primary throat region. However, a direct frontal approach carries a ninety-five percent casualty rate for the Host."

"Great, thanks for the absolute confidence boost!" Arman grunted, ducking frantically as a massive claw swiped through the darkness, missing his nose by mere centimeters. "You could have kept that last part to yourself! I'm just a retail clerk, not some kind of action movie star!"

"My programming dictates absolute honesty to ensure Host survival," the system stated. "Please execute an evasive maneuver. The target is preparing to pounce again."

"I can see that!" Arman screamed. He threw himself behind a towering stack of heavy plastic beverage crates resting against the store's back wall. "Come on, you overgrown rat! Over here! I've got a whole crate of expired sodas with your name on it!"

The mutated dog roared, its four fleshy mandibles flaring open in a grotesque display of needle-like teeth. It lunged forward, slamming its massive chest directly into the front of the dumpster, rattling the heavy metal structure and sending trash spilling onto the wet floor.

"Arman! Arman, are you still alive out there?" Mr. Bambang’s muffled voice shrieked from the other side of the heavy metal door. "I hear a lot of growling and screaming! Should I open the door? Please tell me you’re not dead!"

"Stay inside, Mr. Bambang! Do not open this door!" Arman yelled back, his voice cracking from the strain. "Just keep the lights on and pray!"

"I’m praying, son! I’m praying to every saint I can think of!" Mr. Bambang shouted back, his voice cracking with terror. "Just don't let that thing chew through the door!"

"Whoa! Watch the paint job!" Arman yelled as the beast turned its attention back to him, its black eyes locking onto his throat. "System, can the shield hold if I just run back inside and lock the door?"

"Negative," the system answered instantly. "If you retreat now, the target will resume severing the primary power cables. The Solar-Cosmic Generator will suffer a catastrophic short circuit, and the Golden Sanctuary Shield will collapse in approximately thirty-eight seconds."

"Fine! I'll do it the hard way!" Arman roared, gritting his teeth. He pressed his boots against the wet ground and shoved his shoulder against the stack of plastic crates. "Hey, ugly! Catch!"

With a desperate, full-body heave, he toppled the heavy, solid-plastic crates directly onto the lunging beast.

Crash!

The heavy crates rained down in a chaotic, shattering mess, pinning the massive creature's head and front torso beneath their weight. The beast let out a muffled, frantic screech of pain and rage, its rear legs kicking wildly as it tried to thrash free from the heavy plastic trap.

"Yes! How do you like that, you freak?" Arman cheered, wiping a mix of sweat and dirty rainwater from his forehead. "Not so fast now, are you? You might be a Stage Two monster, but you're still just a dumb dog!"

"Warning," the system chimed, its tone turning urgent. "The target is utilizing its secondary muscle groups to clear the obstruction. Estimated time until full escape: five seconds."

"Oh, no you don't!" Arman yelled, leaping forward with a wild, desperate surge of adrenaline. "Stay the hell down!"

He jumped directly onto the pile of crates, using his entire body weight to stomp them down, pinning the thrashing monster’s neck tightly against the wet asphalt. The creature let out a choked, gurgling growl beneath his feet, its sharp claws scraping frantically against the bottom of his sneakers.

"System, tell me I've got it!" Arman gasped, his legs shaking violently from the sheer physical strain of holding the giant beast down. "Is it pinned? Can I strike?"

"Target mobility has been temporarily reduced by seventy-two percent," the system confirmed. "The throat area is now fully exposed. You have a three-second window, Host Arman. I highly recommend immediate offensive action."

"This is for my chocolate milk, you absolute bastard!" Arman screamed at the top of his lungs.

He raised his makeshift spear high and drove the razor-sharp utility blade deep into the exposed, pulsing red muscle of the creature's throat.

Squelch!

A thick, jet-black fluid erupted from the wound, spraying across Arman’s jeans and his worn-out sneakers. The beast gave one final, violent shudder, its split jaws snapping shut in a desperate spasm, before its entire body went completely limp beneath the heavy crates.

"Haa... haa..." Arman panted, collapsing onto his knees on top of the plastic crates. He stared down at the motionless beast, his breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. "Is... is it over? Is it actually dead this time?"

"Target neutralized," the system’s cheerful chime echoed in his mind, bringing a wave of intense relief. "Calculating threat level and environmental factors... Stage 2 Mutated Abomination successfully defeated. Generating your reward."

"Please tell me it's a lot," Arman groaned, resting his forehead against the cold wooden handle of his spear. "I think I just pulled every single muscle in my lower back. I'm too young to feel this old. Twelve-hour shifts at the minimarket were nothing compared to this."

"Host Arman has earned eighty Karma Points for successfully neutralizing a major threat to the Safe Zone," the system announced. "Your current balance is eighty-seven Karma Points."

"Eighty?" Arman let out a dry, delirious laugh, his shoulders shaking. "Hell yeah! That is what I’m talking about! That’s like... eight power upgrades! Or maybe a lifetime supply of warm meals!"

"That is correct," the system replied. "Your performance under extreme physical duress was highly satisfactory. Would you like to purchase a basic stamina potion to restore your physical reserves? The cost is only five Karma Points."

"No, not yet," Arman sighed, slowly pushing himself up to a standing position, his joints popping in protest. "Let’s just get back inside first. I need to wash this black gunk off my shoes. It smells like a rotten fish market in July."

He turned toward the heavy metal back door, raising his hand to knock. "Hey, Mr. Bambang! Open up! I’m done out here! It's safe!"

"Arman? Is that really you?" Mr. Bambang's voice sounded incredibly relieved, though still shaking. "Are you sure it's safe? Did you kill it with your magic stick?"

"Yeah, it's dead, Mr. Bambang! Just unlock the door!" Arman called out, leaning heavily against the doorframe as he waited for the latch to click.

Bzzt. Snap! Crackle.

"Whoa!" Arman jumped back, his eyes widening in panic. "What the hell was that?"

A bright, violent surge of blue sparks erupted from the main connection panel of the Solar-Cosmic Generator, illuminating the dark alleyway in a harsh, flickering light. A low, ominous hiss began to rise from the damaged rubber casing of the wires.

"Warning," the system's voice suddenly blared, a flashing red warning icon appearing in Arman’s field of vision. "The primary power connector of the generator has suffered severe structural damage during the conflict. A high-voltage discharge is imminent."

"Wait, are you kidding me?" Arman panicked, staring at the smoking wires. "I thought I saved the damn thing! Why is it sparking like a cheap firework?"

"The connection is loose and rapidly destabilizing due to the physical impact of the battle," the system explained coldly. "If the loose connection is not secured immediately, the generator will suffer a complete power failure, causing the Golden Sanctuary Shield to collapse."

"Mr. Bambang, open the door right now!" Arman screamed, slamming his fist against the metal sheet. "We have a massive problem out here! Hurry, before the whole place goes dark!"

"I'm trying! The lock is stuck!" Mr. Bambang cried from the other side, his voice cracking. "Oh god, Arman, what's that buzzing sound?"

"It's the generator! It's about to blow!" Arman yelled back, watching the sparks fly closer to the fuel line. "Open the damn door!"