Outside the towering walls of Genesis Biotech's Los Angeles branch, the horde of zombies had gone completely feral—bloodlust in their eyes, snarling and clawing like rabid animals.
"Trying to run, huh?" Hellhound growled as he closed in on his target, claws slashing through the air straight for Jacob's back.
The sound of the strike tore through the wind like a whipcrack.
Sensing the danger without even turning his head, Jacob instinctively dove into a side roll, narrowly dodging the lethal swipe.
At the same time, he unleashed a burst of psychic energy—an invisible spike of mental force that shot straight into Hellhound's mind.
"Raaagh!" Hellhound let out a guttural roar, momentarily stunned. His brain felt like it had been doused in boiling oil, the pain sharp and searing.
By the time he shook it off, Jacob had already widened the gap between them again.
Hellhound was livid.
This guy was slippery as hell—like trying to grab a greased eel.
