Zack bent his knees, his right fist clenching tightly. The air around him seemed to grow heavy, compressing with the weight of his gathered strength. "покой, друг," Zack whispered in Russian. "Rest in peace, my friend."
Zack turned and swung his fist with everything he had. The air rippled outward, layers of pressure blasting forward like a tidal wave. Boom! The punch landed squarely on Andre's head. The colossal tiger crumpled to the ground, a crack splitting his skull as blood seeped out onto the dirt. His massive form stilled, lifeless but strangely serene.
The battlefield fell silent, every witness frozen in shock at the raw, unrestrained power Zack had displayed. Zack exhaled, straightened, and regarded the fallen warriors. "Bury them alongside their comrades," he said, his voice calm but commanding. "They deserve a proper monument."
Scott nodded, his expression somber. "Yes, Master." He had wanted to plead for Andre's life but knew it would have been futile. Andre had made his choice—his loyalty and pride demanded no less than an honorable death.
Scott's thoughts darkened further. He knew Andre and his men had defied their superiors by coming to fight the zombie tide. Even if Zack had let them live, they would have faced harsh punishment upon returning to their base. Disobeying orders, abandoning their mission, and sacrificing their squad—these were unforgivable offenses. As brutal as Zack's decision was, it offered Andre and his men something their own leaders never would have: respect and a dignified end.
However not everyone understood this perspective, however. "You… you killed them?!" Gwen, the ever-enthusiastic young woman who often fantasized about Zack as her future husband, forced her way through the gathered crowd. Tears of outrage welled in her eyes as she faced Zack. "They came all the way here to help us fight the zombies! How could you just kill them?"
At only eighteen years old, Gwen lacked the life experience to see the grim truths hidden beneath the surface. She couldn't comprehend the layers of cruelty woven into decisions like Zack's. But Scarlett did. "Shut up, Gwen!" For the first time, a flash of anger colored Scarlett's usually composed tone. The bespectacled young woman, calm and calculating as ever, stepped forward, her voice low but firm.
Zack's leadership over the Capital base was still new and fragile, and Scarlett knew the importance of maintaining authority. To question him now could only result in disaster, not just for Gwen but for everyone present. Yet to her surprise, Zack did not react with anger or hostility. He merely turned his attention to Scarlett. "You're Scarlett, right?" he asked, his gaze steady.
"Yes, Sir Zack," she replied, her tone respectful but unwavering.
"Scarlett, nineteen years old. Former student of the University of Washington. No history of relationships. Mutant ability: unknown," Ego's efficient voice relayed in Zack's mind.
"What's your mutant ability?" Zack asked, his sharp eyes scanning her.
"My mutation has dulled my emotions significantly," she replied evenly. "As a result, my ability to think logically and analyze complex situations has improved dramatically."
Zack raised an eyebrow. "You're saying you've been stripped of emotions, and that's your superpower?"
"Not entirely stripped, just diminished," Scarlett clarified, adjusting her glasses. "I still experience basic emotions, but they are far less influential."
Ego chimed in with an explanation in Zack's mind. "Humans are inherently emotional creatures, Sir. Removing emotions allows for greater rationality, akin to artificial intelligence."
Zack mulled this over. "So, you're smarter than most people. Tell me, then, what would you say to ensure I don't punish this girl for her outburst?" The sudden chill in Zack's tone made everyone freeze. His cold demeanor and the raw power emanating from him made the air feel heavy. Scarlett felt her face pale, but her composure didn't falter.
"Inject everyone with microchips," she replied without hesitation. "Then allow Gwen and me to serve you. We will be your women."
"What?!" Gwen's eyes widened in shock, and she instinctively took a step back. Before she could protest further, realization dawned on her. Scarlett wasn't offering herself for personal gain—she was trying to save them both. The realization made Gwen bite her tongue, though cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
Zack blinked, momentarily taken aback. He had expected a plea for leniency or clever reasoning, not such a bold and calculated offer. He smirked. "That's… an unexpected answer."
Scarlett, undeterred by his reaction, added, "I've never been in a relationship. Neither has Gwen. If it concerns you, I can assure you—"
"Enough," Zack interrupted, raising a hand. "I was just testing her. I don't actually care about her outburst. Go see Scott for the microchip injections." With that, Zack shook his head, walking away with a hint of amusement. "It seems machine-like logic isn't always reliable," he muttered to himself.
Scarlett's calculated gamble had worked. Though her methods were unorthodox, they had averted a potential disaster. Zack's leadership over the Capital was now absolute. The following morning, the rising sun illuminated a transformed landscape outside Washington. The relentless efforts of over 400,000 survivors had cleared the battlefield of corpses. The two-kilometer radius around the base was free of limbs and gore, replaced by the dark red earth soaked in blood. Further out, mass graves were being dug to bury the remaining bodies, lime added to the soil to prevent disease.
Although the survivors were exhausted from the grueling labor, the complaints were few. The reason was simple: they could eat their fill. The first thing Zack did after taking control of the base was to redistribute food supplies, ensuring that everyone had enough to eat. A seemingly simple act, yet it stirred overwhelming gratitude among the survivors—more profound than even their relief at surviving the zombie horde.
Under Kane's rule, food rations had been deliberately reduced to maintain control over the population. In the early days, everyone had enough to eat, but eventually, three people's rations barely fed one. It wasn't due to a food shortage; the Capital base had grain reserves sufficient to feed millions for over a year. The deprivation was entirely calculated, a tool for manipulation. Now, with full stomachs and renewed energy, the survivors poured their efforts into clearing the battlefield. In just one night, the area outside the high walls was unrecognizable. Stumps, bodies, and debris had been transported away, leaving only the blood-soaked earth and the faint scent of disinfectant hanging in the air.
The aftermath of the corpse tide had faded. Life inside the Capital base had resumed—but under new leadership. "Master!" Scott approached Zack early in the morning, his voice brimming with urgency. "A total of 1,300 people have been implanted with microchips."
"Stop calling me 'Master.' It sounds strange. Just call me 'Sir,' like Scarlett does," Zack replied with a faint frown.
"Yes, Sir," Scott quickly corrected himself.
"1,300, huh? I've granted you secondary control," Zack said, nodding. The moment Zack finished speaking, Scott felt a sharp pain in his right eye. It only lasted a few seconds, but when the sensation subsided, his vision was replaced by a display of data, similar to a holographic projection.