"System, how many dollars will it cost to bring 200 bullets back to the apocalyptic world?" Yasin asked again.
[Calculating...]
[It costs 46,000 US dollars to bring 200 bullets back to the apocalyptic world.]
There is still more than ten thousand dollars left.
Yasin frowned slightly. With the more than 30,000 US dollars he had now, he could only bring back about 120 to 130 bullets.
More than one hundred and twenty rounds, this is not a small number.
However, this feeling of being short of money made Yasin feel extrely unhappy.
Obviously, there were hundreds of millions of dollars of wealth in front of him, but it had nothing to do with him and he couldn’t get a penny, which made him feel very uncomfortable.
"Harry Brant..."
Yasin looked at the luxury Cadillac SUV not far away, a cold light flashed in his eyes, and then he ordered the system: "System, take back to the apocalyptic world!"
"Also, take all the bullets I can carry to the apocalyptic world!"
[Okay, host, I will transmit it to you imdiately.]
[With your current wealth, the system can only carry 128 bullets. Do you want to transfer?]
"Teleport!"
[Okay, I will send you to the apocalyptic world imdiately...]
When the system prompt sounded, Yasin’s eyes went dark. With a dizzying feeling, Yasin suddenly disappeared into the second world.
When Yasin opened his eyes again, he had returned to the apocalyptic world.
Looking at the dim light outside the window, Yasin checked his watch.
5:23 am.
The ti difference from last ti wasn’t that big, but there was still a difference.
Since he had slept comfortably in the second world, Yasin now felt very energetic and not sleepy at all.
Vivian Sinclair lay curled up on the cotton-padded floor, covered with clothes, shivering slightly from the morning chill.
The dawn of the apocalypse carried a bleak, biting cold.
Yasin walked to the kitchen’s front door, pressing his ear against it to listen to the noises outside.
"Uh uh uh!~~~Uh uh!~~~"
"Hohoho~!~~Hohoho!~~"
Low, guttural groans and the shuffling of countless footsteps echoed beyond the door.
From the sounds, there seed to be a large number of zombies outside.
Moreover, they sounded unusually active at this hour.
Yasin could even hear the wet, tearing sounds of sothing being chewed not too far away.
"It’s still too dark outside. Not the right ti yet." Yasin muttered to himself. He retrieved the M16 rifle from the Dinsional Cube and loaded it with a fresh magazine.
The M16 was straightforward to operate, its handling similar to the Type 95 automatic rifle he had used as a soldier in his past life. Plus, this one ca equipped with a suppressor. While it wouldn’t silence the gunshots completely, it would muffle them significantly.
Yasin quickly familiarized himself with the rifle’s feel.
After adjusting it to his preference, he checked his watch again.
6:10 am.
He took out two walkie-talkies from the Dinsional Cube, tuned them to the sa channel, then gently shook Vivian awake.
"Vivian, wake up."
His voice was soft but firm.
"Hmm? Yasin... what’s wrong?"
Vivian blinked sleepily, her breath still faintly carrying the scent of alcohol from the night before.
"Vivian, I’m going out to clear the zombies from the villa. There’ll be gunfire soon, so don’t panic. Here’s a walkie-talkie—you know how to use it, right? If anything happens, call imdiately."
He handed her the device, his tone reassuring.
"But... Yasin, why go out again? We still have plenty of food. There’s no need to take such risks..." Vivian clutched his hand, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "Please... don’t leave . I’m begging you..."
Seeing the raw fear and devotion in her expression, Yasin felt an unfamiliar warmth in his chest.
No one in his life—not even his own mother in his past existence—had ever worried for him like this.
A faint smile touched his lips as he pulled her into a gentle embrace. Without another word, he pressed his lips to hers.
The mont their mouths t, Vivian lted. A soft moan escaped her as she kissed him back fervently, her arms winding tightly around his neck.
Their lips moved together hungrily, tongues entwining, breaths growing ragged.
Vivian’s heart hamred against her ribs as mories of last night—of the alcohol-fueled passion between them—flooded her mind.
She realized, with startling clarity, just how deeply she had grown to rely on this man.
Every breath he took, every touch he gave, filled her with an indescribable sense of safety.
The thought of him stepping back into danger made her chest ache with dread.
Maybe... she should give him more.
The thought flickered through her mind before she lost herself in the kiss again.
After what felt like an eternity, Yasin finally pulled away, though he kept her close in his arms.
As much as he wanted to lose himself in her warmth, survival ca first.
Once the manor was secure, they could find a proper bed—sowhere far more comfortable than this kitchen floor—to savor each other properly.
"Vivian, don’t worry. I won’t be in any real danger. I’ll be back soon, and I won’t go far—just clearing the villa grounds."
With that, he stood, slinging the M16 over his shoulder. Outside, the sky had lightened slightly, though the sun hadn’t yet risen. The air was still crisp with morning chill.
It was ti.
Yasin opened the back door, gave Vivian one last "stay safe," and slipped outside, disappearing into the pale dawn.
Now, with a rifle and bullets, Yasin’s plan to clear out the zombies has beco much safer and more reliable.
When Yasin left the villa through the front door before, he did not close it. The main door of the villa was deliberately left open so that the zombies inside could escape easily.
Now, it was ti to lure them out.
Through the iron gate leading to the front yard from the backyard, Yasin could clearly see six or seven zombies wandering aimlessly. The front door had been closed, aning these zombies must have co from inside the villa.
These were all ordinary zombies—nothing like the towering, burly ones or the goblin-like mutated creatures they had encountered earlier.
After nimbly climbing the wall and positioning himself above the guard room next to the large iron gate, Yasin lay down, placed the torch made of clothes and grease aside, and set up the M16 rifle. He aid at the head of one of the wandering zombies.
It had been a long ti since he last fired a gun, and his skills felt rusty.
Back in the Military, Yasin had been a sharpshooter, even winning competitions. Though he hadn’t handled a firearm since retiring, his instincts remained.
This was the perfect opportunity to practice and regain his old precision.
Taking a deep breath, he steadied himself, gripping the M16 firmly.
The world around him blurred, as if ti had rewound. He was back at the shooting range. The zombies beca slow-moving targets.
The instructor’s voice echoed in his mind: "Yasin! Hold the gun steady. Support it with your left hand, butt against your shoulder. Breathe easy. Keep your eyes on the target..."
Everything felt just like ten years ago.
Aim.
Fire.
A soft bang from the silenced rifle, and a zombie in the distance dropped, its head blown apart.
The sound still drew the attention of the other zombies. They turned chanically, their hollow eyes locking onto Yasin’s position before shambling toward him.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Three more shots. Two zombies collapsed, heads shattered. The third, hit in the neck, staggered forward, its head lolling grotesquely as it let out a guttural roar and picked up speed.
Yasin didn’t hesitate.
Bang!
Bang!
Bang!
Thirteen bullets later, the front yard was silent. All the zombies lay motionless.
"My marksmanship really has gotten rusty..."
Sighing, Yasin reloaded the magazine. The curved M16 mag held thirty rounds, plus one in the chamber—thirty-one bullets in total.
With that many, taking down fifteen zombies shouldn’t be an issue.
Now, he needed to lure the rest out of the villa. There had to be far more than a dozen inside.
After reloading, Yasin aid at the Lincoln parked outside the gate. A mont’s hesitation, then—
Bang.
The bullet struck the fuel tank.
The car’s alarm blared to life, piercing the morning silence.
"BEEP! BEEP! BEEP—"
"HISSSS—ROAR!!"
"ROOOAAARR—"
"GRRHHH—GRRHHH—"
The noise was like a beacon. Outside the gate, zombies surged toward the Lincoln, their decaying hands clawing at the tal, teeth gnashing mindlessly against the car’s fra.
The alarm, the snarls, the thuds of bodies slamming into steel—the cacophony was deafening, carrying for kiloters.
More and more zombies flooded the streets, converging on the car in a writhing, ravenous mass.
From his vantage point, Yasin watched as gasoline pooled beneath the Lincoln, coating the ground and the zombies themselves.
The alarm kept screaming. The horde kept growing.
A cold sweat trickled down Yasin’s back. The manor’s iron gate was sturdy, but if enough zombies piled up, they might breach it.
He had to silence the alarm before that happened.
Taking another steadying breath, he glanced back at the villa’s front door.
"ROOOAAARR!!"
A thunderous bellow erupted as a two-ter-tall, hulking zombie barreled out, followed by a dozen smaller, clawed creatures—fast, agile, their movents almost insect-like.
They shot past the brute, racing toward the Lincoln.
More zombies poured from the villa.
The horde was coming.
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