Chapter 10
-----------------------------------------------------------------
Translator: 8uhl
Chapter: 10
Chapter Title: Secret Lab Infiltration
-----------------------------------------------------------------
It would have been better if it were an AI notebook, but this wasn't a science lab, and there was no way Shelter A had something that advanced.
It was just an ordinary notebook that spat out preset lines.
I plugged in the Wi-Fi module and scanned for devices. A list of nearby electronics popped up. I tried connecting to "Mec001" from the bunch.
For reference, Mec001 was my smartwatch. Whatever showed up on the smartwatch displayed on the notebook, too.
*My Info
*Skills
*Equipment Management
*Inventory
*Map
I scrolled all the way down.
Hitting *Blueprint Creation (Mechanic Exclusive)* launched a 3D modeling program.
The core components for the power suit could only be crafted using blueprints from the Sci-Fi Notebook. But the power suit's frame? That was on me to model.
'In the game, it got swapped out for a mini-game...'
Looks like I'd have to build it myself here.
I flipped open the Sci-Fi Notebook, pictured the power suit from memory, and started finger-designing its skeletal frame.
Pulling an all-nighter, I churned out several blueprints.
"Blueprint creation failed. Completion (17%)"
They looked perfect to me, but a measly 17% completion rate.
Still, I wasn't discouraged. The first ones had clocked in at just 5%. From here on, all-nighters would inch the completion higher.
* * *
The power suit mattered, but as planned, I was set on building a sentry gun, too.
Like I'd said, in a world where mutant zombies could swarm any second, an auto-defense system was damn tempting.
The sentry gun didn't need as many materials as I'd thought. A multi-barrel machine gun, tough barrel, high-performance targeting camera, and AI module—that was it.
Machine guns could be farmed from police stations or army bases, I'd craft the barrel myself, and even the high-end camera—rare as it was—could come from any old building.
The real snag was the AI module. Far as I knew, near Shelter A—no, in the whole damn city—there was one spot.
The secret lab Team Apocalypse had busted out of. Next door, in another secret lab, I'd have to metal decompose the main computer.
Raiding a secret lab was a call to make carefully, no matter how desperate. A "mutant zombie" boss monster guarded the place.
No clue which mutant since it randomized, but it was sure to be a beast I couldn't handle yet. Still, I had faith.
In the Beginner Plasma Pistol I'd scored early from the lab. Minimum attack power 170. Crit? A whopping 510. Even a mutant zombie wouldn't survive one shot.
A shame to burn the plasma pistol, but I wasn't betting my life on chances. If it meant a sentry gun, no real loss.
I wasn't dumb enough to go in cocky with just the pistol, either. I'd traded with James for a stab-proof vest and motorcycle helmet. Insurance against mutant swipes.
Sure, it cost every cosmetic from the big mart, but makeup wasn't high on my list.
Prepped up, I headed for the lab. It wasn't far, and zombies didn't tail me much, so I made it in twenty minutes flat.
We'd left the door ajar on exit, so the lab door hung open. I stepped inside. Right away, a regular zombie welcomed me.
Looked like a researcher—bald male in a lab coat.
Groooar.
I waited till it closed in, then fired the screw gun. Pfft, pfft. Air hisses as screws punched into its skull.
Like any zombie, the bald guy flopped dead to the floor. I patted him down.
Secret lab keys dropped from lab zombies. Nothing special on the bald guy, though.
I left the corpse and pushed deeper. Zombies or survivors must've cleaned it out—the place was stripped bare.
I'd hoped for hidden loot. Instead, I got an unplanned "gift."
Yeah, the worst kind.
A zombie gripping a Blader-exclusive sword. Unlike the others, it radiated a disciplined swordsman's poise.
'Damn.'
The curse flew out. Stupidly, I'd blanked on it—one player had died dumb in here. That one? Probably Martin.
Martin—no, Martin zombie—started closing in slow. No chit-chat, I yanked the GK107 and hosed the trigger.
But the Martin zombie dodged easy. Even after losing to a level 1 scrub, it was effortless.
Veteran Bladers bragging it was the most broken class flashed back. At least my spam connected once—torso hit.
Bleeding out, it still reached me and swung. Wooong. Savage slash to cleave anything. I barely ducked.
The vest was for moments like this, but would it stop a Blader zombie's blade? Then its kick landed—I tumbled back.
Gut-wrenching agony hit like twisted organs. Lucky for the vest; frontal hit would've wrecked me. The thought stabbed.
Anyway, I dropped the GK107 in the tumble.
Ragged breaths heaved.
'What now?'
Nah, I knew. Hand dove into the backpack for the plasma pistol. Aimed at the sword-swinging charger's head, squeezed.
Green glow built at the plasma pistol's muzzle. Prayer was all that left.
'Hit, damn you.'
Plasma beam finally lanced out.
It tried dodging like with the regular pistol, but the beam outsped bullets by miles.
The beam skewered its head. Tougher than regulars by far, but 510 damage? No contest.
Its body crumbled. Hell, past crumbling—flames burst inside, dusting it to powder.
Durability at 1, the plasma pistol powdered out too.
"Job experience gained. (Solo party bonus +150%)"
"Job level up to 8."
No joy for the level—I wheezed out a gasp, slumping to the floor.
Leg hit from Martin zombie throbbed bad. Bone twisted? Pain stabbed every step. Needed a healer, stat.
'But bailing now sucks.'
Reason screamed shelter and healing, but instinct whispered: Body still good?
Might as well clear it since I'm here.
Too much hassle to return.
Instinct won. Gritting through pain, I snatched the dropped GK107.
Lab key gleamed in Martin's ashes. Snagged it, hit the emergency stairs.
B6, a zombie pack greeted me.
Slower than hell next to Martin zombie. Screw gun mulched them easy.
Before keying the secret lab door, I knocked.
Tap, tap. Steady intervals on the secret lab door—noise inside. Zombies bunched up, probably. Key in, deep breaths.
Turned it. Door flew open—zombies surged.
Dozens. Way more than guessed—I bolted up to B6, hid.
Mutant mixed in? No rash moves. Peered through the door slit.
Me gone, they wandered.
Fiddled the flare from backpack. Lure 'em? Nah, scout new path?
Abdomen pain amped worse. Door-propped, I mulled. Decided: Flare it.
Emily's flare. Team Apocalypse zombie bait. Gripped tight, boosted with Metal Reinforcement.
"Used Metal Reinforcement (Lv.1) to reinforce the flare."
Door open—hurled it hard at B5. Boom—blinding flash swamped vision.
Green smoke poured.
Door shut, watched. B6 zombies stampeded to it. Gap opened—I sprinted the secret lab.
Yanked key, slammed door, heaved relief. In the secret lab. Exit tricky, but it'd work out.
Secret research lab.
Unlike the one brewing Team Apocalypse, this dug into zombies. Inhumane tests on death row scum.
First room: Experiment samples. Green culture fluid tanks held presumed inmates. Bodies mangled.
Six arms on some. Others rocked inhuman lower halves.
'Stitched mutant zombies on?'
Then—one sample's eyes snapped wide.
I backpedaled. Mass mutant wake-up? Doom city.
Speaker crackled.
"Sample 1105 awakened."
"Injecting sedative."
Pssshhh.
Bubbles frothed—white sedative flooded tanks. The woken sample's eyes shut.