Giving Up Makes You the Best Driver

I stared at the window floating before my eyes, feeling the possession sink in once more.

In the novel, Cheongun was the villain who killed people for fun, only to get offed by the protagonist and hand him a growth spurt... and now he's me.

But that wasn't the only thing making the possession feel real. Smoke billowing from every corner of the city visible through the window, helicopters buzzing endlessly ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠overhead, echoing screams, blaring horns, crashing cars... no matter how you sliced it, this world was fucked.

The old me would've been lost in despair, but this body? Way more convenient. Instead of wallowing, I just regretted the once-in-a-lifetime opportunities slipping away right now.

Like that movie line: "The sooner you give up on surviving, the quicker you become a great soldier." Once I accepted there was no going back to my old world—that I had to survive here—I finally knew what I needed to do.

With the thought that my zombie-farming bait was dwindling even now, I got moving.

…

'A so-called psychopathic killer with not a single weapon in the house?'

I ransacked the place—no hammer, nothing. Best I could do was a kitchen knife and a frying pan.

'Fine. That's why we're going to get some.'

Grabbed what I could, slung my bag over my shoulder, opened the door—and bam, locked eyes with a zombie like it was waiting.

"Gr..uh..er-."

It was shuffling toward me from the middle of the hallway, dragging its feet, arms outstretched. No other zombies in sight.

'Perfect.'

Status window—boom, a translucent pane popped up right in front of me.

To borrow the novel's terms, a stat of 5 was peak fit adult male. Cheongun fell a bit short on average due to his build, but vitality hit the mark, and agility at 7 was damn high. Intellect's always vague anyway—skip for now.

'Agility covered physical speed and reaction time.'

At 7, I figured I could toy with most athletes, and pure reflexes? Top-tier F1 racer level.

But guessing's not knowing. Time for a tutorial taste test.

Thud, drag. Thud. Drag-.

"Gr, gruuuh..."

The zombie lumbered after me, slow as hell—about walking pace.

'This much?'

Unless some mutated speed freak showed up, no way it'd catch me unless surrounded.

Clap-, clap-.

"Hey. Look here."

Its eyes flicked to the sound. I drove my knee into it.

Crack-.

Thud-.

"Grk. Urk.? Ex..urgh-."

Watched it crawl with its knee bent backward, got the gist. One thing left to do.

Raised the frying pan and smashed the crawling zombie's head.

Clang-

'Whoa.'

A jolt through my hand—heavy, satisfying, with a weird thrill. Craving more of that feel, I swung again on the still-twitching thing.

"Grrk, grk...-"

Clang-. Splorch-. Splat-.

Once, twice, three times... finally killed it, learned a few things.

"Ha... haha!"

This body was truly rotten, and frying pans made shit weapons. The cheap handle was already wobbling after one zombie.

'Gotta prioritize weapons.'

…

Worse outside than I felt from inside. Sirens wailing, cars smashing vibrations, faint gunshots piercing the chaos.

Then a shrill scream from the parking lot corner.

"Kyaaack-!"

Headed that way: some ajumma crawling on the ground, zombie mauling her.

Flail, flail.

"Grruh-. Grk-."

"Someone! Anyone, please! Save...!"

She locked eyes with me while shoving off the zombie gnashing at her.

"Save me, kid, kiddo! This guy...!"

No hesitation—I went right to her, pried off the zombie attac—nah, grabbed the car keys from the ground.

Beep-.

'Oh, been wanting to ride this one...'

"Kid...!? Kid, hey! Heeeey-!"

"Grruh-. Grrk...-."

Click, click, click-.

Zombie ignored me opening the door, kept trying to chow down. Hopped in her car, fired it up.

Almost peeled out, but hey, dream car deserved some thanks.

"Whew-. This sentimentality. Gotta shake it."

Floored it, ground the zombie and her under the tires.

Thump, thump-. Squish-. Splatter-.

Red gore—zombie or human?—splattered the driver's window. Thud-. Thud-.

"Whew~, foreign cars really are the best."

Shed better be grateful dying by her baby instead of zombifying. Whatever, what're you gonna do about it? If you're pissed, don't get caught by slow-ass zombies.

Reversed and forwarded a few times to finish the job. No rag? Popped the glovebox—jackpot, a full pack of smokes.

"Oh, perfect timing."

Car and smokes. Felt like the world spun for me. Took a drag—

Suddenly, translucent windows flooded my vision—one after another.

A bizarre sensation settled over my body like something possessing me. I couldn't help but shout it out.

Viva, apocalypse!

…

Honk-, hoooonk-.

An oncoming car blared frantically; I floored it harder. Crunch—grazed past, shattering the side mirror by a hair.

One slip and I'd be dead—dopamine surged.

130... 140... speed climbing.

Screeech-. Boom-.

Reverse-driving maniac me had cars swerving into each other, but I slipped through easy.

Screeech-. Boom-.

Roar... KABOOM-!

Not on purpose, but stacks kept rising. Seeing that, I pushed harder.

Sure, near-misses where I'd almost checked out for good, but I didn't stop. Roads were clogging with cars soon anyway—no more joyrides. And hell, it was fun.

"Haha!"

No cops to chase, no fines, no country—total liberation. No one could stop me.

Didn't care if this rush was my buried instincts or Cheongun's pure evil. Didn't need to. What I needed was weapons.

With that, slammed ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠the brakes, drifted into the target hardware store lot.

Screech, skreeech...

"Whoa...!"

Thud-.

"Kyaaack-. Someone, call 119...!"

"Hey, hey, you okay!?"

"What happened!?"

Infection hadn't hit here yet—people freaking over one guy I hit. Brushed past into the hardware store.

Wanted to raid a police station or army base, but too soon. Optimal choice factoring time and distance: big hardware store.

'Lemme see, something weapon-worthy...'

Skipped bathtubs, useless glues and tiles. Hit the tools aisle.

'Machete, axe, hammer... crowbar. Grab this for now...'

Finally weapons worth the name—shoved 'em into the tool bag till full, hoisted it.

Couldn't ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠waste a second; my meat shields and distractions were vanishing fast.

'Out we go, just grab headlamps and batteries...'

Heading for the exit, something caught my eye.

'Wait, why didn't I think of that?'

Something better than these tools by miles—usable hundreds of times, kill enemies with way less effort... exactly what I needed right now.