About half an hour later, Kevin stepped into a church. His whole body felt like it was breaking, every bone aching. But the gate to Death Town stood open. That empty shimmer felt like a doorway to death.
"Hah, right here!" Kevin didn't hesitate and kicked straight through. A wave of dizziness hit him. When it passed, he blinked at a barren landscape all around.
Above, an electronic sign flickered a single word: Death.
"Hah…" Kevin laughed out loud. "I knew I'd make it!"
He steadied himself and walked forward. He was inside Death Town's boundaries—but where was the Death Tavern?
No rush. Inside these walls, he was safe. Soon he spotted a black building up ahead—a tavern that felt strangely… ominous.
"Welcome to Death Tavern No. 7. Your number is 23."
Kevin paused. Twenty-two people had already come through? But the number was just the order of arrival.
He approached the tavern entrance. He wasn't first in—three others waited here: two men and a woman.
He sized them up. The first woman wore a clean white tracksuit—spotted with nothing. Either she'd been carried here by luck or she was unbelievably tough. Kevin guessed the latter; the guy beside her looked calm, not a hint of fear.
The second man looked about thirty, with solid, practical muscles—more soldier than a bodybuilder. His frame spoke of real combat training, not competition.
The last woman wore a business suit but looked terrified, darting her eyes everywhere.
"Lucky loser," Kevin thought. In this world, the timid go first.
They all glanced his way. He walked past the businesswoman, who seemed about to speak, then fell silent. Probably she'd tried the other two and been shut down—now she was too embarrassed to try again.
Fine by him.
He found a corner at the back, sat against the wall, and closed his eyes. No need to worry. The tracksuit guy and the soldier-man stayed alert, probably expecting zombies, but none could enter here. And fighting each other was outlawed.
Death Town might sound grim, but it was humanity's last haven.
He drifted off, exhausted by nonstop battles. When he woke, he wasn't sure how long he'd slept. A commotion stirred him—two new faces in town: a girl in a judo uniform and a shady-looking guy.
The punk was teasing the businesswoman, making her scream.
Kevin turned away, unmoved. He pulled out a chocolate bar and started chewing.
"You've got food?" The punk's eyes lit up at the crunch. He dropped the woman and lunged at Kevin. "Give it to me—all of it."
Kevin looked up. "What can you trade?"
"AH?" The punk hesitated, then scowled, yanking Kevin to his feet. "How about my fist?"
Kevin snorted. "You're an idiot."
"Don't think I won't punch you," the punk snarled.
"You try it" Kevin said coolly.
The punk raised his fist—and froze. He hesitated midair.
Others might've thought he backpedalled. Kevin knew better: that same mysterious voice must've warned him. No fighting in Death Town.
"Superstitious crap…" the punk muttered, then suddenly roared and swung at Kevin's face.
But in that instant…
The punk's head dropped clean off his shoulders. His body stayed standing, headless, bloodless cut smooth as glass. No gushing blood—just a thin line.
Everyone gawked in shock.
"A reminder: no private brawls in Death Town. Disobey, and you face a terrible punishment."
The voice echoed in their minds, making their throats tighten.
Terrible punishment? Death.
Kevin calmly dragged the body to the door, then tossed it out—head and all—like empty trash. Everyone stared at him, terrified. He acted as if he'd just tossed away a candy wrapper.
Then he slipped back to his corner and kept eating.
No one else had food. Watching him chew, they all felt hungry—but who'd dare ask?
Silence fell. More people filtered in—soldiers, fighters, dancers—anyone with a trained body had an edge now.
Kevin spotted a teenager with a belt full of glass bottles and canned goods—homemade bombs, not snacks.
On day three, the voice would return, naming a new drop point twelve hours before Death Town vanished. With those coordinates, getting in would be easier—lucky souls nearby wouldn't have to cross zombie hordes.
Kevin stayed silent. Entering was just the beginning. The real test lay ahead.
By the twelve‑hour mark, Tavern No. 7 held 37 people—packed tight. At midnight, Death Town began to fade…