My 100th Rebirth a day before the Apocalypse - Chapter 915

915: Chapter 915 A Psychopath Zombie 915: Chapter 915 A Psychopath Zombie Could it be that the zombies here had migrated, just like what he and the others witnessed on their way to City A’s hidden base?

But as far as he knew, those migrating zombies always returned to where they came from, so that didn’t seem to fit.

Or… could it be that something had driven them away?

Sparrow forced himself to stop thinking-there was no way to confirm whether his suspicions were correct or not, and dwelling on them would only mess with his mind.

Instead, he focused on the scene before him.

He noticed the mutated zombie make its move just as the patrol team began retreating back into the shelter.

It slipped through the area with unsettling precision, navigating every blind spot as if it already knew them by heart.

Its movements were deliberate, almost practiced, like it had studied the guards’ habits and behavior, allowing it to approach the shelter’s wall without drawing a single glance.

Sparrow considered taking the shot.

But if his suspicion was right, that this creature had undergone another evolution, a sniper’s bullet might do little more than scratch it… or worse, give away his position.

Even beneath the charred skin, the sun’s glare revealed a scaly, armor-like texture, gleaming like steel.

No… sniping might not be the best option.

Without anyone noticing, the mutated zombie crept close and yanked a guard from the wall.

The man’s eyes widened in shock, but his voice failed him; no cry for help escaped in time.

Everyone’s attention was fixed on the patrol party that was returning from outside, leaving him unseen and unheard.

“You’ve worked hard.

Please rest inside for a while and leave the rest to us,” one of the guards nearest the gate said with a smile.

He scratched the back of his head with one hand, while the other gripped the shotgun slung over his shoulder.

“Eh?!

Are you one man short?” One of the patrol teams that came from outside noticed something was off; no one was manning the guard platform in the corner.

That spot was almost in their blind spot, so it could have easily gone unnoticed.

But one of them happened to know the guard assigned there and wanted to check on him.

Looking toward the platform, he was startled to see it completely empty.

The other guards who heard him turned to look.

That position did indeed face the forest and was in everyone’s blind spot, making it easy to overlook whoever was stationed there.

“Eh?!

He might have gone to the toilet.

I heard him earlier saying he had diarrhea,” one guard guessed after a moment’s thought.

After all, they were a small but tight-knit community of survivors; everyone knew each other well and was on friendly terms.

So, it wasn’t surprising that they casually chatted about small things, but none of them knew that the man they thought had gone to the toilet was, at that very moment, being dragged into the forest by the mutated zombie.

Even Sparrow had lost sight of the creature, which made him curse under his breath.

The worst part was that the zombie hadn’t killed its prey yet.

The man’s muffled protests were met only with silence, save for the low, guttural growl of the creature hauling him away from the wall.

His wide, terrified eyes locked on the shelter’s wall, now growing smaller and smaller in the distance.

He didn’t understand why he couldn’t move or shout.

His body felt completely paralyzed, yet the zombie hadn’t even bitten him, so it couldn’t be the virus.

The fear was overwhelming, sinking into his every muscle and nerve.

He wanted to scream, to fight back, to do anything, but nothing responded.

Tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks, and seeing this, the mutated zombie’s growl deepened, its breathing turning heavy, almost eager, as if it was savoring his helplessness.

It was terrifying to imagine that this mutated zombie might harbor some twisted, perverse ritual for how it “dined” on its prey, deliberately letting fear seep into every pore, forcing its victim to drown in hopelessness and helplessness before finally devouring them.

As if terror itself could somehow make the flesh taste sweeter.

And maybe… that wasn’t so far-fetched.

Before it turned, this creature had been a deranged psychopath, a convicted serial killer who had escaped from prison.

He was infamous for torturing his victims slowly, relishing every moment of their agony, keeping them alive just long enough for his victim to wish for death… only to deny them that release.

The more they writhed and begged, the more euphoric he became.

Now, that same monster wore a zombie’s skin.

And as it began regaining fragments of intelligence, it was no surprise that some of its old sadistic habits still lingered-twisted and amplified in its new, inhuman form.

The mutated zombie dragged its victim deep into the forest, disappearing into its hidden lair.

Back at the shelter, no one had any idea what had happened.

Sparrow, watching helplessly, knew he could do nothing to stop it now.

Instead, he grabbed his walkie-talkie.

“We have a situation,” he said, his voice low.

“We might need to head to the shelter and warn them, but without alerting the mutated zombie.” The radio crackled before Vulture’s voice came through.

“So… we just run straight to their shelter?” “No.

We pretend to be passing by,” Sparrow replied after a moment.

“That thing is too slippery and too cautious.

If it realizes we’re after it, it might do something… unpredictable.

Something we can’t guard against.” Vulture’s tone was skeptical.

“Is it really that formidable?” Sparrow’s gaze darkened.

“None of the mutated zombies we’ve faced have been this intelligent.

None… except maybe one.

The one Young Madam Kisha fought inside our base, back when someone failed to awaken their ability.” Hearing this, and remembering that event, Vulture’s expression darkened.

Among them, Kisha and Duke were the strongest fighters they had, but even Kisha had nearly lost to that one zombie.

It wasn’t just fast; it knew how to feint, how to fight like a trained human.

The memory of that battle could still make his skin crawl, and if Sparrow was comparing this mutated zombie to that one… it meant they were in for a very difficult fight.

“Alright,” Vulture said grimly.

“I understand.

How do we approach?” “You and the others, head straight to the shelter,” Sparrow ordered.

“I’ll keep watch from here and alert you if anything goes wrong.

Make sure to check for any other entrances or exits before taking up your posts.

Guard the shelter while the rest prepare to move out at a moment’s notice.” He set the walkie-talkie down and turned his gaze back toward the forest.

The mutated zombie still hadn’t emerged, meaning it was still taking its time with its prey.

As soon as Vulture received the order, he raised his hand in signal.

The rest of the team immediately focused on him, reading the hand gesture, and moved with flawless precision, like seasoned police or army veterans.

They advanced in tight formation, silent yet deliberate, making their way toward the shelter.

When they finally came into view, the guard stationed atop the platform caught a flicker of movement.

“What was that?” he muttered, pulling out his binoculars.

His voice rose with sudden excitement.

“Are those army troops?

Or a special squad?” His outburst drew the attention of the others, who quickly grabbed their own binoculars.

In the distance, they spotted a group dressed in sleek black military-style uniforms, each bearing a crest on the chest, though the details were hard to make out.

They moved like soldiers, but the figure leading them stood out: his attire was different, save for the coat’s design and the same crest emblazoned in the familiar spot.

“I… think so?” one of the men replied uncertainly, lowering his binoculars for a moment before looking again.

That’s when they noticed the man at the front, carrying an enormous hammer strapped across his back.

It was even larger than a sledgehammer, and judging by its solid build, it had to be heavy.

Yet the man ran with it effortlessly, as if the weight meant nothing.

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