The steel security door that had been sealed for seven days swung open.
Out came several upside-down “pen holders.”
They really did look like pen holders—made of iron, covered with ventilation holes, open at the bottom and fitted with wheels salvaged from office chairs underneath. You could see people’s feet.
Each “pen holder” held about four or five people.
They couldn’t fit any more—otherwise the “pen holders” would have to be made larger and wouldn’t fit in the elevators.
Any fewer, and they’d need to make more “pen holders,” which would increase the total material cost too much—the iron from the fitness room wouldn’t be enough. They still needed to make weapons and armor too.
The boss had made six “pen holders” in total.
The door opened, and the “pen holders” carefully shuffled out. There were no zombies outside at first—the few that had been there days ago had apparently wandered off somewhere.
But just as they thought that, they turned the corner at the end of the hallway and found out: oh, they were all gathered in the elevator lobby.
Shit!
Several zombies lunged at them, slamming heavily into the “pen holders.”
“Whoa—whoa—whoa—!!”
The boss had installed handholds inside the “pen holders,” so everyone had something to grip. Good thing too—otherwise the people inside the ones that got hit would have fallen over.
“Formation—!” the boss bellowed.
Before heading out, they’d brainstormed—what to do if they encountered zombies while moving under these “pen holders.”
They’d already worked out a plan.
Several “pen holders” coordinated their steps with chants and charged into other zombies.
Two “pen holders” joined forces to ram a targeted zombie: “Push! Push!”
The people inside used every ounce of their strength to pin the zombie against the wall: “Mr. Xu! Mr. Xu! Hurry!”
Mr. Xu’s “pen holder” rushed over to the pinned zombie while the other “pen holders” held off the rest.
Suddenly, a blade-like edge extended from the “pen holder,” shooting out horizontally and slicing the zombie’s head clean off.
They repeated the tactic, one by one—the group worked together to restrain the zombies, and Mr. Xu, their Metal-type superpowered boss, took care of the decapitations.
Soon, the few zombies in the elevator lobby were all taken care of.
There were four passenger elevators, and each could only fit one “pen holder.” But no problem—they pushed open the nearby fire door and found a spacious freight elevator that could fit two “pen holders” at once.
Everyone got into the elevators.
As the elevators descended, their hearts beat a little faster. They’d all seen too many horror movies—the classic “doors open to a horde of monsters” scene.
Fortunately, life wasn’t a movie. When the elevators opened on the third basement level, there really were no zombies in sight.
Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.
Too soon.
As soon as the “pen holders” moved, the wheels made a deafening screech against the garage floor!
And it echoed massively!
From far away, they could already see zombies running toward them.
Everyone: “…”
“Fuck it!” Mr. Xu—who usually prided himself on having studied abroad and liked to sprinkle English words into his speech—cursed in his rustic hometown dialect. “Everyone, get over here!”
The “pen holders” scrambled to gather around him, and several quickly merged into one giant “pen holder.”
It was basically a little house, with all the colleagues reunited inside it.
Mr. Xu genuinely felt hopeless.
If in a company, only the boss does the work while the employees just watch—what hope was there?
“But you’re the only one with superpowers!” the employees flattered him in unison. “You were destined to be the boss, the leader—the one destined to lead us all to victory!”
“That’s why the capable ones do more!”
“That’s exactly how someone like you could start from nothing and become a first-generation rich man!”
Mr. Xu, thoroughly pleased by the flattery, forged a crescent-shaped spade.
It was the very same weapon that the young woman named Jiang Cheng on TV had been holding.
Dressed in gleaming silver armor and wielding that crescent spade, she had shone brilliantly under the studio lights—a blend of retro and sci-fi.
Everyone had immediately thought the spade looked extremely practical and urged Mr. Xu to replicate it.
“Here, yours.” Mr. Xu finished one and handed it to an employee.
He made another and handed it to someone else: “Here—yours!”
The distant zombies, having stopped moving when the noise ceased and being far away, gradually halted and wandered in place.
Mr. Xu was busy as hell inside the little iron house—making one for you, making one for you, making one for you.
Initially, everyone had planned to make all the weapons before leaving. But after making the “pen holders,” they realized that carrying weapons inside them could easily injure each other, so Mr. Xu had withdrawn them all.
Now he was making them on the spot.
Mr. Xu was sweating profusely from the exertion. As he worked, his head started to ache, and his nose began to bleed.
Immediately, seven or eight employees whipped out tissues to wipe his nose: “You’re leveling up, Mr. Xu—hang in there! The lady on TV said this is how you advance! This is the prelude to your upgrade!”
A good employee pushes the boss to grow.
Mr. Xu kept going until his ears hurt too, and finally, he’d made weapons for everyone.
Everyone now had armor and a weapon.
Alright, brothers—follow me.
The “little house” opened, and everyone carefully stepped out.
“Mr. Xu, where’s your car?”
“In Zone 4.”
“That’s a bit far. Mine’s in Zone 1.”
They were planning to escape by car.
Suddenly, the director pulled Mr. Xu aside: “Mr. Xu—look at that van!”
Everyone looked over, and their eyes lit up—a 16-seater minibus!
That was way better than splitting up into several small cars!
Mr. Xu said: “But we don’t have the keys.”
The director: “Aren’t you a Metal-type superpower? The lock is metal too—give it a try.”
Mr. Xu said: “Even if we get the door open, what’s the point? How do we start the engine without the keys?”
The director went “Eh?” and said: “Funny—I think I might have superpowers too. Let me try to start the car?”
The director gave an ingratiating smile and raised one finger—a tiny cluster of electric current crackled and sparked at his fingertip.
Mr. Xu: “…”
Employees: “…”
Horticulturist: “…”
Not a family of colleagues, wouldn’t walk through the same company door.
They all specialized in mutual distrust, mutual disunity, and mutual scheming.
Wasn’t that just a form of corporate culture?
The door opened smoothly, and the director sat in the driver’s seat, trying to start the car with his “just awakened” Electric-type superpower.
As everyone sat in the car, they started discussing: “There are too many zombies out there. We need to reinforce the vehicle.”
“Use iron mesh to protect all the windows.”
“Iron mesh has no offensive power—use iron spikes. You know caltrops? Make them like that. Make the car look like a hedgehog or a porcupine.”
“That won’t work—zombies don’t feel pain. Even if they get impaled, it won’t stop them. They might even end up hanging onto the car. You have to decapitate them.”
Human ingenuity was universal.
Even though they hadn’t seen the “blade vehicles” that Jiang Cheng’s group had later modified, their discussion led them to the same conclusion—they needed a blade vehicle.
Mr. Xu, with two wads of tissue stuffed up his nostrils, sat in the passenger seat resting.
As soon as he stopped, the superpower he’d just expended began to slowly recover.
He glanced sideways at the director, who kept failing again and again: “Can you do it or not?”
The director was also drenched in sweat: “Don’t rush me—let me try again.”
The engine sputtered to life and died, over and over.
The distant zombie, drawn by the sound, kept stopping and starting, stopping and starting—until finally it got close enough to sense the fresh flesh and began charging at them.
The employees discovered that the crescent spade worked great the very first time they used it.
The strong ones could chop off a zombie’s head in one swing.
“Who invented this thing? It’s awesome!”
“Dumbass—it’s an ancient cold weapon.”
“Right, I meant—who rediscovered it. Not every ancient weapon is good for chopping off zombie heads.”
After dealing with the zombie, the employees pulled open the passenger door: “Mr. Xu! Mr. Xu!”
Mr. Xu, with tissue still plugging his nostrils and not fully recovered, was dragged out by his staff: “One more round, please!”
Mr. Xu sighed up at the sky.
Mr. Xu converted the vehicle into a blade car.
Iron mesh was also applied over the windows.
None of that was difficult—the hard part was sharpening the blades.
He was nearly spent—the fine-detail work was exhausting! Finally, he managed to make the “blades” around the vehicle sharp, but it nearly cost him half his life.
His ears were killing him.
The director finally got the engine started!
He’d been hiding it all along and had never practiced, so his superpower was really weak.
But precisely because it was weak, unlike Guo Jun, he didn’t fry the car’s circuit board with too much current.
After trying again and again, gradually increasing the current, he finally managed to start the engine.
The employees erupted in cheers, as if they’d just landed a major deal.
The director wiped the sweat off his forehead and said with genuine admiration: “You’re really something—just awakened and already this strong. Look at me—so weak.”
The two of them each had their own private offices. Over the past few days, they’d both slept in their own offices.
Late at night, Mr. Xu practiced his Metal-type superpower in complete silence—not a sound.
The director couldn’t do that, because any significant current made a crackling noise that was especially noticeable at night.
The result of both of them hiding it was that one was weak, and the other was even weaker.
“Let’s go, let’s go—move out!”
The vehicle started moving.
Aside from that one earlier, there weren’t any zombies visible in this area—they’d thought the underground garage was clear.
But as they got close to the exit—a huge crowd!
Several cars were overturned there, smashing into the neatly parked ones nearby.
Bloodstains had turned a deep, dark color.
It turned out people had been trying to break out all along, but small cars were too easy for second- and third-generation zombies to climb onto.
Cars flipped, people died.
Zombies +1+1+1…
The wisdom of the masses was formidable.
The blade car demonstrated its power. Through the side windows, you could see zombie heads flying off, thick dark-brown blood splattering across the windows.
When the minibus finally burst out of the underground garage and saw the evening sun outside, they erupted in cheers once again!
“Go, go, go!”
“Which way?”
“North! The Science and Technology New District is north!”
“Which road?”
“Any road works—let’s get on the Fifth Ring first! Wan’an Bridge exit!”
“What’s that neighborhood called again?”
“Youth Apartments!”
“Right—Youth Apartments.”
“Alright—let’s move! Target: Youth Apartments!”
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