Chapter 3: Hidden Choices: Zorvax Confronts the Unknown Option!
Standing amidst the desolate backdrop of the city, Zorvax faced the interface with a mix of anticipation and anxiety. The glow of the "Evolve" button illuminated his gaunt face, casting deep shadows over his hollow cheeks. His finger, skeletal and covered in tattered flesh, hovered over the button. UppTodated from nô/v/e/lb(i)n.c(o)/m
He tapped it, more out of curiosity than confidence. Instantly, two new words floated up, each promising a different future:
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[Swift Zombie]
[Thick Zombie]
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Zorvax scratched his head, bits of dried skin flaking off as he did. "Swift or Thick, huh? That's the choice?" he muttered, his voice barely rising above a whisper.
The interface responded, expanding on the two options with brief descriptions:
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[Swift Zombie: A nimble and agile zombie capable of darting through the horde with unrivaled speed.]
[Thick Zombie: A hulking behemoth of an undead, possessing incredible durability and strength.]
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He squinted at the words, trying to picture himself as either. As a Swift Zombie, he'd zip around like a gust of wind. As a Thick Zombie, he'd be a juggernaut, plowing through obstacles with sheer brawn.
"Hmm..." Zorvax hummed to himself. He imagined darting swiftly through the ruins, a blur to any who might see. Then, he pictured himself as an imposing titan, unyielding and robust.
It was a tough call. Speed could get him out of sticky situations, but strength meant power, and in this world, power was everything.
"Speed or strength?" Zorvax asked aloud, hoping for a sign, an epiphany, anything.
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The new title "Zombie Elite" emerged on the screen, and a wave of excitement washed over him. "Yes! That's what I'm talking about. Top of the line," he cheered quietly to himself.
But the excitement was short-lived as the new price tag of 200 points flashed up. Zorvax's initial thrill turned into a growl of frustration. "Two hundred? They can't be serious!"
He took a deep, unnecessary breath and squared his shoulders, or at least what remained of them. "Alright then, more work it is. Those points won't collect themselves."
Determined, Zorvax set off into the city again, his every step a silent promise to reach that lofty goal. With each zombie he felled, a new point was added to his tally, bringing him closer to becoming the "Zombie Elite."
"Plus one," he counted each time the interface chimed in with the announcement. "Plus one more."
However, the grind was real, and the tediousness of his task weighed on him. "Just how many of you do I have to go through?" he asked the air, his voice tinged with exhaustion.
Then, amidst the monotony, a new sound cut through the silence—voices. Human voices. He crept closer, moving as silently as a whispering wind, and huddled behind the remains of what once was a decorative pillar.
Two survivors, armed and alert, were conversing in low tones. One was bandaging the other's arm, their words filled with a grim determination to keep going despite the odds.
Zorvax cocked his head, listening. They spoke of finding a safe place, of the loss of friends, and the constant threat of zombies.
He wrestled with the urge to step out and introduce himself. "To be or not to be... social, that is," he chuckled softly at his attempt at humor.
He remained hidden, observing them. Their body language spoke of wariness, of a bond forged by survival. They were alive in a way he once was, a reminder of his past humanity.
"Maybe they can get more points faster," he pondered aloud. "Or maybe they're just more trouble than they're worth."
He watched them for a few moments longer, his mind a whirlwind of possibilities. Then, with a nod to himself, he decided.
"I've got to take the chance. Who knows, they might know something useful," he whispered.
With careful, deliberate movements, Zorvax prepared to make his presence known, aware that the decision could change everything. It was a gamble, but in this new world, every choice was a gamble—one he was now ready to take.