A tilted street lamp flickered rhythmically, as if it were sending Morse code into the dead air of the street.
The Ford sat beneath it with its hood raised. Every time the light flared back to life, it illuminated a bloodstained face inside the driver's seat.
A crow landed on the hood, claws scraping against metal. Its eyes locked onto the boy behind the wheel, showing no attempt to hide its hunger for that blood-smeared face.
Then the lifeless face blinked.
The crow jerked back in alarm, flapping into the air with an indignant caw that sounded suspiciously like, Damn, that scared the hell out of me.
Inside the car, the boy twisted his stiff neck. When his reflection appeared in the rearview mirror, fear flashed across his eyes. He cursed under his breath, loud in his own head.
The next second, the memories fused.
His name was now Lex Williams.
The same name he had carried before his transmigration.
In this world, Lex Williams was an actor. He had appeared in a blockbuster that grossed over two billion dollars worldwide—though "appeared" was generous. He'd played a background role. No lines. No close-ups. If someone blinked, they'd miss him.
The towering skyline in front of him belonged to Gotham.
One month ago, a zombie virus erupted and spread across the globe at terrifying speed, turning the world into a living hell.
During the outbreak, superheroes fell one after another. Capes tore. Legends died. The world didn't just collapse—it darkened.
Half an hour ago, Lex Williams had died in a car accident at this very intersection.
And Lex Williams from another world had awakened inside his body.
"Hell," he muttered hoarsely.
After realizing he had been reborn into a post-apocalyptic world overrun by a biohazard crisis, Lex slowly lifted his middle finger toward the sky.
Other people transmigrate and become chosen heroes. Why do I always end up as zombie buffet material?
Fine. Where's the System?
He was absolutely certain that without some kind of cheat System, an ordinary guy like him wouldn't survive half an episode in this world.
The phone lying on the passenger seat suddenly lit up.
A text message.
"There's food at the second convenience store on the right after the next intersection. Watch out for zombies on the road."
Lex stared at the screen.
A cheat code?
Was the phone his System?
He picked it up, checking for signs of a prank. No number displayed. No previous conversation thread. Just the message.
After confirming it didn't look fabricated, he decided to take the risk.
The previous owner of this body hadn't eaten for three days. That was the only reason he'd ventured out before the accident.
In this world, food, water, and medicine were more valuable than gold. If there was a chance to secure supplies, it had to be taken.
As for the zombies on the way—
The original owner had left him no weapons. Not even a kitchen knife.
Firearms might be common in America, but they weren't in this car.
Even if there had been one, Lex didn't believe he could mow down infected civilians without training.
Once infected, the human body mutated. Strength increased. Speed sharpened. Pain dulled.
For someone who hadn't eaten in three days, even a one-on-one fight was suicide.
Lex looked out the window.
From his position to the intersection less than a hundred yards away, he counted eleven zombies wandering aimlessly in the street.
That was just what he could see.
There were countless more inside storefronts, inside cars, inside the looming high-rises.
If one zombie attacked him, it would draw the rest in seconds.
He had to go to that convenience store.
If he didn't starve first, something else would get him.
And if I starve to death… do I get another transmigration?
Slowly, Lex reclined the driver's seat.
There was a makeup case in the back seat. Leftover from filming.
He reached back and pulled it forward.
If he couldn't fight them—he'd blend in.
He opened the case and began working.
White foundation first, dulling the natural warmth of his skin.
Then he drew bite marks along his neck and forearms. Jagged. Layered. Angry.
When he finished, he checked the mirror.
Under the flickering streetlight, he looked convincingly dead.
Time to see if those acting classes were worth anything.
He inhaled slowly.
Exhaled.
Slipped the phone into his pocket.
Then he opened the car door and stepped out.
When zombies had no target, they entered something close to standby mode. Their movements were sluggish, their posture slack, as if hunger alone animated them.
Unlike them, Lex genuinely hadn't eaten in three days.
His legs trembled as he staggered forward.
The first zombie approached quickly.
A girl in a Gotham High School uniform. Judging by her figure and what remained of her face, she had probably been the school's golden girl once.
Now she bore more than twenty bite wounds across her body. The transformation had twisted her features into something grotesque.
Don't come closer.
He prayed silently.
No answer.
The girl zombie noticed him and drifted toward him.
Zombies used multiple sensory inputs—movement, light, sound, smell—to identify prey.
Visually, he passed.
But scent was harder to fake.
She approached and began sniffing him, nose brushing against his shoulder, his neck, his chest like a suspicious dog.
Avoidance was impossible.
So he leaned in.
He sniffed her back.
The stench nearly made him gag. Rot, dried blood, something metallic and sweet.
But Lex committed.
He let his expression slacken. Let his eyes dull. Let instinct override reason.
For a moment, they looked like a couple engaged in something disturbingly intimate.
Zombies were mindless unless they mutated further.
She sensed something off—but his behavior confused her.
When he opened his mouth slightly, as if preparing to bite her shoulder, she recoiled in apparent disgust and turned away.
Rejected by a zombie.
Lex rolled his eyes internally and resumed staggering toward the intersection.
After surviving that first encounter, the rest became easier.
Other zombies noticed the earlier "interaction" and seemed to categorize him as one of their own.
He shuffled past them, mimicking their gait.
Around the corner, the convenience store came into view.
The door was missing. Glass littered the ground like frost.
Like most stores in Gotham, it had been looted during the first days of chaos.
Inside, darkness swallowed everything.
Lex adjusted his eyes and moved slowly between shelves.
Most of the food was gone.
But on a lower shelf, half-hidden, he spotted an unopened chocolate bar and a bottle of cola.
He didn't open them immediately.
Instead, he slipped both into his pockets and continued wandering the store in zombie mode, ensuring no infected lingered inside.
After confirming it was empty, he crouched behind a shelf.
Hands shaking, he opened the cola.
The hiss of carbonation sounded louder than a gunshot in the silence.
He froze.
No reaction outside.
He tilted the can and drank.
The liquid hit his throat like electricity.
Cold. Sweet. Alive.
For someone on the edge of collapse, it felt like resurrection.
He swallowed half the can in seconds.
Warmth spread through his chest.
Then—
Something hard pressed against the back of his head.
Cold. Unforgiving.
His body froze instantly.
Instinct told him exactly what it was.
A gun.