Zombie Survival System

After so long stuck on various forms of transportation, Alexandre was grateful that they made the next leg of their journey on foot.

Rather than following the main road, DeathFlame led them through the thick, emerald-green forest which made up the majority of the island. The calls of exotic birds and unfamiliar insects buzzed and rang out all around them, and the pale shadows of sunlight filtered through thick leaves danced on the forest path beneath their feet.

After a good hour's walk, the group came out onto a vacant concrete lot where there was already a moderate crowd of people gathered.

DeathFlame pointed to the area and said to the prospective students, "Alright, you slugs! In ten minutes, the Captain will arrive and address the registrants for today's tryouts. You're free to do as you please until then... but those who aren't present when the Captain arrives will join those failures who are in the city stuffing their bellies!"

Then, without further ceremony, DeathFlame walked away.

The candidates from Alexandre's group looked around at each other with uncertainty, then slowly moved to join the mass of people already there.

By this time, even the most enthusiastic people from before were exhausted and much less talkative. Many had pulled an all-nighter to get here on time, and they were now pondering what it would mean to fail after coming all this way. For some, the Hunter tryouts were something they'd waited for since childhood.

If they failed now, that would be that. A person could only try out once in their entire lifetime. The maximum for applicants was twenty-five, and so many waited until that age to maximize their chances of success.

As everyone mingled and examined their surroundings, something struck Alexandre as odd. He scanned the people in the surrounding crowd, then suddenly realized that two particular people were missing.

Alexandre scanned the ground and finally saw a trail of trampled grass, ferns, and other plant life which deviated from their main walking path and trailed off deeper into the forest.

"Interesting," he muttered, and stepped away from the rest of the group to follow.

***

Deeper within the island's forest, a scream of terror sent several brightly colored birds flying in alarm from their treetop perches. "Help!" the voice cried. "Help me, somebody!"

The young African-American man with the Brooklyn gang tattoo stood at the bottom of a thick, winding tree. He'd backed another candidate against the tree trunk, and was staring down at him with crossed, muscular arms and a smug look on his face. "Squeal one more time like that and I'll rip out your tongue, you pasty-ass richshit."

His victim was the rich brat from the boat. The youth was cowering like a child against the tree trunk. His combat jumpsuit and jacket looked like a child's costume on his shaking body. At these threatening words, he switched from terrified screaming to silent, choked sobbing.

The gangster nodded approvingly. "So you can shut up and listen, you little faggot. I'll say it one more time: give me your phone and wallet!"

With trembling fingers, the rich young man reached into the pockets of his jacket and removed those items, then handed them over.

The gangster opened the wallet and laughed in delight. "Damn! Nine hundred and a bit in cash! You rich dog! You've got more in your pocket than I've got in my bank account!"

He glanced down again at the rich youth, his eyes narrowing. "And you didn't work for a penny of it, did you? Daddy and Mommy gave you that, huh? Fucking little trust-fund richshit."

Without warning, the gangster rammed his fist into his victim's stomach. "Listen, bitch, I'm giving you some good advice: forget the Hunter competition if you're gonna cry like a baby when a fella asks to borrow a few bucks. It's for real men, not for pasty-ass pieces of trash like you!"

Suddenly, another wave of birds squawked and flew from their tree branches behind the two prospective students.

The black candidate whirled around, fists raised. "Who's there!?"

After a moment, a young white man wearing unassuming clothes emerged from behind another huge tree. He was 1.8 meters tall and had blond hair and piercing eyes.

"Hello, my good friend," said Alexandre. "To tell the truth, I'm a big fan of this hobby of yours. Beating up rich brats certainly makes the world a better place." He paused. "Well, at this point, I'm quite broke, and you're the one with the money. So, give me what you just took from him, or I'll have to teach you a lesson as well." The corner of his mouth twisted up. "You rich bastard."

The gangster, who was taller than Alexandre and weighed one hundred and twenty kilos, burst out laughing. "No money, huh? Well, let's break your head and see about that!"

He launched himself recklessly at Alexandre, sending a punch directly toward his head!

Against an ordinary person, this would have been a terrifying and effective attack.

Alexandre was no ordinary person.

Without even flinching, Alexandre sidestepped and dropped into a low stance, letting the fist fly harmlessly over his head, and slammed his punch directly into his attacker's liver.

The gangster screamed in pain and fell to the ground, clutching his side!

Alexandre shook his head in contempt. "Very impressive strength, but not much speed. I hate to break it to you, but you're going to find the competition here a little harder than your rival gangbangers in Brooklyn. I hope that when you become a Hunter, you can give me a bit more of a challenge."

Then Alexandre knelt down and the black candidate's pockets. After a few moments, he retrieved the rich young man's cell phone and a bunch of crumbled bills, which totaled $949.

Alexandre walked over to where the battered rich kid was still sobbing on the ground. He dropped the phone, and it slid off the young man's shoulder and onto the ground in front of his face, then stuffed the money into his own pocket.

The falling phone caught the rich kid's attention, and he stopped sobbing and sat up slowly. He picked up the phone and stared at it in confusion for a few moments, still clearly trying to process what he'd just been through. "Th-thank you," he said at last, turning to Alexandre with a look of bewilderment on his face.

But suddenly he turned around and saw a man taking the pulse of the African-American man.

Alexander was surprised he didn't hear him coming, he said.

"Who are you?"