By the time Wu Fan drove toward the CDC, the sun had fully risen.
Morning light pierced through the thin mist, illuminating the grayish-white building.
Four stories high and square-shaped, it was surrounded by barbed wire, with several satellite dishes rotating on the roof.
Ignoring the smoking craters and scattered shell casings, the place looked like an ordinary government research institution.
But the smell of gunpowder and blood permeating the air reminded him—this place was anything but ordinary.
Fifty meters from the intersection, a voice thundered like a crack of lightning:
"Stop the car! Engine off! Put both hands out the window!"
Wu Fan slammed on the brakes.
He saw at least a dozen M4 muzzles pointed at him from behind temporary sandbag fortifications ahead.
The Soldiers' eyes were bloodshot and their faces were weary; they clearly hadn't slept all night.
"I'm getting out! Don't shoot!"
Wu Fan shouted, pushing open the car door with his hands raised high.
He was still clutching his police ID in his hand.
Two Soldiers approached with their guns raised, one on the left and one on the right, their tactical movements as textbook-perfect as a manual.
The Soldier on the left was responsible for the search, while the Soldier on the right kept his muzzle aimed squarely at Wu Fan's head.
The Soldier searching him was rough, feeling from head to toe and not missing an inch.
"Clean, no bite marks."
He reported.
"ID."
The other Soldier reached out his hand.
Wu Fan handed over his police ID.
The Soldier glanced at it, then looked at Wu Fan's face: "Atlanta Police Department? How did you end up here?"
"Atlanta has fallen."
When Wu Fan said this, his voice was calmer than he expected: "Millions of Walkers, there's no stopping them."
"Walkers?"
"Those things—the biters, the ones that keep moving after they're dead."
The two Soldiers exchanged a look. One of them turned toward a distant tent and shouted, "Sir! There's a cop here who escaped from Atlanta!"
The tent flap opened, and a middle-aged man in camouflage stepped out.
He held the rank of Major, was in his early forties, had an old scar on his face, and possessed eyes as sharp as an eagle's.
He strode over and stood before Wu Fan, sizing him up from head to toe.
"Listen, I need you to answer my questions honestly."
The Major's voice was low, carrying an unquestionable authority.
Wu Fan raised his right hand: "I swear on the President's integrity that every word I say—"
He paused.
—"the President will be tag-teamed by twenty young guys."
The Major was stunned for a moment.
Then he laughed.
The smile only lasted a second, but he definitely laughed.
The surrounding Soldiers were also stifling laughs, their shoulders shaking.
The next second, the Major grabbed Wu Fan by the collar and pulled him close: "I'm in no mood for jokes. What exactly is the situation in Atlanta right now?"
Wu Fan stopped smiling and looked the Major straight in the eye: "It's really fallen. There might be some resistance in the city center, but imagine this—every street, every alleyway is packed with those things, too many to count. There are millions of people in Atlanta; even if only a tenth turn into those things, that's hundreds of thousands. How many people do you have here? Hundreds? Thousands? You can't suppress them with that little firepower."
The Major stared at him for a few seconds.
Then he let go and turned back into the tent with a grim expression.
Wu Fan stood there, hearing the sound of things being thrown inside the tent.
A nearby Soldier lowered his voice and said to him, "Don't take it personally, man. Our CO hasn't slept all night."
"What's the situation?"
"Over eight hundred of those things rushed us last night..."
The Soldier pointed to a patch of charred earth in the distance: "They almost broke through the line. It took tanks and RPGs to wipe them all out. We only have two hundred men, and we've burned through a third of our ammo. Now we can't reach high command by radio or phone, and we don't know whether to stay or retreat."
Wu Fan didn't say anything.
"The Major said to let him in."
The Soldier who had searched him earlier walked over and returned the ID to Wu Fan: "But you have to hand over your gun and ammo. This is military property; you're lucky they didn't shoot you as a spy."
Wu Fan looked down at the M4 at his waist that he'd scavenged from the battlefield, then at the ammo in his backpack.
He sighed, pulled everything out, and piled it on the ground.
"I don't care about them."
He said.
But his heart was bleeding.
Passing through the temporary camp, Wu Fan walked toward the CDC's main building.
The shutter doors hadn't been lowered yet.
He remembered that in the show, when Rick and the others arrived, the shutters were down and the building was deathly silent.
But now, the doors were still open, two Soldiers were standing guard, and figures could be seen moving faintly inside.
—This meant the story hadn't reached that point in time yet.
The researchers were still working.
The virus research was still ongoing.
Maybe...
Wu Fan walked toward the entrance.
"Halt!"
The Soldier at the door immediately raised his rifle: "Entry is prohibited!"
"I need to go inside."
"No, civilians aren't allowed."
"I'm a police officer—"
"Not even the police. Orders from above: no one is to disturb the researchers inside. They're working on the virus and a vaccine, understand? That's humanity's only hope."
Wu Fan took a deep breath and turned back.
He walked toward the tent.
The Major was inside looking at a map; hearing footsteps, he didn't even look up: "If you're here to talk about entering the CDC—"
"Yes, sir."
The Major looked up, his eyes as cold as ice: "Get the hell away from here before I lose my temper, or I'll shoot you myself."
Wu Fan raised his hands and backed out of the tent.
He stood outside, looking at the grayish-white building.
System Mission: Enter the CDC and unlock the first floor of the Hive.
Reality: Two hundred fully armed Soldiers were guarding the entrance; there was no way in.
He needed a plan.
Wu Fan walked aimlessly, eventually stopping next to an M1A2 Abrams main battle tank.
Black bits of flesh and blood still clung to the beast's tracks, and the gun barrel was slightly warm.
Two tankers sat on nearby ammo crates smoking, their faces full of exhaustion.
Wu Fan pulled out the cigarettes he'd swiped from a convenience store and handed over two.
"Thanks, man."
A bearded tanker took the cigarette and sized up Wu Fan: "You're the cop who escaped from Atlanta?"
"Yeah."
"Was it really that bad over there?"
Wu Fan sat down, lit a cigarette, and took a deep drag.
The taste of nicotine cleared his head a bit.
"Bad? 'Bad' doesn't even begin to describe it."
He began to tell the story: "Have you ever seen millions of people turn into those things at once? I have. When I left the station, the streets were full of people running for their lives, screaming, biting. I saw with my own eyes a woman tear open her husband's throat, blood spraying three feet high. I saw a seven or eight-year-old kid pinned on his mother, gnawing on her face."
The two tankers were enthralled, forgetting to even smoke their cigarettes.
"How did I escape?"
Wu Fan continued: "I drove straight into a horde, knocking down seven or eight of them, then ditched the car and ducked into alleys. I climbed onto rooftops and crawled over the heads of the horde for three blocks. Once, I almost got pulled down; a zombie grabbed my ankle, and I had to kick it five times to break free. Have you seen their faces? Just ten centimeters away, that face—"
He shuddered.
It wasn't an act.
It was genuine lingering fear.
The two tankers looked impressed. The bearded one patted his shoulder: "Man, you're lucky to be alive."
"Luck doesn't help much."
Wu Fan gave a bitter smile: "Now I'm stuck here, unable to get into that building."
"You want to go in?"
The younger tanker said, "Forget it. Those lab coats in there are more precious than the President; no one's allowed in. Yesterday, a CDC staff member wanted to go home to grab some things and was stopped and put in solitary."
Wu Fan didn't respond.
He leaned against the tank's tracks.
He mentally called up the control panel, and the translucent panel appeared before his eyes, visible only to him.
[hive system]
[Current Status: Inactive]
[Level 1 Unlock Condition: Enter the CDC Hidden Area]
[System Mall: Accessible]
[Notice: Complete Level 1 unlock to access more items]
With a thought, Wu Fan expanded the mall interface.
Empty.
Almost everything was a gray lock icon.
Only one item was lit up.
[Umbrella Corporation Employee ID (Level 1)]
[Price: Free]
[Description: Upon signing your name, you will become an official employee of the Umbrella Corporation. This ID allows you to view employee loyalty and provides safe passage through Umbrella Corporation security defense systems.]
Wu Fan stared at the item description, stunned for a full ten seconds.
Umbrella Corporation?
The Umbrella Corporation from Resident Evil?
He clicked for details.
A phantom image of an ID card appeared before him.
It had a white background, a red logo, and fields for a photo, name, and position.
The photo and name fields were blank, while the position field displayed "Junior Researcher."
Below was a line of small text:
[By signing, you agree to abide by the Umbrella Corporation Employee Code of Conduct and are willing to dedicate everything to the company.]
[Note: This ID is valid within The Walking Dead world and grants access to all Umbrella Corporation-related facilities. Whether Umbrella Corporation facilities exist in this world is for you to explore.]
Wu Fan's breathing quickened.
Umbrella Corporation.
The multinational giant from Resident Evil—ostensibly a pharmaceutical company, but actually the mastermind behind biological weapons research.
Their logo was a red and white umbrella, their labs were all over the globe, and the t-virus they developed had destroyed the world—
Wait.
t-virus?
This world was The Walking Dead, not Resident Evil.
But the system said it was "valid within this world."
It even said, "Whether Umbrella Corporation facilities exist in this world is for you to explore."
Wu Fan looked up at the grayish-white CDC building.
CDC.
Centers for Disease Control and Prevention.
A national research institution of the United States.
But what if—what if in this world, the CDC wasn't just a government agency? What if something else was standing behind it?
He recalled the plot of the show.
In the first season, Rick and the others came to the CDC and were taken in by a man named Dr. Edwin Jenner.
That doctor was the last remaining researcher, desperate and lonely.
He showed them surveillance footage and those horrific experiments, eventually choosing to blow up with the CDC.
Dr. Jenner.
He whispered something in Rick's ear.
What were those words?
The show never revealed it.
Something about the origin of the virus.
Or about—
Wu Fan's finger hovered over the "Free" button.
He took a deep breath and clicked it.
A flash of light occurred.
A plastic card appeared in his hand.
It had a white background, the red Umbrella logo, and his photo—he didn't know when it had been taken, but he was in his police uniform with a blank expression.
The name field said "Wu Fan," and the position field said "Atlanta Regional Director."
On the back of the card was a line of small text:
[Umbrella Corporation Employee Code of Conduct Rule 1: The Company is always right.]
[Rule 2: If the Company is wrong, refer to Rule 1.]
Wu Fan: "..."
He stuffed the card into his pocket.
Then he stood up, brushed the dust off his pants, and said to the two tankers, "Thanks, guys. I'm going to try again."
"Try again?"
The bearded one shook his head: "Be careful you don't get shot."
Wu Fan didn't look back.
He walked toward the tent.