"Hah... hah... hah..."

Leaning against the icy wall, panic finally crashed over me. That frenzied creature just now... was me.

Tears mixed with green blood and my own crimson streaks slid slowly down my cheeks.

Was I heartbroken?

I didn’t know.

Just venting?

Maybe.

But... I wept. Sobbed until my throat burned raw.

...

Wiping my face dry—crying was done. It only eased the ache, never solved anything.

The old me rarely shed tears. Maybe becoming female changed that? Overactive tear ducts?

Anyway, the storm inside calmed after the downpour.

Perhaps that’s tears’ true purpose: to wash away weakness so strength can grow.

Pushing off the wall, I rose slowly. Glancing outside, noon sun blazed. I reached for my phone—

Shattered screen. Ruined in the fight.

"Ah lala..." I grimaced at my hard-saved-for iPhone 16 Pro.

"Repair bill’ll cost at least a grand..."

Why say it aloud? I just needed to hear a human voice.

Setting the phone aside gently. "Rest now... your duty’s done."

"But mine... has just begun."

Sunlight stabbed my eyes, yet a flicker of resolve ignited in my chest. At least... I still wanted to live.

Shaking off chaotic thoughts, I scanned the wrecked hospital room. Scooped up the pistol. And the fruit knife—it saved my life once. Might again.

In this world, weapons weren’t optional.

Pulling out a Changbaishan cigarette, my fingers trembled slightly—exhaustion, probably. The Zippo’s flame bloomed orange under my thumb.

Smoke filled my lungs. Harsh, unwelcome... yet my mind sharpened.

"That brutal fight... my screaming... no zombies came." I stared at the lump under the white sheet.

"Do they... have territories?"

A vital clue.

Tucking the lighter away, I checked the pistol’s safety catch. That tiny switch nearly killed me earlier. Lesson learned: unfamiliar weapons get you dead, no matter how powerful.

*Click.*

I flipped the safety off. A stray shot beat being devoured.

But something nagged me. That monster... hadn’t gone for the kill.

Only now, calm, did I realize: with its strength, one blow could’ve knocked me out. Even pinned beneath me, it could’ve crushed my throat.

Why didn’t it?

Questions swirled—until I glimpsed green beneath the torn sheet where my knife had cut.

"Could it be..."

Horror froze my blood.

"They have mating instincts!!"

Goosebumps erupted across my skin. The thought of that thing mounting me, rutting like an animal—I wanted to die right then.

But reality was worse: they’d breed with humans.

Were these green mutants rare? Or a growing horde? Either way—if they craved mates...

Every living mutated thing might see my body as prey.

Pure terror. My cigarette hand shook violently. The urge to flee vanished.

"What... fucking hellish world is this?!" I snarled, rage directionless.

At the monsters?

I glanced at the sheet-covered corpse. If it remembered being human, it’d beg for death.

At the virus?

Mindless. Just obeying instinct.

I sucked smoke deep, relishing the burn. Stomped the butt underfoot. Turned for the door. Let the wreckage rot.

If I were that monster, I’d want someone to end me. Maybe it did too.

Perhaps death was their only mercy.

"Damn monsters."

Clenching trembling fists, I swallowed nausea and fear. Drew a sharp breath. Stepped into the corridor.

I’d visited this city hospital before—always bustling, always clean. Now...

Chaos. Dried black blood pooled on tiles. Overturned carts. Discarded IV bags.

*Gurgle...*

My stomach. The sound jolted me. What if it growled mid-chase?

"Instant death," I muttered, patting my flat stomach. Damn, this female body was model-perfect.

*Focus.* Obsessing over my own body? Stress from waking in this nightmare?

Then I spotted the IV bags.

"What if..."

Hope flared. I hurried over, sneakers squeaking on tile. No zombies here—the green monster must’ve cleared them.

I snatched a bag. Squinted at the label.

"Dextrose solution."

Yes! All seven bags were unused. I gathered them fast.

Nearby rooms: some doors shut tight with muffled scratching inside. Trapped zombies.

I ducked into an empty room—neat bed, untouched. Evacuated before the end.

Placing the bags on the nearest bed. Seven meals secured.

Then I found a scalpel. Small, but razor-sharp and sturdy. Perfect for this world.

Scissors? Too bulky. Useless compared to a knife. Left them.

Wiping dust off one bag, I sliced it open with the scalpel. Tilted it to my lips. Gulped.

Sweet. Clean. Cool.

*Glug... glug... glug...*

Gone in three swallows—300ml, like flat soda.

"Finally... something in my stomach."

I licked stray drops from my lips. Tossed the empty bag. Six left.

"How to carry them..."

Then I remembered: that shoulder bag in the changing room. Small, but it’d fit.

Back I went. Pulled a women’s crossbody bag from the wardrobe. Inside: wallet, makeup, hand mirror, handkerchief—

"Handkerchief?!"

I almost laughed. My face was a mask of red and green gore. Wiping it with the cloth, I found wet wipes too.

Bliss. I scrubbed away the blood—except the dried crust in my hair.

During the fight with the... green thing. (Terrible name, but clear. From now on: Greenie.)

My head had slammed the wall. Should’ve bled badly.

I touched the spot.

"No pain? Gone?"

I pressed harder. Probed.

Really gone. "Did... changing bodies heal me too?"