The kneeling man lunged. Zhang Xiaowen's combat boot met his face with a *crunch*. Teeth and blood sprayed as he crumpled. A single pistol shot finished him—a red rose blooming above his left eye.
Students screamed. Teacher He turned away. The last thug wet himself, blubbering as Zhang pressed the barrel to his skull. "Face the sunset."
"Xiaowen, spare him!" Teacher He pleaded. "Make him work—"
***BANG.***
The bullet silenced the whimpering. Twilight painted Zhang's silhouette gold, her shadow stretching across the golf course like a requiem.
——
That night, Zhang sat on the rooftop clutching the Cube. Below, guards burned the corpses, cornstalks crackling in the pyre. The rescued woman slept fitfully in the infirmary, IV drips feeding her broken body.
"Why… why do they do this?" Zhang whispered.
The Cube sparked as it soldered walkie-talkies. "Humans are messy equations. Three survivors left? They'll still find reasons to hate."
At dawn, Zhang unfurled the national flag. The Cube broadcast the anthem through salvaged speakers. Students gathered—some wary, others grateful. Fatty Wang and Gao Dong stood at attention, water droplets glinting on freshly scrubbed faces.
As the red banner climbed the pole, the anthem swelled. Survivors emerged from buildings, tears streaking dusty cheeks. Even Dahei sat upright, pups quiet at her paws.
The Cube observed the scene, its logic core parsing the contradictions—fear and hope, cruelty and resilience. Somewhere beyond the mountains, enhanced zombies stirred. But here, beneath the rising sun, humanity's stubborn flame flickered on.
"Next objective," it murmured, "upgrade defenses… and find that tractor."