The infected—a somewhat overweight man in casual clothes—pushes himself up again, even after taking three shots from the modified nail gun. By all logic, he should be dead.
"How are you still moving?" I ask him.
Of course, he doesn't answer—just growls.
Then the nail lodged in his head slips out, clattering to the floor, and the hole it leaves behind… closes.
"…High-speed regeneration?"
That would explain why they don't stay down for long. But what kind of disease gives something like that?
"H—he's getting up!" Mimi warns.
"Right. Let me fix that."
I raise the improvised gun and fire again—this time into his knee. He collapses immediately.
That won't keep it down for long.
I step in, plant my foot firmly on his back to pin him, and fire into his limbs—nailing bone to floor.
"There. He's not getting up anytime soon," I say, glancing back at Mimi.
Even so… this is bad. It takes this much just to immobilize one.
My eyes drift to the other infected—the one I electrocuted.
Still down. But the burns… they're already fading.
So unless they're completely destroyed, they'll just… recover.
Impressive. If I didn't know better, I'd say these things were engineered.
I want to cut them open and figure out what makes them tick, but—
"Let's go," I say, grabbing my backpack and stepping over the ruined doorway.
—the mission comes first. I can study them later, once we reach the rendezvous point.
The corridor outside is… quiet.
Too quiet.
No pounding on the main entrance anymore. Either the infected have given up… or they've made it inside.
Given how relentless they are, I'm betting on the latter.
I motion for Mimi to stay silent and move forward.
We run into a few more infected, but a couple of well-placed shots to the knee deal with them quickly. It's not the most subtle approach, but we don't really have the luxury of taking things slow. Who knows how many infected followed us into the building.
Besides… I'm starting to get the hang of it. Hit the right spot, and the nail locks the joint completely, leaving them unable to stand. They can still crawl, sure—but as long as we keep moving, they won't catch us.
Another one lurches into the corridor.
I fire.
It drops instantly, its leg refusing to bend with the nail driven straight through bone.
Oh yeah, I'm getting real good at this.
We keep moving until a door makes me stop.
Something large and soft bumps into my back.
Mimi.
More specifically… her built-in "airbags."
My fault. I stopped too suddenly. But I ignore the sensation and focus on the door instead.
"Employees only," it read.
The entrance for the cleaning crew quarters.
"Perfect. We're going in there," I tell her.
She frowns at the door, clearly confused, but the distant growls behind us make her nod without arguing.
We slip inside and shut the door behind us—but we're far from safe.
The room opens into a massive storage area packed with cleaning equipment.
And infected.
Dozens of them.
All in cleaning uniforms.
"Huh… It's like they woke up and headed to work before the infection turned them," I mutter. "That's some job dedication."
"W—we should leave," Mimi whispers.
"Nope. This is exactly where we need to be. Stay close."
I raise the gun and move forward.
The infected notice us and begin shambling in our direction.
"Hm… I was expecting more running," I say under my breath. "Maybe the lack of sunlight slows the progression of the disease?"
Would explain why they crowd outside.
"They're getting close," Mimi warns.
"Right."
I fire, aiming for the head.
They drop, but I already know it won't last. Still, it knocks them out long enough for us to move.
"The worker quarters connect to a trash disposal conveyor," I explain between shots. "We can use it to reach the next building without going outside."
Another shot. Another infected down.
"Will we fit?" Mimi asks, sticking close behind me.
"Yeah. I've done maintenance on those plenty of times."
We just have to reach it.
Not easy with this many in the way.
I fire again.
Seriously, they're everywhere—
…Wait. Maybe not everywhere.
"Head for the changing rooms!" I yell.
"W—where's that?"
I gesture toward a side hallway while keeping the infected back with another volley.
Hey—didn't I already put you down?
Ugh. These infected… They just keep asking for more.
I fire again.
"We need to move!" I urge. "I'm running low on nails!"
She darts toward the hallway while I cover our backs.
"It's clear!" she calls after peeking into one of the rooms.
I figured as much. All the infected are already in uniform.
Alright—just get inside and—
…She picked the women's changing room.
I can't just enter—
Wait. Why not?
Ugh. Must be the meds still talking.
I step in—there's no distinction between sexes during an emergency—and shut the door behind us.
Okay, maybe there is some distinction. This place is definitely cleaner than the men's side.
"What do we do now?" Mimi asks, voice tight with panic. "We're trapped."
Right. Focus.
"The vents," I say, already moving toward the back wall.
There—grate's in place.
I pull out my tools and start unscrewing it. It'll take a minute, but the infected haven't gone full frenzy yet. The door should hold long enough for me to open the vent and close it back properly.
It'll be like we were never here.
The grate comes loose. I pull it off and motion for Mimi to go first.
She squeezes in… with some difficulty.
Her oversized chest makes it a tight fit. For a second, I'm not even sure she will get through—but somehow, she manages. It's a good thing her breasts are so malleable, or she wouldn't have slipped past the narrow opening.
I toss my backpack in after her, then climb in myself, pulling the grate back into place behind me.
We crawl through the vents, metal creaking softly under our weight, until we reach another hatch.
I peek through—no infected.
Good enough.
I push it open and drop down into what looks like a staff dining area. Tables, vending machines, coffee dispensers—
"Grrrumble!"
The sound cuts through the silence so sharply I nearly jump.
I turn to find Mimi clutching her stomach, face burning red.
"S—sorry, I—I," she stutters, fumbling through her pockets for a protein bar but only pulls out empty wrappers.
She ate them all already? Those aren't small snacks.
Where does she even stuff all that food in that tiny body—
Right, her chest, obviously.
I glance, and… It looks bigger.
Not by a little, either. The fabric stretched tighter than before, the outline fuller, heavier—barely contained.
I know gigantomastia can cause rapid breast growth but… that's not normal.
"Grrrmmble…"
Her stomach growls again. Loud.
I wince and glance around instinctively.
Yeah, that's going to attract attention if we're not careful.
I reach into my pocket, pull out my card, and hand it to her.
"Grab whatever you need from the vending machines," I tell her. "Don't hold back."
She looks at the card, then at me, a bit surprised, but nods.
"Th-thank you…"
While she heads for the machines, I move toward the coffee dispenser.
I go all out and treat myself to a chocolate mocha with vanilla sweet cream foam and extra caramel drizzle.
After everything I've been through, I've earned it.
I take a seat and savor the first sip, letting myself relax for a moment.
Then Mimi walks over, balancing a tray piled high with a steaming bowl of noodles, a massive slice of lasagna, and several pieces of pizza.
…That's a lot of food.
Is she really planning to eat all of that?
Mimi sets the tray down and, without much ceremony, lowers herself into the chair—her chest settling heavily onto the table with a soft thump, like it needs the support just to exist comfortably.
Then she starts eating.
And doesn't stop.
She finishes the noodles first. Then the lasagna. Then the pizza—slice after slice disappearing like it was nothing.
Gone.
All of it.
She barely pauses before standing back up and heading to the machines again.
"…Wait, seconds?" I mutter.
She comes back with even more food, and it vanishes just as quickly.
By the time she's on her third round, I'm just staring, my drink completely abandoned in my hand.
"…You really can eat," I finally say, unable to hold it in anymore. "I mean—wow."
She freezes mid-bite, cheeks turning bright red.
For a second, she just looks down at her plate.
Then she sighs softly.
"The doctors said my body is… using up nutrients really fast. For…" she gestures vaguely at her chest, still resting heavily against the table. "This."
I glance down despite myself.
…They do look bigger.
Not dramatically, but the fabric looks tighter than it did minutes ago. Like everything she just ate is already… being put to use.
"…How fast are we talking?" I ask, probably a bit too bluntly.
She shifts in her seat, clearly uncomfortable.
"…Two weeks ago," she says slowly, "I was… maybe a B-cup."
I stare at her.
"…Two weeks?"
She nods, looking away.
My brain immediately starts trying to process that.
B-cup… to… this?
In two weeks?
A single cup is a 2.5 cm increase in diameter. Estimating the circumference of a boob to calculate the volume increase…
That kind of growth rate is just abnormal.
"Do you… get any side effects from it?" I ask. "Pain? Soreness? Anything like that?"
"Not really," she says. "The doctors said I'm perfectly healthy."
That makes me blink.
"Perfectly healthy?" I repeat.
She nods, a little more confidently this time.
"Yeah. They said as long as I keep eating properly—like, a lot—there's no danger to my life."
I glance at her chest again.
No pain. No complications. Just… rapid growth.
That's… unheard of. Growth at that rate should come with all kinds of issues—tissue stress, metabolic collapse, or something. But she looks fine. More than fine, actually—aside from the constant hunger.
My fingers tap lightly against the table as thoughts start stacking up.
I wander how that works…
"Um… how many nails do you have left?" She suddenly says, clearly trying to change the subject.
I blink.
Right.
We're still in a building full of infected.
Focus, Dax.
I grab my backpack and rummage through it.
"Let's see… I've got…" I pull out the remaining supplies. "Two magazines left."
I look up at her.
"That should hold for now, as long as we don't get swarmed."
I slide the nail magazines into my pockets for quicker access, patting them into place.
"Still," I add, glancing toward the exits, "we shouldn't stick around too long."
Before we leave, Mimi makes a quick detour to the vending machines. I watch as she feeds in the card and starts grabbing more protein bars—a lot. She stuffs them into her pockets.
I, on the other hand, grab my drink and down the rest of it in one go. Sweet, warm, and full of caffeine to keep my brain going.
"Ready?" I ask.
Mimi nods, patting her overstuffed pockets.
We head out into the hallway, footsteps echoing softly against the tiled floor.
"Trash conveyor should be somewhere along the service corridors…" I mumble.