Man Eats Man - 1

The aircraft maintenance hangar was completely empty. Expecting to find parked planes, Wang Chen instead found only the scattered ashes of bonfires and broken tools littered across the floor. Yet, he dared not lower his guard. Holding his military dagger, he swept his gaze across the vast hangar to ensure there were no living threats before shifting his attention to a pile of debris in the corner. Weng Dachun did the same. While Wang Chen kept watch over the debris, Weng led the soldiers to pry open the tool cabinets along the side of the hangar, thoroughly checking every conceivable hiding spot. Once he was certain no half-decayed zombies would pop out, he turned back and rejoined Wang Chen by the debris pile.

A separate cluster of bones lay beside the pile. Wang Chen casually picked up a long, pale bone. It was completely stripped of periosteum, blood, tendons, and marrow, and clearly bore several gnaw marks. He measured it against his leg, and his gaze instantly sharpened. He signaled for caution, then used the bone to gently nudge the pile aside. Sure enough, several skulls of varying sizes lay hidden underneath.

This was certainly not the work of zombies. Those brainless, walking corpses would never eat anything so clean and neatly stack the bones afterward. That meant it was the work of living people.

Were the living eating the living? Or were they eating zombies?

What a uniquely apocalyptic discovery.

Carefully observing the pile of debris, which stood over a meter high and consisted of soft items like clothing, plastic sheets, and plastic boards, Wang Chen and Weng Dachun exchanged glances. While keeping the soldiers on high alert, the two men each picked up a bone with one hand and cautiously peeled back the layers of junk. As the debris was gradually cleared, a huddled, shrimp-like human figure emerged. Judging by the skin color and a frame shrunk down to a skeleton, this was clearly the hangar's final "resident."

Wang Chen first nudged the corpse with his foot, then reached out to touch its mud-caked neck, confirming that it was a completely desiccated mummy rather than someone merely frozen who might still be saved. He then drew his military dagger, flicked his wrist, and drove the blade into the back of the corpse's head. He casually wiped the pulled blade against the body, stood up, and softly said, "Clean up this junk and haul it outside. We can notify Academician Tu to set up the camp inside the hangar."

"Oh? Oh, right. Chen Xin, go notify Professor Tu." Weng Dachun pulled down his face guard, took a breath of the frigid air, and gestured to the other soldiers. "Stop standing around. You guys help clear the stuff out." Seeing Wang Chen bend down to lift the skeleton, Weng Dachun hurriedly stopped him. "Hey, leave that kind of work to the soldiers. You and I can go smoke a cigarette over there and take a break."

Wang Chen found Weng Dachun's attitude a bit peculiar. Previously, they had been merely polite to one another, but now there was a deliberate effort to curry favor. Of course, he wouldn't reject Weng's gesture. He picked up a notebook lying beside the corpse's hand, patted the dust off it, intending to see what was recorded inside, and nodded. "Alright."

The two men strolled over to the tool cabinets on the side and lit up their cigarettes. Weng Dachun immediately asked, "Can I take a look at your military dagger?"

Noncommittal, Wang Chen drew the dagger, reversed it, and handed it over. Weng Dachun took the weapon, toyed with it for a moment, and nodded. "Truly a fine piece of gear. Did you make it yourself?"

"No, I got it a while back from a motorized infantry regiment's ammunition depot. If you like it, I brought two spares. I'll give you one later."

"No, no need. I was just curious. I'm still used to my own combat knife." Weng Dachun returned the dagger. On the surface, he maintained a casual, desultory chat with Wang Chen, but his mind was racing.

As a veteran—and one privy to a fair bit of inner intelligence—Weng Dachun had heard all sorts of absurd rumors. After all, with the arrival of the apocalypse, bizarre tales ran rampant: enhancement serums, nanorobotic wound repair fluids, pure biological exoskeleton armor, the reactivation of a Northwest alien base, and the highest authorities building a spaceship to flee to the stars. Those were relatively sci-fi rumors with some scientific foundation. As for the more outlandish myths about summoning deities, almighty diamond miracle pills, zombie-freezing talismans, and scripture-protected safehouses, they were utterly ridiculous—the kind of nonsense meant only for fools.

At the same time, as a veteran—especially a level-three sergeant who had narrowly survived the outbreak—facing the end of the world was both a misfortune and a massive opportunity. It gave him plenty of chances to earn military merits and climb the ranks. If Weng Dachun could maintain stable tactical proficiency, or even improve it, his chances of surviving and succeeding in various future missions would naturally increase significantly. His military career would undoubtedly go further and higher. In the current era of severe military talent shortages, even with poor military academy entrance exam scores, a meteoric rise was within reach.

Yet reality was cruel. Weng Dachun knew his own limits. Years of high-intensity training had drained his physical potential, and past thirty, all aspects of his body had begun a downward trend. Knowing his strength fell short yet stubbornly gritting his teeth to push through would not only ruin himself but also doom the brothers who lived and died with him. Therefore, while these days he still played the role of the firm yet fair older brother on the surface, inside he was tormented and wracked with a turbulent mix of unwillingness and bitter resignation. The enhancement serum had naturally become the straw he repeatedly clutched at to save his life. He desperately wanted to know what kind of actual effects this enhancement serum could produce.

Now, with Wang Chen standing right before him as a living example, Weng Dachun naturally had to observe him closely. Initially, Weng hadn't held out much hope. In his view, a young man who had relied on drugs to enhance his body for merely a few months might surpass ordinary soldiers or veterans like himself—whose physical fitness had begun to decline past thirty—in sheer stamina and endurance. However, in terms of experience, technique, and operational precision, Wang Chen should still fall far short. He might even suffer from loss of coordination due to a sudden surge in strength. But the effortless, clean execution of that single dagger strike Wang Chen had just demonstrated completely changed Weng Dachun's mind.

Amateurs watch the spectacle; professionals watch the technique.

There is a gap between the foramen magnum of the human occipital bone and the atlas vertebra—a rare spot at the back of the head unprotected by hard bone. Find the right angle and position, drive the blade in with minimal force, and you can easily destroy the cerebellum, brainstem, and cerebrum. The theory was simple enough, but considering the defenses forged by millions of years of human skeletal evolution, just how small do you suppose that gap is? It is only wide enough to allow the skull to rotate on the cervical spine! Trying to easily breach that defense with a military dagger—how could it possibly be that simple?!

Even a veteran like Weng Dachun, who treated his combat knife like his own child and could perhaps guarantee hits to the back of the head every time, wouldn't dare claim he could execute it with the effortless grace Wang Chen had shown.

Since the dagger came from a motorized infantry regiment's ammunition depot, Wang Chen couldn't have had it for long—probably less than two months. To master the dagger so proficiently in such a short time, successfully piercing the narrow gap between the foramen magnum and the atlas without the slightest obstruction—either Wang Chen was a cold-weapon genius with an innate understanding of human anatomy, or the enhancement serum had comprehensively upgraded his physique. It wasn't just physical strength; neural reflexes, endurance, explosive power, and precision had all been elevated. Looking at Wang Chen's appearance and temperament, he had nothing to do with the word "genius." Ultimately, the reason he possessed such skill could only be the latter.