My Seed Gives Systems In The Apocalypse

"You want more food? We just ate a couple hours ago, brother." Harry said with a shake of his head as he looked at his friend, Dickens.

"I..." Dickens coughed, pressing a hand in front of his mouth as he held onto the shelves for support.

"Are you okay?" Harry moved closer, wanting to support him but blocked by the makeshift wall between them.

"Yeah..." Dickens replied, "Just hungry. Stress eating."

He still kept his head hung low, one hand pressed over his mouth as he coughed occasionally.

Harry turned to look at Jacob, the man in charge. "We can part with a biscuit or something for my friend at least, yes?"

Jacob stared at Dicken’s awkward, weird stance before shrugging, "Of course, Harry."

Harry smiled happily, looking back at his friend with a proud expression as if he accomplished something great and Dickens should be glad to have a friend like him.

"What do you wanna eat, bro? Chips? Biscuits? Maybe another cup noodles? Or something like fruits? Fruits would be a good choice because they would soon go bad anyway. Why not consume them first?" He asked while suggesting.

"You." Dickens stared up towards Harry.

Harry stepped backwards in fright. His eyes were red. Bloodshot. The kind that you would get from smoking top quality weed for hours straight.

"What...?" He said in disbelief.

"Your wish. Means I will eat what you decide... Harry." Dickens coughed more violently, pressing harder against the shelves as metal creaked slightly under the force.

"Oh." Harry gulped down his saliva, feeling like something was wrong as he cleared his throat, "I-I will bring you a packet or chips and some water then. One second."

Saying that, he quickly dipped, making his way down the boxes as he found the chips and water he was looking for.

Jacob watched the entire situation unfold, as he glanced at the redenning bloodshot eyes that Dickens had at the moment.

His instincts were tingling, warning him that there was something wrong... very wrong with this man.

And, he believed his instincts. He never doubted them.

But he didn’t do anything as he remained where he was, his brain in the hyperfocused mode as he stared at a requirement under Max’s list...

[ 3. Target Max believes himself to be always correct. Make him regret a decision dearly. ]

Jacob never considered himself to be a good guy. He knew that he wasn’t one and there was no need to pretend otherwise.

That was one reason why he was good at diplomacy.

A bad person is good at making others believe he is good, while it’s quite easy for people to mistake a good person’s deeds as bad.

The moment Jacob saw the third requirement again, he turned to glance at Christine, who appeared way more haggard than she used to a day ago.

Infection hadn’t been kind on her, especially psychologically.

’Max... oh Max... blame your requirements for being so cruel.’ Jacob thought in his mind quietly, as he pulled down his cowboy hat and pulled out a small gourd he had been storing in the inner pocket of his neon jacket.

He watched Harry carry over the food back towards Dickens and keeps them on the shelf, a little shaken by the violent coughs and those bloodshot eyes.

Harry maintained his distance, even when Dickens coughed out blood, splattering it onto the ground as he struggled to grab the bottle of water.

"Ha...rry. Please. Help me." Dickens looked up, his curly hair falling over his face, his eyes bloodshot and blood trickling down his chin.

Harry took a shaky breath as he whispered, "N-No, you can tell me from there. I- I don’t think you’re feeling okay right now, Dickens. Go rest a bit, yes?"

He was talking like he was speaking to a child, consoling and persuading them to stop playing around and go to sleep.

"Help me..." Dickens’s voice turned slightly hoarse, his grip tightening on the metal shelves as he yanked onto them hard, scraping the iron against the tiles underneath.

The entire storage area turned deathly silent, everyone’s gaze turning towards the ongoing ’drama’.

It was clear that Dickens wasn’t feeling good.

The female from Max’s team pulled out her pistol, her gaze focused onto Dickens while Andrea also slid her hand towards her back.

The gun was heavy, heavier after considering that Fredrinn had not just shot zombies with it, but also humans.

However, he had left it with her for a reason. It was to protect her, and she felt glad that he did it.

She gulped her saliva, beckoning Rhea to come towards her as Naomi huddled closer without being asked. Being besides Andrea was the safest option at the moment.

"Go back to your resting spot, Dickens." Jacob’s calm, cold voice cut through the room as Dickens snapped his face towards the ridiculously dressed man.

A low growl escaped his lips, his fists clenchening as he stared at Jacob.

For Dickens, both Harry and Jacob weren’t looking like fellow humans anymore.

His mind began to get damaged, replacing Jacob with a large Mexican taco, topped with a nacho hat and clothes made out of salsa.

While Harry looked like a double bacon cheeseburger.

"JACOB! THAT DUDE IS TURNING! GET US OUT OF HERE!" Christine’s high pitched, feminine shriek not only attracted Jacob, but also Dickens.

His face twisted into a grin as he turned around to look at the woman. Her long, thin legs. The bulge along the chest.

She looked so good... so tender... so tantalizing.

Saliva dripped down Dickens’s lips. The other foods were locked away, behind heavy things... protected.

But the chicken in front of him? It was defenseless. She was defenseless.

"HELP! JACOB! ANYONE! MAYA, HELP ME!"

Christine’s face paled when she realized that Dickens was now focused onto her.

The space that was for infected wasn’t that much, considering there were only three left after getting rid of the unchosens.

Christine instantly threw everything away, dashing in Maya’s direction.

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