Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse With My Military System

The woman's desperate cries echoed through the club, "Let me go!" She struggled fiercely, her arms twisting and turning in a futile attempt to free herself from the vice-like grip of the armed men. Their faces filled with grins.

Around them, the club's patrons continued with their activities, their attention unwavering from their own concerns. It was as if her plight was just another background noise, barely registering in their consciousness.

From the distance, a singular figure began to emerge. Steady, unwavering steps brought him closer. His eyes locked onto the scene, a simmering intensity evident. It was clear he wasn't just another bystander; he was approaching with intent.

"Let her go," Graves demanded. 

"Huh? A foreigner huh?" said one of the armed men derisively. "This is none of your business, walk away now or we will make it your business," the man continued the threat in his voice unmistakable. He shifted his stance, a clear sign that he was ready for a confrontation.

Graves' eyes never left the woman's, signaling a silent promise. Then, turning to face the armed men, his voice was calm but firm. "You have one chance. Let her go."

The other patrons in the club seemed to sense the brewing tension. Conversations hushed and eyes discreetly shifted towards the unfolding scene.

The second-armed man, seemingly the first man, sized Graves up. "You really think you can take us both on? In a place where we call the shots?"

Graves responded without hesitation, "I don't need to take you on. I'm just telling you to let her go," Graves retorted. 

"You're out of your depth, foreigner."

"Last chance," Graves warned. 

"Look at this prick, we protect you from zombies and this is how you'll treat us?" said the man who seemed to be the one in control with a scoff, he turned around, and then suddenly delivered a right hook towards Graves. But Graves, with his trained reflexes, anticipated the move. He swiftly dodged to the left, his eyes never leaving his opponent. The punch swung through the air, missing its target.

Utilizing the missed punch, Graves quickly countered. He lunged forward, delivering a well-aimed jab to the man's midsection. The force of the blow was enough to make the man double over, gasping for air. The crowd around them had gone silent, watching the confrontation unfold.

The second man rushed at Graves, attempting to tackle him to the ground. Graves, however, was ready. He sidestepped again, and as the man passed, he grabbed his arm and used the momentum to throw him onto a nearby table, causing drinks and poker chips to scatter.

The second man had recovered and came to Graves once more. But he was no match for the trained soldier. Graves ducked a wild punch and delivered a series of strikes to the man's ribs and face. The man stumbled and fell to the floor, out of the fight.

Graves turned his attention back to the first man, who was now on his feet again, looking both enraged and wary. He charged at Graves with a roar, but Graves remained calm, his stance steady. As they clashed, Graves skillfully dodged and countered each attack. A powerful right hook from Graves connected with the first man's jaw, sending him crashing to the ground, unconscious.

The second man, infuriated that he couldn't land a hook, pulled up his M9 Beretta pistol from the holster and aimed it at Graves.

The hair back on Graves's neck stood up as he sensed the impending danger. He had mere seconds to react. Without missing a beat, Graves lunged forward, closing the distance between himself and the gunman.

Using his speed and agility, he grabbed the arm that held the pistol, directing it upward just as the man pulled the trigger. The gunshot was loud, a deafening bang that rang through the club, followed by the shattering of a light fixture above them.

With the gun now pointed away, Graves twisted the gunman's wrist sharply, forcing him to release the weapon. In a continuous motion, he delivered a precise elbow strike to the man's temple. The man crumpled to the floor, unconscious next to his comrade. 

Graves stood tall amidst the chaos he'd just neutralized. The pistol lay between them, smoke curling up from the barrel. 

The once-indifferent patrons now stared in disbelief. The dominance of the two armed men, which seemed unquestionable moments before, had been disrupted by one determined outsider. Graves picked up the discarded pistol.

He examined the weapon for a moment, the silence in the club was palpable. He was well-versed with this model, an M9 Beretta, a common sidearm. The onlookers watched him, waiting for his next move. The woman, her initial fright giving way to a combination of relief and curiosity, also observed Graves.

In a swift motion,  Graves engaged the safety and expertly disassembled the pistol. He ejected the magazine, and the cartridges slid off the top assembly and separated the barrel from the slide. The individual parts clinked as he set them down on a nearby table. 

After that, he turned around and faced the young woman who seemed to be in her late teens. "Are you okay, miss?" 

"I'm okay…thank you for standing up to me." 

"Why are they pulling you in the first place? Is it about the debt you incurred?" Graves asked.

"Most of the menial jobs are taken, and the pay is low. I-I borrowed chips so I can gamble and give myself a decent place to sleep and food to eat—I lost…"

Graves understood her circumstances quickly. For someone like her, having a private room would be best for her as she could protect herself from the lecherous scums that are housed in this camp. She couldn't blame her for going as far as to gamble if her opportunities were limited. 

If he were to adopt a laissez-faire stance, worse and traumatic things could have happened to her. It's something that his conscience couldn't allow. He took a brief look at the unconscious men on the floor.

He had beaten the security personnel of the camp, so the consequences were already obvious to him. 

"Should I turn myself in?" Graves thought to himself.

Moments later, twenty armed guards entered the club, their rifles and pistols aimed at Graves.

Graves raised his hand, accepting his fate. 

The men aiming their weapons at him parted in the middle as a tall bulky middle-aged man walked through. 

His eyes examined Graves, then they shifted to the unconscious security personnel on the floor and then back to Graves.

"Not a day has passed since you were admitted to this camp and you have already caused a ruckus. An electrical engineer beat two of my men in a fistfight it seems, with one of them even firing a gun. My first impression of you was correct, you are no ordinary man. Explain to me why it has come to this?" 

"Well, they are taking this woman away," Graves responded, nodding toward the young woman. "I understand that there are strict rules in this camp but going as far as to do things I can't even bring myself to say, is something I can't accept." 

"Oh, that's a good word you got there. But sadly, this is how the world works now. Didn't I explain it to you? I believe that woman has debts that need to be repaid, she can either pay it the other way or we will kick her out."

"I have chips, I can pay her debts," Graves offered. "In fact, I might even buy her." 

The Boss smirked "You'd do that to a woman you barely even know? That is dangerous, you know?"

"What's dangerous about saving someone?" 

"Oh you will find it out soon," the Boss's lips curled into a sinister smile. "Alright, If you can pay her debt, she's yours."