I’m Jiang Zhuo, leader of Special Affairs Division Three, codename “Bluebird.”
When the apocalypse finally came and zombies slammed against the base gates with bloodcurdling howls, I was being blocked in my office by Number Nine, who wore a perfectly expressionless face.
He pushed up the glasses that didn’t even exist on his nose. “Team leader, you still haven’t submitted your Monthly Superpower Awakening Report. Three paper copies, and email a copy to the division chief and the archives department.”
Outside, Number One’s ice wall was developing a web of cracks as the mutated creatures battered it.
I took a deep breath and looked at the first line of the form: “Detailed description of superpower. Do not use vague words such as ‘probably’ or ‘possibly.’”
Beyond the window, beneath a blood-red sky, Number Seven’s vines were wrapping a three-meter-tall aberration up like a dumpling.
I picked up my pen and wrote in sharp strokes:
“Superpower: Word Command.
Specific effect: Any coworker who fails to submit a form must immediately report to Finance to collect three months’ base pay and write a three-thousand-word self-criticism.”
Number Nine went deathly pale and bolted.
I stood up and casually switched on the all-frequency communicator.
“Division Three, assemble.
Remember, our mission isn’t to eliminate the mutated creatures.
It’s to make it back alive and fill out the forms.”
