HOTD: My .38 will solve everything

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(3rd POV)

A man could be seen sprinting down the hallways of a school, desperately evading the undead creatures that pursued him. By his side, a stunning woman clung to his arm, her voluptuous figure accentuated by the disheveled state of her torn clothes. Her elegant red hair cascaded wildly over her shoulders, and her glasses sat slightly askew on her face, fogged up from the heat of her breath. Her makeup was smeared from the tears she had shed upon witnessing her colleagues being devoured and transformed into the very monsters that now surrounded them.

The man suddenly halted, placing a firm hand in front of her in a silent gesture to keep quiet. He carefully peeked around the corner. The corridors were swarming with zombies, yet they stood aimlessly, not attacking—just as he had suspected. They were blind. They only responded to sound.

A smirk played on his lips as he bent down and picked up an abandoned shoe from the floor. It wasn't like its owner would need it anymore.

With a calculated toss, he sent the shoe flying through a closed window. The glass shattered upon impact, producing a loud, echoing crash. Instantly, the zombies turned in unison, their primal instincts driving them toward the noise. Without hesitation, they stumbled forward, some even falling from the upper floors in a mindless attempt to reach the sound's source.

The path was clear.

"Move," he whispered, grabbing the woman's hand. They sprinted down the hallway, dodging lifeless bodies and overturned furniture as they made their way toward their destination—the school's parking lot.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of weaving through corridors and evading death, they arrived. His car stood there, a beacon of salvation amidst the chaos. A black Chevy Suburban—armored, turbocharged, and modified for max efficiency and speed. A beast of a vehicle, built for survival.

Without wasting another second, they jumped in. The doors slammed shut, and the engine roared to life as the man hit the gas, tearing through the school gates and into the uncertain future that lay ahead.

The woman exhaled sharply, sinking into the seat as the tension slowly drained from her body. Relief washed over her face.

Then, suddenly, everything faded to gray. The world around the man froze, the movement of time halting as if trapped in a memory.

Only he remained in color.

Turning his head, he looked directly at the unseen audience, a sly grin creeping onto his face.

"Well, you guys are probably wondering how all this shit happened, huh? Guess we'll have to go back… six months."

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(Flashback: Six Months Ago)

A groggy voice mumbled in confusion.

"Hhmmm… what the—where am I?"

His eyes fluttered open, revealing an unfamiliar ceiling above him. He sat up abruptly, scanning his surroundings. A bedroom—one he didn't recognize. Panic threatened to set in, but then, like a tidal wave, memories flooded his mind.

Memories of his death.

He had been driving. A truck. Then, out of nowhere, a bald Japanese man in a ridiculous yellow bodysuit and a white cape had appeared. And then—impact.

"…What the fuck?"

The pain of his headache was immense, but the information his brain was processing was even more overwhelming. The knowledge of this new body, its past, its abilities—it was all coming to him at once.

He had powers.

Not the godlike, overpowered kind found in isekai stories, but still—useful. He could see stats and information about people and objects. Not a full system, but something close. And that meant one thing:

He had to figure out what kind of world he was in.

Stumbling to his feet, he made his way to the bathroom. A mirror stood before him, reflecting a young man with short, naturally blond hair, piercing blue eyes, and a toned, athletic physique. His European-white skin was smooth, and his body was well-conditioned—evidence of years of martial arts training. He was tall, standing at 1.81 meters, with a solid weight of 85 kilograms.

"Damn… not bad," he mused, admiring his reflection. He was naked. His eyes drifted downward. "…Not bad at all."

Shaking off the distracting thought, he refocused. He needed answers.

From what he could gather, his name was Marcus, he was an immigrant in Japan, an Italian-Brazilian to be precise. His body's memories told him he had undergone military training, was skilled in Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu and Karate, and had experience with firearms.

All of this could prove useful.

Making his way downstairs, he rummaged through paperwork, searching for clues. Then he found it—the name of his new school: Fujimi Academy.

His blood ran cold.

"Wait a second… I know that name…"

Flipping through more documents, he confirmed it.

"Holy shit. I'm in High School of the Dead?"

A shiver ran down his spine. He wasn't just in a world of anime and manga—he was in this world. A world teetering on the edge of the apocalypse. And he had no idea how much time he had left.

His mind raced. He needed to prepare. He needed weapons, skills, a plan—

A car.

Rushing to his garage, he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight before him. A sleek, black Chevy Suburban sat there, pristine and waiting. His heart pounded as he analyzed it.

"6.5 V8 diesel… Damn good, but it could be better."

He smirked. "With the right modifications, I could add turbo and supercharge and make it more powerful."

Survival wasn't just about strength. It was about strategy. And he was going to make damn sure he was ready when the world fell apart.

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(Marcus POV)

I drove toward the school, my mind still reeling from the revelations of the morning. As I pulled up to the front gates of Fujimi Academy, a familiar figure caught my eye.

A woman.

Tall, curvaceous, strikingly beautiful, with long red hair and glasses that rested elegantly on her nose. But the way she looked at me—suspicious, almost hostile—made me pause.

She approached with purpose, her sharp eyes locked onto mine.

"Who are you? What do you want, stranger?" she demanded in Japanese.

I blinked. Wait—why could I understand her?

No time to think. I needed to play it cool.

I activated my ability, scanning her. Name: Kyoko Hayashi. My eyes widened slightly.

Shit… I really am in HighSchool Of The Dead.

She frowned, waiting for my response. I forced a casual smile.

"I'm a transfer student from Brazil. Name Marcus Di Balla. I start next month," I said smoothly. "I just wanted to check out the school beforehand. Maybe get a tour?"

She studied me, clearly skeptical. But I wasn't focused on that.

Because in my mind, only one thought echoed:

I need to survive this nightmare.

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