Pickle stood there watching, clearly frustrated—there was nothing he could do about it.

But this wasn't over. Not even close.

Just as the Recon Corvette climbed higher into the sky, it suddenly gave a violent shudder.

"Huh…?" Pickle raised an eyebrow. Something was definitely off.

…

Inside the Recon Corvette, red lights flashed across the control panel. The onboard AI kept blaring warnings—energy reserves were nearly depleted.

Big Ears turned around and shouted, "Shrimpy! We're outta juice—go swap in a new crystal core!"

"Uh…" Shrimpy scratched his head and didn't move an inch.

"We can't swap it."

"What? Why not?"

"'Cause we already used the last one," Shrimpy said matter-of-factly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Big Ears stared at him, dumbfounded. He was speechless.

The other zombies in the squad fell silent too.

The only sound left was the AI's relentless warning chime, echoing through the cockpit. The red lights on the console blinked faster and faster.

The ship started shaking violently, and it was clear—it was going down.

Big Ears felt a wave of panic. Seriously? They'd just finished mocking Pickle, and now their ride was out of power?

"Talk about a rough start…!"

"Big Ears, think of something—fast!" Mist called out, her voice tense.

Big Ears's eyes darted around, but there weren't many options left. "Only thing we can do now is send out a signal—call for backup from the other zombies!"

"Who do we call?" Shrimpy asked quickly.

"Everyone! Blast it out to all channels!"

Big Ears didn't hesitate. Things were spiraling fast, and they didn't have the luxury of being picky. Whoever could help, they needed them now.

They used up the last of the Corvette's energy to send out a distress signal.

Right after that, a gut-wrenching drop hit them.

The Recon Corvette lost all control and began a rapid descent.

The world spun around them as the ship plummeted toward the ground.

"Heh heh heh…" From a distance, Pickle watched the whole thing unfold, and couldn't help but grin from ear to ear.

Not so smug now, huh?

Outta juice, are we?

And then he noticed something else—the spot where Big Ears and the others were crash-landing? It just so happened to be smack in the middle of a zombie nest. One that was currently under the control of Heartland's Zombie King.

"Wait a sec… isn't that Queen Thornessa's turf?" Pickle muttered to himself.

He couldn't help but think those four unlucky bastards had just hit the jackpot.

They were about to meet her.

"Let's go! We gotta get over there—this is gonna be good."

…

The Recon Corvette plummeted fast, slamming into the dirt with a bone-jarring crash. It skidded across the ground, tearing up earth, until it finally smashed into a massive boulder and came to a smoking halt.

The hull was wrecked, smoke billowing from the twisted metal.

The four members of the "Overlord Squad"—Big Ears and his crew—kicked open the warped hatch and stumbled out.

They leaned on each other for support, grimacing in pain, looking like they'd just been through hell.

"Hnnngh… my poor back," Shrimpy groaned, clutching his lower spine. "Feels like my damn spine snapped in half."

"It didn't," Mist said, trying to reassure him. "Once we get through this mess, I'll catch you a couple of mutant lobsters to help you recover."

The moment Shrimpy heard "lobsters," his eyes lit up like headlights. Suddenly, his back didn't hurt anymore. His legs weren't sore either. He was practically glowing.

"You better not forget that, I'm holding you to it!"

"Geez, Shrimpy, you're already thinking about the future?" Locomotive cut in, scanning the area. "Let's focus on staying alive first. Take a look around—where the hell are we?"

They were surrounded by jagged boulders, clearly inside a zombie nest. The place felt familiar—they'd been through plenty of these while working the pig farms. But something was off.

The towering yellow rocks were now covered in thick, purple brambles. The vines were crawling up the stone like veins, and their branches were lined with razor-sharp thorns—like steel needles hanging upside down.

The brambles were everywhere, choking the terrain.

"What the hell is this plant? We've only been gone a few days—how'd it grow this fast?" Shrimpy asked, curiosity written all over his face.

"This isn't right… something's seriously wrong," Mist muttered. She was an expert in the "Ultimate Survival Code," and her instincts were screaming.

But aside from the brambles, the place was dead silent. No other zombies around. No movement. No obvious danger.

Big Ears scanned the area, his oversized ears twitching. "Doesn't matter. Pickle's gonna be on our tail any second. We need to find a place to hide—fast. If he catches us, we're toast."

"Yeah," the others nodded in agreement.

They'd just finished mocking Pickle. If he caught them now? They didn't even want to imagine the payback.

Without wasting another second, the four of them took off, heading toward the pig farm they knew like the back of their hands. They figured they could use the terrain to their advantage and shake Pickle off their trail.

But the moment they left, the purple brambles behind them began to stir—subtle, slithering, like they were alive. And they silently followed the zombies' footsteps…

"This place is perfect," Shrimpy whispered as they reached the pig farm. "We duck in here, and Pickle'll never find us."

A few minutes later, they arrived. Mist spotted a clearing piled high with old hay—dry, yellowed, and scattered all over the place. It looked like it hadn't been touched in ages. Messy, loose, and perfect for hiding.

"Gotta hand it to you, Mist," Big Ears said, giving her a thumbs-up. "You really know how to pick a spot."

Using the environment to avoid danger? That was Survival Rule #3 in Mist's Ultimate Survival Code.

Without hesitation, the four zombies dove headfirst into the hay, burying themselves completely.

Then—total stillness.

Not a sound.

"No way anyone finds us in here," Big Ears thought, feeling a little smug.

The zombie nest was massive—practically the size of a city. Trying to find four zombies in this place would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.

"We just need to lay low until backup arrives," Locomotive whispered. "Then we're in the clear."

They all lay there, motionless, buried under the hay, trying not to breathe too loud.

But the hay completely blocked their view—like pulling a blanket over your head. They had no idea what was going on outside.

"…Something feels off," Big Ears muttered, frowning.

With his [Hyper Hearing] ability, he picked up something faint—something crawling.

"Big Ears, what is it?" Shrimpy whispered.

"I think… something's moving. Crawling."

"Crawling?" The others tensed up, their expressions darkening.

They trusted Big Ears' hearing. Everything else about him might be exaggerated, but that ability? That was the real deal.

"Maybe we should… peek out, just to be safe?" Shrimpy suggested. "I mean, what are the odds we get caught the second we poke our heads out?"

"Alright…" Big Ears agreed. He was getting uneasy too.

He reached forward to part the hay—but the moment his fingers touched it, a sharp pain shot through his hand.

"OW! Damn it!" he yelped, yanking his hand back like he'd been electrocuted.

He looked down and saw blood oozing from a fresh cut on his finger.

"Great. I'm wounded again!" he groaned, scowling. "Last time I got hurt was during that showdown with Chompers—he bit two holes in my ear!"

"Oh, come on. It's just a scratch," Locomotive said, rolling his eyes. "You keep whining and the wound'll heal before you're done."

He reached forward to clear the hay himself—and that's when he saw it.

The thing that had cut Big Ears.

A thick, purple bramble, covered in vicious thorns…

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