Chapter 1
1520words
It was a smell unique to zombies—rotting flesh, putrid blood, and exposed entrails. Ten years had passed, and he'd thought himself immune to it. But pinned beneath hundreds of undead, that stench became almost liquid, drilling into his nose and mouth. He realized then he'd never truly gotten used to it. Never could.
The sounds formed a symphony from hell. Endless hoarse moans. The crunch of bones between teeth. The wet squelch of tearing flesh. For ten years, these sounds had haunted his nightmares.
Now, the nightmare was real.
Jack's body felt like a rag doll, pulled apart by countless grasping hands and claws. Pain radiated from everywhere at once, impossible to pinpoint because everything hurt. His fire axe had vanished minutes ago. His last bullet, spent.
He was done.
But worse than the physical agony was the betrayal that cut to his core.
Seconds ago, he'd stood on the high wall, back against cold concrete, ready to trade his life for precious minutes so the women and children could escape. Mark—the base leader and the brother Jack had once saved from the horde—had placed a hand on his shoulder. "Jack," he'd said, voice solemn yet resolute, "you will always be our hero."
He believed it.
He'd turned to face the zombie tide surging beyond the wall, ready to meet his end.
Then came the shove from behind.
In that split second as he turned, Mark's face transformed from grief to cold calculation. Not the look of a comrade watching a hero die, but a chess player discarding a pawn.
Jack plummeted from the ten-foot wall like a precisely thrown piece of bait, straight into the thickest part of the horde.
He caught the momentary shock on the other guards' faces, followed by stunned silence.
He watched Mark turn away without a second glance.
"No——!"
Rage and hatred erupted from his chest like a volcano. Why? After fighting tooth and nail for ten years, this was how it ended? Why should a backstabbing coward like Mark survive?
He refused to accept this.
This thought was his last in this world. Then darkness and pain swallowed him whole.
...
...
Silence.
Dead silence.
No zombie growls. No stench of flesh and blood. Not even a whisper of wind.
Jack's eyes snapped open.
Above him stretched a ceiling both familiar and strange, with a yellowed rock band poster still taped to it. The air carried the acrid smell of cheap beer and dust.
This wasn't his bunk at the base with its crowded beds and moldy walls.
He bolted upright, moving too quickly for someone who'd just been torn apart. His body felt... fine. He stared at his hands—clean with slight calluses, the hands of a young man who did physical work.
Not the scarred, deformed knuckles of a doomsday survivor.
He wore a faded T-shirt instead of his blood-and-mud-stained combat fatigues.
Where was he? The afterlife? Or some hyper-realistic dream?
Jack's heart hammered in his chest, fear and wild hope mingling as an impossible thought formed. He scrambled out of bed and burst into the attached bathroom.
He slapped the wall switch.
With a click, an old incandescent bulb flickered to life—dim, but enough to banish the shadows.
Electricity...
Jack's breath caught. For ten years since the world ended, he'd seen nothing but the base's diesel generator running two hours daily. Never this steady, luxurious light.
He raised his eyes to the mirror.
A man in his early twenties stared back. Black hair, eyes still carrying the softness of peaceful times. No horrific scar running from eyebrow to chin. No crisscrossing wounds marking his body.
Him, yet not him.
This was him from ten years ago.
With trembling fingers, Jack turned the faucet.
Splash——
Clear, clean water gushed forth. Not the recycled, chemical-reeking water from the base, but actual, drinkable water.
He plunged his face into the sink, letting cold water cascade over his skin as he gulped air. The sensation felt too real.
This was no dream.
He had really... come back.
He stumbled back to the bedroom and snatched the smartphone from the nightstand. The screen lit up, showing a date burned into his memory—
Friday, May 14th.
Exactly one month before the global outbreak of the "Red Tide" virus.
Boom!
Jack's head exploded with memories. Ten years of hell. Ten years of desperate survival. Ten years of blood and fire—all crashing back at once, creating a jarring contrast with the peaceful world before him.
He was back! He really was back!
Then the hatred—that deep, death-suppressed rage—broke free like a beast from its cage, consuming him entirely.
Mark's face—that cold, calculating mask—loomed large in his mind.
He could still feel that fatal shove between his shoulder blades.
"Mark..."
Jack ground the name through clenched teeth. His fists balled tight, knuckles white. His body trembled with rage, eyes burning with enough hatred to incinerate worlds.
He wanted revenge.
He wanted Mark to suffer a thousand—no, ten thousand—times worse than death.
In the coming apocalypse, he wouldn't scrabble for survival like a dog begging for scraps. He would rise above them all, becoming the one who made the rules.
Hatred and bloodlust surged through him, threatening to shatter his sanity.
Then a cold, mechanical voice resonated in his mind.
[Detecting host's overwhelming resentment... Soul strength and survival will reaching critical threshold...]
Jack's body stiffened, fury instantly replaced by vigilance. Ten years of survival had taught him one crucial lesson: when facing the unknown, stay calm.
[Forcibly binding Apocalypse Survival System...]
[System activation successful!]
Semi-transparent text glowing pale blue appeared before his eyes like something from a sci-fi film.
Jack's pupils contracted slightly. He didn't panic or scream. After seeing zombies devour brains and people eat their own children to survive, this little light show wasn't enough to rattle him.
He narrowed his eyes like a wolf studying a trap, calmly analyzing the text.
A system? Some kind of cheat code?
[Rookie Mission issued: Your emotions are extremely unstable, approaching loss of control. Please angrily drink a glass of ice water within five minutes to force yourself to calm down!]
Jack nearly laughed at the absurdity.
Calm down?
After betrayal and death, then rebirth and a chance for revenge, who the hell could stay calm?
But he didn't hesitate.
Whatever this "system" was—divine gift or demonic trap—for a man with nothing, it was the only lifeline available.
He stalked to the humming mini-fridge, yanked open the freezer compartment, and found a single ice tray buried under frost. He knocked the cubes into a glass and filled it from the tap.
The ice cracked softly in the water as condensation beaded on the glass.
Jack grabbed the glass, tilted his head back, and gulped the ice water like whiskey.
The frigid liquid burned from throat to stomach, the cold shock instantly dampening his rage. Like a red-hot iron plunged into water, his anger hissed and subsided.
He slammed the empty glass onto the table.
[Task completed! Rookie Gift Package has been issued!]
[Reward: Dimensional Warehouse (initial space 1000 cubic meters), Mental Commands activated!]
[Reward: Unlimited Credit Card (no credit limit, no repayment required. Will automatically become void after doomsday and the collapse of the global financial system. Spend extravagantly!)]
Jack's breath caught as he read the rewards.
A thousand cubic meters? A space ten meters long, wide, and high—big enough for a small house! In the apocalypse, supplies meant life, and mobility meant survival. This was a portable armory and supermarket combined!
And that Unlimited Credit Card...
With civilization about to collapse, this card was worth more than all the gold on Earth.
A soft click sounded on the table.
Jack looked down to see a card beside his glass that hadn't been there before.
A matte black card with no logo, name, or numbers—just silver circuit-like patterns that caught the light with cold brilliance.
Jack reached out, and as his fingertips touched the card, he felt a cold, metallic sensation.
This was... real.
He closed his eyes and, following a sudden intuition, issued a Mental Command.
"Store."
The card vanished from his hand.
Simultaneously, he sensed a vast, dark cubic space in his mind, with the black card floating within it.
"Retrieve."
With a thought, the cold sensation returned to his fingertips. The black card materialized in his palm.
Success!
Ecstasy surged through him like electricity.
Jack didn't laugh. He simply curved his lips upward, slowly.
Not the relieved smile of a survivor, but the cold, cruel smile of a demon lord who'd just acquired a world-destroying weapon. A smile filled with naked ambition.
He remembered Mark, that condescending look he always wore.
He remembered every enemy from his past life. Every moment of suffering. Every ounce of pain.
This time, he'd pay it all back a thousandfold.
The black card in his hand was a key—a key to power and vengeance.
This world had just one month of peace remaining.
For everyone else, it was a countdown to doomsday.
For Jack, it was the beginning of hunting season.
