Dean had survived the apocalypse for years, outlasting countless horrors in the ruins of the old world. He had scavenged, fought, and endured, pushing forward even when hope seemed like a distant memory. But in the end, it was all for nothing. A horde larger than any he had ever seen overwhelmed his hideout. His weapons ran out of bullets, his body ran out of strength, and as the infected tore into him, he realized this was his end.
And yet, it wasn't.
With a gasp, Dean woke up—not in a ruined wasteland but in his old, familiar bedroom. The digital clock beside his bed read March 23, 2025, the exact day he remembered before the world fell apart. His heart pounded as he looked at his hands, unscarred, whole. His body wasn't battered and bruised. He was alive.
The apocalypse hadn't happened yet.
The memories of death and horror burned in his mind, but now, he had something precious: time. Time to prepare. Time to survive differently.
No one believed his warnings, of course. He was dismissed as paranoid, a lunatic speaking of things that would never happen. But he didn't need their belief. He needed action.
Dean dropped everything—his job, his social life, anything that wasn't necessary for survival. He was living alone since graduating without parents since birth the only person he can call parents are the nuns running the orphanage when he was young. The knowledge of his past life fueled his every decision. Every mistake he had made before, he corrected now.
Years passed, and as the world remained oblivious, Dean stood ready. The day he had marked on his calendar arrived. March 23, 2030. The day it all began.
The infection spread faster than anyone expected. Governments collapsed in weeks, cities became graveyards, and those who had laughed at Dean's warnings perished in the chaos. But this time, Dean wasn't caught in the madness. He watched from the safety of his bunker, listening to the screams through his shortwave radio.
He had done it. He had changed his fate.
But as the days stretched on in his solitary fortress, a chilling thought gnawed at him. If he had rewound time once, could it happen again? What if he was destined to relive this over and over? Would he wake up again, forced to prepare endlessly for a future that always came?
Or worse—what if this time, there was no escape?