Dean gasped as he bolted upright, his chest heaving. He felt...warm. Not the chilling grip of death or the agonizing pain of an infected bite—just the soft embrace of his old, familiar bed. His hands shot up to his face, feeling smooth skin where there should have been scars. His legs, once battered and weak, were strong and unscathed.
His eyes darted to the calendar on the nightstand. March 23, 2025.
His heart nearly stopped. Five years before the outbreak.
Memories of his gruesome death played in his mind—cornered, out of bullets, feeling rotten hands tear into him. Yet, here he was, alive. Back in time.
A rush of emotions threatened to overwhelm him. Relief. Confusion. Terror. But Dean had been a survivor, and survivors didn't waste time questioning miracles. They acted.
He scrambled out of bed and rushed to the window. Outside, the city moved like it always had before the fall. Cars honked, people walked the streets with coffee in hand, oblivious to the hell they were doomed to face.
No fires. No panicked screams. No walking corpses.
He grabbed his phone. Social media, news sites—nothing. No reports of strange infections, no military lockdowns. It was real. He was really back.
Dean knew one thing: the world had a deadline. Five years. It sounded like a long time, but it wasn't. The apocalypse didn't just start one day; it built up in the shadows—government experiments, black-market bio-weapons, corporate greed. He had seen it happen once. He wouldn't let it happen again.
He couldn't waste a second.
First, money. In the apocalypse, cash meant nothing. But now? Now it was his ticket to survival. He checked his bank account—pathetically low. That had to change. He needed to invest, save, and build resources.
Second, location. His old apartment was useless when the world burned. He needed land, an underground shelter, somewhere isolated. Somewhere the dead wouldn't reach.
Third, weapons and supplies. Guns, ammo, non-perishable food, medicine—everything had to be stockpiled in advance. When the world fell apart, supermarkets and gun stores became death traps. He wouldn't be scavenging like before. This time, he would be ready.
Dean took a deep breath, letting reality settle in. He had done the impossible. He had a second chance. This time, he wouldn't just survive. He would win.
He picked up his phone and made his first call—to a realtor.
Step one: find the perfect place to build his future.