He stood, determination etched in his young face, but with the eyes of a veteran, eyes that had witnessed the collapse of civilization, the agony of extinction, and the absolute darkness of ultimate solitude. The game had begun, and Thiago, the last man of the future, was ready to play, but not by the rules the world expected. Every fiber of his being, from aching muscle to throbbing nerve, pulsed with a knowledge no one else possessed. The character sheet, still floating in the periphery of his mental vision, was a constant reminder of his new (and terrifying) reality.
His mind, a whirlwind of memories and calculations, revolved around the System. It wasn't a device, it wasn't an implanted chip. It was part of him, an extension of his own consciousness, accessible only by thought. The voice, soundless but with a clarity that pierced the chaos, was his guide, his oracle, his most dangerous secret. The prohibition resounded:If you reveal the existence of the system, you die.The coldness of the warning was absolute, a blood contract with an unknown entity that had somehow chosen him. He didn't know why, he didn't know the ultimate purpose of the greater entity that had granted him such a cursed gift, but the urgency to act was undeniable.
The System's mental shopping mall opened again at his silent command. He browsed through the categories, his eyes fixed on the "Skills" section. Fire Magic, Ice Magic, Healing Magic. He remembered the mages, the heroes and legends they became, and how, in the end, their powers were not enough. But Thiago had something they did not: knowledge of the future. He knew where they had failed, where defenses had given way, where hope had faded. He could see the Walls breaking, the Second Defense falling, the Bunker being overrun, not as distant images, but as scars on his own soul. He knew that Mana was the key to mastering these skills, and Expertise, the measure of how far he could take that power. The thought of setting an entire city ablaze was terrifying, but the image of New York in flames, consumed byPlague that devastated the land, it was even more.
He needed Mana. And for that, he needed crystals. And to get crystals, he needed zombies. But the zombies weren't there yet. Not yet. Seven days. It was a luxury he couldn't afford to waste. The first step was preparation.
The dorm, with its white walls and generic student furniture, looked like a cheap movie set about to be destroyed. The study table, covered in programming books and handouts, was a reminder of the life he had lost and now had a chance to regain, or at least protect. He glanced at the duffel bag discarded in the corner, an item that would soon become his second skin. He needed to empty it of books and fill it with survival supplies.
His mind, with its IT expertise, began to process data. Where to get money? He had a few bills in his wallet, but not enough. The nearest ATM would be operational for now. Then, food. Not just any food, but canned goods, granola bars, bottled water. Items that wouldn't perish, that could be stored. He remembered hunger, thirst, the desperate search for a piece of bread or a sip of clean water in the future.
The weapon. That was the trickiest point. Firearms would be impossible to acquire without arousing suspicion. He was a college student, not a marksman. But a kitchen knife? A Swiss Army knife? An iron bar? Yes. That was the way to go. He remembered the weight of an iron bar in his hands, the way it became an extension of his body in hand-to-hand combat.
He moved around the dorm, his movements more deliberate, more calculated. Each step echoed his future life. He opened his closet; his casual clothes—t-shirts, jeans, sneakers—seemed ridiculous now. He needed something sturdier, more practical. Sturdy boots, pants that wouldn't rip easily, a jacket that offered some protection. He remembered the makeshift clothes he'd worn in the apocalypse, patched, dirty, but keeping him alive.
The dorm window offered a panoramic view of New York. Below, life pulsed with a frenetic, innocent rhythm. Yellow taxis whizzed through the streets, the buzz of conversation and laughter rose from the campus, the smell of coffee and fresh bread hung in the air. Thiago watched a young couple holding hands, laughing as they crossed the street. He felt a pang in his chest. In the future, he'd seen them. Or people like them. Transformed. Monstrous. Or worse, dead, their bodies strewn across the sidewalks, a meal for the zombies.
The zombies. Oh, yes. The crystals in their heads. TheWhiteof the newly infected, almost harmless in their initial slowness, but which quickly becomePale Greenand thenMoss Greenas they feed, gaining disturbing speed and strength. He saw the horror of theGreenish Yellow, with his newfound aggressiveness, and theBurnt Yellow, pulsing with sinister energy. TheMatte Orangewas a sign of brute force, and theOrange Red, of imminent danger, a more cunning and faster predator. TheBlood Redwas the color of irrational fury, creatures that moved with terrifying speed, almost like runners. He shuddered as he remembered theDark Purple, which heralded the beginning of special powers, zombies that could spit acid or emit shock waves. TheElectric Blue, which radiated a powerful energy, was the color of zombies who could manipulate the environment, perhaps even with rudimentary telekinesis. And theSparkling Black...ah, the Shimmering Black. This was the pinnacle, the nearly unstoppable threat, the crystal that emitted a visible energy field, the color of his own death. He knew these zombies evolved by devouring human brains, becoming increasingly lethal. And he knew that the crystals they carried, once extracted, could be used by humans to enhance strength and gain superhuman powers. A dark arms race he could now influence.
But it wasn't just the zombies.Plague that devastated the landhad distorted the very fabric of life. He remembered the plants, once lush and green, that had become silent predators, their roots turning into tentacles that gripped and crushed, their leaves into sharp blades that cut flesh, their flowers into traps that exuded poisonous spores, transforming forests into deadly labyrinths. And the animals. The once-familiar fauna had metamorphosed into grotesque aberrations. Ants, once tiny, now nearly five feet tall, their jaws capable of tearing off a human limb with ease, their exoskeletons as hard as armor. Tigers, once majestic, now resembled rhinoceroses, their hides so tough and thick that bullets ricocheted off them like stones. Some of these animals had transformed into zombie-like beasts, grotesque, ravenous creatures, while others had evolved differently, their flesh, if you managed to kill them, restoring strength and, with luck, granting a modicum of agility. And if luck were great, butotherseven, you could win 10% of the animal's most prominent feature. Survival was a bloody lottery, and he knew the numbers.
And the sea. Ah, the sea. He remembered the stories, of the few who had attempted escape across the oceans. Sea creatures, whales and sharks, transformed into abyssal monsters, their bodies bloated and deformed, their eyes glowing with an unearthly light. And the sky. Birds, bats, insects, all mutant, flying in hungry flocks, their shadows blotting out the sun, their screams echoing in the once-blue skies. The entire world was a battlefield, and he had the map.
He needed to move. Time was his most implacable enemy. Seven days to prepare for the end of the world. He couldn't fail. The loneliness he so detested in his post-apocalyptic life was already beginning to set in. He was a man in his forties trapped in the body of a twenty-one-year-old. A ghost from the future, haunting his own past. He needed discipline. Focus. He was an IT student, accustomed to solving complex problems, optimizing code. Now, the problem was humanity's survival, and the code was the world itself.
The first step would be to get out of the dorm. He needed to go to a convenience store, maybe a supermarket. Buy as much water and canned food as he could carry. Then, a sporting goods store. A knife. An iron bar. Something to defend himself. He couldn't use firearms yet; it would be too suspicious. But he needed something. His mind raced to memories of combat. The first few weeks were chaos. Humans against zombies, but also human against human. The law of the jungle quickly established itself. He needed to be discreet but efficient.
As the New York sunlight continued to flood his room, Thiago felt a new wave of pain, not physical, but emotional. The pain of loss, of grief, of the memory of all those he couldn't save. But with that pain came a flame, a spark of hope. This time, he would have a chance. This time, he wouldn't fail. He stood, determination etched in his young face, but with the eyes of a veteran. The game had begun, and Thiago, the last man of the future, was ready to play.
His mind, accustomed to the binary logic of programming, tried to process the impossible. It wasn't a dream, it wasn't a hallucination. It was real. Every invisible scar on his soul, every loss, every moment of terror, was there, etched into his consciousness like a corrupted but functional memory chip. And with this avalanche of memories came something else. An interface. Not a visible screen, but a presence in his mind, a system.
He thought of the word "System," and a voice, soundless but clear as a crystal thought, echoed in his mind.Welcome, Thiago. Time is a cycle. You have been chosen.
Thiago recoiled, stumbling on the carpet and falling to his knees. Sweat streamed down his face, mixing with the tears he hadn't even realized were falling. A system. He remembered. In his final days, during the 20 years of hell, he had heard whispers, legends about a "System" that a lucky few seemed to possess. He never believed it. He thought it was delusional, the desperate hope of broken minds. But now... now he was one of those "lucky" ones.
He thought of "Status," and a translucent window formed in his mind's eye, displaying the numbers he already knew, but which now made terrifying sense:
Basic Information: Name: Thiago. Age: 21 (a guess, but he felt 41). Location: New York, USA (Summer). Recent Past: College student, studying IT. Current Context: Reborn with memories of 20 years of apocalypse.
Attributes (Base / Future Experience Bonus): Strength: 4 / 3. Dexterity: 5 / 3. Constitution (Endurance): 5 / 3. Intelligence: 5 / 3. Wisdom (Perception and Intuition): 5 / 3. Charisma (Leadership): 5 / 3. Personal Charisma: 2 / 3 (Antisocial). Mana: 0 / 0 (Empty, but with potential).
Skills: Information Technology (IT). Notions of Urban Survival.
The initial shock gave way to a wave of icy panic, quickly replaced by steely determination. He had one week. One week to change everything. One week to save not only himself, but perhaps... perhaps humanity. The memories were a burden, but also a weapon. He knew what was coming. He knew how the zombies evolved, the danger of the crystals, the Mysterious Entity that would emerge with its colored beams of light to negotiate. And he knew about his own System, a secret that, if revealed, would mean his death.
Still on his knees, his head throbbing, Thiago looked at the calendar on the wall. Seven days. That was all he had. The world was about to end, but this time, he wouldn't be caught off guard. This time, he would fight.