The digital clock on the bedside table read 7:37 a.m. Seven minutes had passed since waking, seven minutes that felt like an eternity and the blink of an eye at the same time. Thiago had no time to mourn the past or revel in the miracle of his return. Urgency was a cold fire in his veins, driving him to action. The first step, the most immediate, would be to acquire resources. He needed money. Not enough for a life of luxury, but enough to fill a backpack with the essentials for survival. His wallet, forgotten on his desk, contained a few crumpled bills, change from a coffee and a sandwich from the day before. Ridiculous. He needed hundreds, maybe thousands.
His plan of action, meticulously crafted over twenty years of apocalypse, began to unfold in his mind. First, the nearest ATM. He remembered the bank branch on the corner of 103rd Street and Broadway, just a few blocks from campus. It was early enough to avoid the crowds of college students and locals that would soon flood the sidewalks. He dressed quickly: dark jeans, a simple t-shirt, and a pair of worn but comfortable sneakers. Nothing conspicuous. Discretion was his ally. In his past life, the early days ofPlague that devastated the landwere marked by chaos, but also by a strange complacency. People were slow to grasp the magnitude of what was happening. He couldn't make the same mistake of arousing suspicion.
As he left the dorm, the hallway was silent, the smell of instant coffee and disinfectant lingering in the air. The doors to the other rooms were closed, their occupants likely still asleep or preparing for morning classes. Thiago moved with instinctive stealth, each step light, each movement calculated. His senses, sharpened by memories of survival, picked up every creak of the floorboards, every whisper of wind through the hallway window. He was a predator in a world that didn't yet know it was its prey.
The street was beginning to come to life. The summer sun was already warming the asphalt, and the air carried the smell of pollution and the sweet scent of jasmine flowers from some nearby balcony. Yellow taxis whizzed by, their engines purring. People hurriedly walked, coffee cups in one hand and cell phones in the other, toward the subway or coffee shops. Thiago observed every face, every gesture. They were so... innocent. So oblivious to the fate that awaited them. He felt a pang of guilt, an overwhelming urge to scream, to warn, but the voice of the System echoed in his mind:If you reveal the existence of the system, you die.The secret was a heavy burden, but the survival of humanity depended on it.
He arrived at the ATM. The line was short, just a businessman in an impeccable suit and a woman with a stroller. Thiago waited patiently, observing his surroundings. His eyes, accustomed to scanning for threats, noted every detail: the crack in the asphalt, the graffiti on the brick wall, the blinking security camera overhead. He remembered how, in the future, these ATMs would be looted, their empty shells a mute testament to the fall of civilization. He inserted his card, entered his PIN. The money came out with a familiar hum. He took as much as he could, feeling the weight of the bills in his hands. It wasn't enough, but it was a start.
Next, the supermarket. He remembered the chaos that would descend there in a few days, the empty shelves, the fights over a last package of pasta. He needed to be quick and efficient. Cart in hand, he headed straight for the canned goods section. Beans, corn, tuna, soups. Anything that could be stored for long periods. Water. Bottles and more bottles. He filled the cart, ignoring the curious looks of the other customers. "Preparing for the apocalypse?" he heard a young woman murmur to her friend, laughing. Thiago just smiled, a bitter smile that didn't reach his eyes. If only they knew.
In the hygiene section, he grabbed soap, hand sanitizer, and toilet paper. Small luxuries that would become priceless treasures in the future. Painkillers, bandages, rubbing alcohol. A makeshift first aid kit. He remembered the wounds, the infections, the constant pain that had plagued him for twenty years. Prevention was key.
The backpack. He needed a large, sturdy backpack. He remembered the military duffel bags, the makeshift garbage bags, everything he'd used to carry his few belongings. He found a camping backpack in the sports section, a neutral color with multiple pockets and reinforced straps. Perfect. He filled it with the supplies he'd bought, feeling the familiar weight on his back.
The weapon. That was the challenge. He headed to a smaller sporting goods store, away from the main avenues. There, he found what he was looking for: a heavy machete with a sharp blade. It wasn't a katana, but it would be a good start. He also grabbed a multi-purpose pocketknife and an iron bar that looked like it had been made to be a crowbar. They weren't firearms, but they were discreet and efficient for close combat, something he mastered with frightening expertise in his memories.
As he left the store, the sun was already high, and the New York heat was oppressive. The city's hustle and bustle seemed more intense, more frenetic. Thiago felt a chill. The calm before the storm. He knew every minute counted. He needed a safe place to store his supplies. The dorm was a trap. He needed something more permanent, more discreet.
His IT mind, now a survival supercomputer, began scanning memories. Abandoned places. Disused subway tunnels. The basements of old buildings. He remembered anuclear bunker, built for a possible Third World War, a government secret he had stumbled upon during his solitary wanderings through the apocalyptic future. It was a legendary place, a self-sufficient refuge designed to house hundreds of people for decades. He knew the password, a sequence of numbers and letters that he had burned into his mind. The bunker was vast, an underground fortress that resembled the Hive from Resident Evil, but five times larger, with air and water purification systems, geothermal power generators, and, most importantly, entire sectors dedicated to...hydroponic food cultivation. And in the heart of it all, onesupercomputer, an artificial intelligence that resembled the Red Queen, with access to vast databases and the ability to control all the complex's systems. It was perfect. Hidden, secure, and with resources that could sustain a group for years.
He headed there, the heavy backpack on his back, the machete hidden under his jacket. Each step was an act of defiance against fate. He knew the world was about to change forever, but this time, he wouldn't be a victim. He would be a survivor. And maybe, just maybe, he could make a difference. The Mysterious Entity, he knew, would soon appear, its beams of light cutting through the sky, heralding the arrival of a new economy of crystals and powers. He needed to be ready for that too. He needed crystals, and he knew the System held the key to using them to his advantage. The hunt was about to begin.
As he walked through the busy streets, the contrast between his inner reality and the outside world was stark. People laughed, chatted about trivialities, and planned their weekends. Thiago saw each of them as a potential target, a future victim, or worse, a zombie with a different colored crystal pulsing in its forehead. He remembered how Level 0, theWhite, was almost harmless at first, a mere staggering stumble, but how quickly they becomePale Greenand thenMoss Greenas they feed, gaining disturbing speed and strength. The horror ofGreenish 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, the apex, 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 to which most of humanity was still terribly unaware.
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 transforming into grasping tentacles that gripped and crushed with surprising strength, their leaves into sharp blades that cut flesh like razors, their flowers into traps that exuded poisonous spores, transforming forests and parks into deadly mazes. 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, able to withstand small-caliber bullets. Tigers, once majestic, now resembled rhinoceroses, their hides so tough and thick that bullets ricocheted off like stones, their roars echoing for miles. Some of these animals transformed into zombie beasts, grotesque, ravenous creatures with the same thirst for human flesh as the infected. Others, however, evolved differently, their flesh, if you managed to kill them, restoring strength and, with luck, granting a bit of agility. And if you were very lucky,otherseven, you could gain 10% of the animal's most prominent trait, like a feline's night vision or a bear's endurance. 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.
The Mysterious Entity, he knew, would soon appear. Its beams of light would cut through the night sky, heralding the arrival of a new economy, a shadowy market where crystals were the currency and precious items were the reward. The color of the beam, he remembered, indicated the rarity and power of the items, following the same scale as the zombie crystals: a pale green beam would offer basic supplies, while a shimmering black beam could signify legendary weapons or vital information. He needed to be ready for this too. He needed crystals, and he knew the System was the key to using them to his advantage, whether to purchase Mana and skills, or to acquire exclusive equipment.
Thiago quickened his pace, the heavy backpack on his back, the machete hidden under his jacket a comforting weight. Each step was an act of defiance against fate, a repudiation of his previous death. He knew the world was about to change forever, but this time, he wouldn't be a victim. He would be a survivor. And maybe, just maybe, he could make a difference. The loneliness he so detested in his post-apocalyptic life was already beginning to set in, a heavy burden on his shoulders. He was a man in his forties trapped in the body of a twenty-one-year-old. A ghost of the future, haunting his own past. He needed discipline. Focus. He was an IT student, accustomed to solving complex problems, to optimizing code. Now, the problem was humanity's survival, and the code was the world itself.
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.