Atlanta, Georgia — Five Days Before the Fall
The city was still alive — blind to what was coming.
People rushed to work, horns blared, and the smell of fried food from a nearby diner mixed with the heavy humidity. For most, it was another normal Tuesday. For Zephyr Ward, it was preparation day three.
He walked with calm precision down Peachtree Street, baseball cap low, backpack slung over one shoulder. His expression was neutral, movements casual. He blended in perfectly — just another veteran adjusting to civilian life.
But inside, his brain was running combat-level simulations.
Scanning the Streets
Every car, every alley, every shop was data. His eyes catalogued vehicle types, tire conditions, window tint, plate states, possible fuel types.
Trucks are priority. Payload first, fuel efficiency second. Mobility matters more than comfort.
His mental overlay — the Operator Protocol — kept track of his notes without displaying anything visually. It was silent, thought-responsive, and brutally efficient.
He passed a line of parked vehicles: sedans, compact cars, a few pickups, and one delivery van with "Martin's Plumbing" stenciled on the side.
Zephyr paused, crouching subtly as if tying his boot. He used the reflection on a window to check the van's interior — clean dashboard, scattered tools, two fuel cans in the back. The kind of thing no one would care about now, but worth a fortune when the world burned.
Noted. Light van, possible fallback vehicle if I can't get the HEMTT in time.
He memorized the license plate. He'd come back if needed.
Short-Term vs. Long-Term Mobility
His goal was clear — the Oshkosh HEMTT sitting fifteen miles west at the Atlanta National Guard depot. The same truck that had survived RPG hits in Afghanistan.
In his last life — or rather, the show's timeline he remembered — that depot would be overrun by infected soldiers within three days of the outbreak. The HEMTT would sit abandoned in the lot until someone blew it up trying to escape.
Not this time.
He wanted that truck.
Eight-wheel drive, massive load capacity, diesel engine, modular frame. A mobile base waiting to happen.
A single HEMTT could haul a generator, solar panels, water tanks, and an entire armory.
But the timing wasn't right yet. Too early, and he'd draw attention. Too late, and he'd have to fight for it.
Day six, at nightfall. That's my window.
Until then, he needed a stopgap — something small, maneuverable, and expendable. A scouting vehicle.
[Skill Development: Situational Awareness Lv.1--Lv.2]
The notifications weren't loud or glowing. They arrived like whispers, perfectly calm, logged directly into memory. Zephyr barely reacted.
System efficiency remains stable. Neural link minimal — no interference with reflexes.
The Operator Protocol wasn't some overpowered "gamer" system. It didn't hand him skills or items for free. It trained him — accelerated what he could already do through repetition, analysis, and optimization. Like having an AI instructor built into his brain.
Observation Point — Used Car Lot
By noon, Zephyr found himself near a used car lot off Highway 70.
Rows of trucks and vans sat behind chain-link fences. Some were locked, some open. Perfect scouting ground.
He leaned against a streetlight, pulling a folded map from his pocket. To anyone watching, he looked like he was checking a route. In reality, he was marking access points and fuel depots between his apartment and the National Guard compound.
Four refueling stations. Two repair shops. One construction yard with diesel storage.
All within the fifteen-mile radius.
He glanced up at the dealership sign. "North Metro Auto Sales." Cheap, local, low-security. He'd bet his rifle that the office had a key box somewhere inside.
If I need to boost a vehicle last minute, this will be my first stop.
He didn't just plan. He prepared.
Zephyr found a small alley near the lot and began a covert workout using his environment — push-ups against brick walls, squats with a cinder block, pull-ups on a pipe.
To civilians, it was odd. To him, it was muscle conditioning under civilian cover. Every rep simulated loading crates into a truck, carrying gear, or pushing through debris.
By the time he finished, his arms and back burned. Sweat trickled down his temple, but his breathing was steady.
[Training Complete]
[Physical Abilities Minorly Increased!]
He wiped his face with a sleeve, scanning the area again. No one noticed him. The city was too busy.
People ignore what they don't understand. It's their greatest weakness — and my biggest advantage.
Reconnaissance — National Guard Depot
That evening, as dusk painted the skyline orange, Zephyr climbed the fire escape of an abandoned apartment block overlooking the western edge of the city.
From there, he could see the faint outline of the depot — warehouses, barracks, motor pool. His binoculars zoomed in on the line of parked military vehicles.
There it was.
Oshkosh HEMTT — olive drab, massive frame, eight wheels like small planets. Untouched.
Still there. Good.
He noted the guards' rotation, entry gates, and weak points in the fence. The depot was lightly manned, maybe due to resource redistribution or complacency.
He could slip in unnoticed once the chaos began — maybe even sooner if he needed to.
[Skill Gained: Recon Analysis Lv.2]
Two guards on perimeter, one at the main gate, floodlights inactive on north end. Easy access once things get loud.
He stayed until night fully fell, memorizing every route, every shadow.
Evening Routine — Quiet Efficiency
By the time he got back to his apartment, the city was glowing with nightlife — cars, laughter, music. The illusion of safety.
Inside, his space was stripped down to essentials: bed, desk, duffel bag, a few field manuals. The rest of his possessions were already in his system inventory.
He sat cross-legged on the floor, unpacking a disassembled pistol, cleaning each component with mechanical precision. The weapon wasn't for comfort. It was for survival.
Each movement was muscle memory, perfected over years of deployment.
[Skill Progression: Maintenance Lv.1 → Lv.2]
Once finished, he holstered the weapon and leaned back. The hum of the fridge was the only sound.
Reflection
Zephyr opened his notebook — the only physical record he kept outside the System.
Objective 1: Secure short-term transport (civilian truck or van).
Objective 2: Gather supplies post-Day 5 (once civilians start panicking).
Objective 3: Infiltrate depot and claim HEMTT.
Objective 4: Convert HEMTT into mobile base.
Below that, he wrote:
"No allies. No witnesses. No attachments."
He'd seen enough in war to know what trust cost. In this world, when the dead start walking, trust would get you killed faster than a bullet.
He flipped the notebook shut and closed his eyes, letting his breathing slow.
Five days until the world ends. Five days to build the foundation for survival.
Everyone else is living their last week of normal.
I'm building my first week of freedom.
The System hummed quietly at the edge of his thoughts — dormant, waiting.
"Soon," Zephyr murmured, voice low, steady. "Just a few more days."
He smiled faintly — not from excitement, but from clarity.
Preparation is survival.
Emotion is noise.
And I've had enough noise for one lifetime.
(To be continued…)