《Destined to Join the Dead》 Chapter 1 In a Laboratory Hidden Away Just Outside of New York City The fluorescent lights in the lab flickered intermittently, casting a sterile glow over the rows of monitors and stacks of papers scattered across metal desks. The soft hum of machinery filled the air, a monotonous soundtrack to Henry Wu¡¯s late-night routine. He tapped a few keys on his laptop, eyes narrowing at the data displayed on his screen. Reaching for his phone with a yawn, he checked the time¡ª2:13 AM. Monday morning. He sighed, exhaustion creeping into his bones. He knew he should have gone home hours ago, but the pressure to deliver results kept him at work. This project was too critical, too dangerous, to leave unfinished. The military had contracted the organization he was a part of with developing a bioweapon¡ªsomething subtle yet devastating, capable of crippling a hostile nation without resorting to nuclear warfare. It was intended as an alternative meant to be used to prevent the end of days, if it would even be possible at that point. The project demanded secrecy, precision, and above all, results. But success had been elusive. The virus they engineered was potent but far too unstable. Every test subject had succumbed within hours or days¡ªexcept one. In the corner of the lab, the lone survivor sat in its containment enclosure: a rhesus monkey. Its sickly yellowish eyes glinted under the lighting, following Henry¡¯s every move. The creature¡¯s gaunt figure trembled slightly, its ribs visible beneath its patchy fur, and its limbs longer than normal. It had endured the virus for a full week now without succumbing¡ªa breakthrough that should have excited him. But instead, it filled him with dread. He knew the implications¡ªwhat they were creating here was far more than just a mere weapon. [Buzz, buzz, buzz.] His phone vibrated in his hand, the screen lighting up with a caller ID: his wife. ¡°Henry, where the are you?!¡± Her voice, a mix of concern and irritation. ¡°It¡¯s late. You promised you wouldn¡¯t stay late again.¡± Henry sighed, running a hand through his hair. ¡°I know, and I¡¯m sorry. It¡¯s just¡­Dr. Marcus and the board¡­ they¡¯re breathing down my neck. We¡¯ve been at this for years, yet they¡¯ve demanded results since day one.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t it wait until the morning? Not like things will magically change overnight,¡± she pressed. ¡°No. it really can¡¯t. We¡¯re so close, I can feel it,¡± he replied, glancing back at the monkey. ¡°I¡¯ll be home soon, I promise. Just go to bed without me.¡± As he ended the call, a loud bang drew his attention back to the enclosure. The monkey, drawing strength from nowhere, was slamming its body against the reinforced glass, each impact sending tremors through the air. Henry¡¯s eyes widened as cracks began to spiderweb across the surface. ¡°No way,¡± he whispered, stepping back. With a final deafening blow, the glass shattered, shards scattering across the floor. The monkey leapt free, its movements erratic, fueled by wild aggression. Henry¡¯s first instinct was to reach for the emergency button on the wall. His hand hovered over it, heart pounding like a drum. He knew what pressing it meant¡ªtotal lockdown. The entire lab would seal itself off from the outside world, trapping everything, including him and the crazed monkey, inside. There would be no survival or escape for him. A wave of fear, panic, and self-preservation washed over him. He couldn¡¯t die here, not like this. With a shaky breath, he withdrew his hand, snatching his laptop from his desk instead. His fingers trembling as he clutched it against his chest, pivoting towards the exit. Behind him, the monkey lunged, its elongated arms reaching for him. Its teeth just barely tearing through his lab coat, grazing his arm as he twisted his body to dodge. Pain flared through his arm. He stumbled but didn¡¯t stop moving, adrenaline propelling his feet forward. He burst through the lab doors, sprinting down the sterile hallways, leaving a thin trail of blood in his wake. The parking lot loomed ahead. After fumbling over his car keys, he threw himself into the driver¡¯s seat, slamming the door shut. The engine roared to life, tires screeching against the pavement as he reversed his car to speed away. In his sideview mirror, he caught a glimpse of the monkey. It had followed him outside but now stood in the doorway of the staff entrance, staring into the distance, its grotesque and sickly form clearly visible in the parking lot¡¯s lights. Then, as if predetermined, it turned and vanished into the night, disappearing into the darkness, heading towards the city lights. Henry¡¯s breath came in ragged gasps, his mind racing with a horrifying thought: It¡¯s loose! And it¡¯s all my fault.
Somewhere in the Bronx The rumble of vehicles echoed through the wet streets as they rolled through the heavy rain, the sound of tires slapping against the slick pavement. The night was dark, the sky obscured by thick clouds, with sheets of rain falling relentlessly from above. The flashing lights from the convoy of police vehicles reflected off the wet asphalt, casting an eerie red and blue glow over the closed-off streets as we approached our target¡ªa sprawling warehouse complex tucked in a neglected corner of the Bronx borough. A mix of black and gray armored vans rolled forward, followed by a line of squad cars, each supposed to be the symbol of justice, of safety, of peace. It was a miserable night, but for us, it was just another day¡ªno, another night, on the job. Inside the lead van, I sat with my jaw set, my hair hidden beneath my helmet, my eyes scanning the operation map on my tablet. It was 11:36 PM on a Saturday night. The warehouse we were raiding was a known hotspot for illegal activity, and tonight we are going to shut it down. The gang hideout had a reputation¡ªdrugs, weapons, human trafficking¡ªand with this raid¡¯s success, we could potentially cripple their operations for good. Over the radio, I delivered a final reminder. ¡°We¡¯ll be there shortly. Now¡¯s the time for final preparations. Remember, this is the real deal,¡± I said, my voice steady. As the convoy neared the warehouse, we began to prepare. The SWAT team, a well-oiled machine, began checking their gear¡ªrifles and sidearms loaded, body armor in place, helmets secure, radios tuned in, extra gear fastened in their respective pouches. The armored vans rolled to a stop, forming a tight perimeter, with the squad cars positioning themselves further down the street to apprehend any who might manage to slip past us. ¡°Ok, get ready to dismount. Target is the large warehouse complex in front. We have a warrant, but I doubt they¡¯ll care¡­ Intel indicates that there¡¯s two main entry points, so we¡¯ll split into three teams. Team 1 will breach the main entrance. Team 2 will take the other shortly after the party starts, and Team 3 will stage an initial perimeter net to capture anyone trying to run. Remember, standard arrest protocol, but if shit hits the fan, we¡¯ve been given permission to shoot to kill,¡± I said grimly as each team got ready to dismount.The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. After a collective of ¡°10-4¡± and ¡°affirm¡± I nodded to myself, reaffirming my resolve. I¡¯ve been through dozens of operations like this¡ªplanned, precise, fast¡ªbut something felt different tonight. My instincts screamed at me to stay sharp. The vehicles slid to a screeching halt in front of the warehouse, the sound of rain pounding on the roofs of the SWAT vans mingling with the rumble of their engines and the slap of feet splashing on the pavement. The air was thick with humidity, and the cold bite of the night air made my breath visible as I exhaled. The team dismounted with practiced precision, weapons lowered but ready, scanning our immediate surroundings. I took a deep breath, focusing on the task ahead. After a final scan for any pressing signs of trouble, I finally gave the signal to breach. [Wham!] The sound of a battering ram smashing through the warehouse doors reverberated around us. In an instant, my team and I flooded the warehouse. The low hum of industrial machinery and the smell of stale air surrounded us, followed closely by the pungent scent of freshly used narcotics and the sound of shocked shouts from further inside. The building was a maze of containers, boxes, machinery, and towering shelves. Visibility was low, and every corner could hide an enemy. ¡°NYPD, we have a warrant!¡± I shouted, my voice cutting through the tension. ¡°No one move!¡± The command echoed throughout the warehouse as we spread out, moving swiftly to clear the area and find vantage points. The gang members, caught off guard, reacted quickly¡ªsome fleeing into the shadows cast by the dim lighting, others reaching for whatever they had on hand to use as a weapon. ¡°Hands in the fucking air!¡± One of my officers shouted. ¡°Keep your hands where I can see¡ª,¡± another began to yell, but before they could finish speaking, an eruption of gunfire began. The warehouse was thrown into chaos. Gunshots rang out as gang members opened fire on us, with some diving for cover behind whatever was nearby, and others taking wild shots at us. I raced for cover behind a steel support beam, shooting ahead blindly, adrenaline coursing through my body. The sharp crack of gunfire was all around me, too close for comfort, with the occasional shout or groan from either side. My team similarly dashing for cover around me. I pushed ahead further, kneeling behind a stack of containers, but as I did, a figure emerged from the shadows with a frenzied shout. ¡°You fucker!¡± The gang member lunged at me, wielding a metal pipe. We entered a frantic struggle; as he shoved me away, he swung at my exposed chin. Pain jolted through my skull as it connected, and a copper taste filled my mouth. The world blurred as I staggered backward, vision spinning. I heard more shouting over the gunfire and the occasional groan, followed by more panicked calls on the other side of the warehouse¡ªTeam 2 must have begun their breach, I thought, but it all felt distant as my consciousness began to fade. As I collapsed to the ground, the last thing I saw was the blurry figure of my attacker being gunned down, followed by a flurry of voices and footsteps as a handful of my team ran to my side. As the world around me started to go black my final thoughts were: That was fast, so much for staying sharp¡­
Tanya As I opened my eyes, the soft beeping of a heart monitor greeted me. The sterile scent of the hospital room mixed with the low murmur of a voice made for a somewhat soothing atmosphere. I blinked a few times, trying to clear the fog from my mind. The pain was sharp, but it was bearable compared to the initial blinding agony that landed me here. Turning my head slightly, I noticed a TV mounted on the wall across the room. The voice of a news anchor cut through the haze, drawing me into the broadcast. ¡°¡­and despite the success of the raid late last night, as reported by the commissioner and the mayor, there remains a lingering disappointment among the public. This gang, responsible for drug paraphernalia, weapons dealing, and human trafficking, had grown far too close to the heart of our Big Apple, putting many at extreme risk¡­¡± My focus shifted as the TV displayed footage from the raid¡¯s aftermath: officers shoving arrested gang members out of the warehouse, their hands cuffed, followed by scenes of seized weapons and drugs being loaded into vans. ¡°Fortunately, there were no fatalities amongst NYPD officers during this raid, though several have been reported to have sustained minor to severe injuries. Ultimately, however, I can safely say that this gang hub was thoroughly eliminated,¡± the anchor continued with a stoic face. [Knock, knock, knock.] Startled, my heart skipped a beat. I winced as I turned my head towards the door, neck stiff from being in one position too long. A nurse entered the room, fully breaking my concentration on the TV. ¡°Hey there,¡± the nurse said softly, approaching my bedside in a practiced manner. ¡°How are you feeling?¡± I opened my mouth to speak but found my throat dry, my response coming out in a raspy voice. ¡°Um¡­ I¡¯m fine I guess, head feels awful¡­ Hey, what happened?¡± The nurse offered me a lazy smile, probably an attempt to seem concerned and sympathetic, yet clearly just trying to be professional. ¡°Well, you took a nasty hit to the jaw. Luckily nothing serious, all things considered. A minor concussion, some pretty bad bruising, a few stitches to fix your split chin¡­ bit your tongue something bad as well¡­¡± She paused. ¡°Though I will say, you¡¯re definitely lucky, especially compared to some of your fellow officers.¡± I nodded with a frown, still groggy and a bit annoyed. My attention wandered back to the TV, my mind slowly processing what she said. Lights out. Just like that, huh? Crazy shit. I thought to myself, fully focusing on the TV as the anchor¡¯s voice drew me back in, reporting on some bizarre and strange videos that started circulating on social media overnight. ¡°¡­in other news, strange and disturbing videos have emerged locally. One shows a man exhibiting bizarre symptoms¡ªsweating profusely and moving erratically.¡± The screen switched to a recording of an elderly man twitching sporadically, drenched in sweat. The clip ended as it zoomed in on the man¡¯s creepy yellowish eyes. ¡°¡­another video shows a strange figure attacking a passerby, jumping out of an alleyway and biting them before nearby police officers were able to arrive, with the beast fleeing back into the alley. Authorities have yet to confirm the full extent of the situation but have said the attacker resembled a monkey¡­¡± In the background, a video of a nasty-looking creature lunged at a woman, biting into her shoulder before a duo of police officers nearby sprinted to the scene. With a crowd of panicked pedestrians gawking at what was unfolding. The nurse, noticing my intense focus on the TV, stopped what she was doing. ¡°You seem pretty focused on the news Ms. Richter. I¡¯ll leave you be for a while and come back later.¡± She closed the door softly as she left. ¡°¡­while many speculate the videos to be some sort of elaborate publicity stunt or form of clickbait, aimed at grabbing attention for views or even to create hype for a yet-to-be-announced movie or show, many others are left less certain. Some believe it could be a never-before-seen drug-induced state, while others are growing worried it may be a legitimate sickness. But¡­ at this point, there¡¯s really no confirmation on what¡¯s going on. Again, no word from NYPD, Central Park Zoo, or any film studios.¡± The news anchor hesitated, as though searching for the right words, before finishing with a forced laugh, seemingly to try to brighten the mood. ¡°Or maybe¡­ just maybe¡­ it¡¯s the dawn of New York¡¯s very own zombie apocalypse. Hahaha.¡± A chill rippled down my spine, the words cutting through me like an ice pick. Before I could question my body¡¯s reaction, I felt a key clicking into place¡ªa flood of memories overwhelmed me. Those videos, the possible sickness, the attack¡­ that wasn¡¯t just some publicity stunt. That was real. What the news anchor said was fact, not fiction, and this was just the beginning. That lame joke, I¡¯ve heard it¡ªno, read it¡ªbefore, long ago, in a past life that felt distant yet recent. Through the eyes of someone I could no longer vividly recognize. The news segment ending with the zombie joke¡­ it was eerily familiar... A further flood of d¨¦j¨¤ vu hit me, and my breath caught. I sat up slightly in my hospital bed, my mind spinning once more. It wasn¡¯t my memory; it wasn¡¯t me that read it¡ªyet it also was¡ªa vague scene of a man reading a web novel late into the night quickly flashed through my mind. The realization hit like a bolt of lightning. That wasn¡¯t simply a random joke¡ªit was the end of a prologue to a certain story. A story that I read in a past life¡ªwhere the world fell apart, where an outbreak spread uncontrollably, where the dead began to rise. The prologue began with bizarre videos and rumors, speculation about zombies that no one really took seriously until it was too late. The details of the story flooded my mind: A heroine surrounded by cringy, lackluster men, vying for her affection despite their situation, constant struggles for survival, an out-of-the-blue, convenient hope for a cure that was never expanded on. A mutating zombie virus straight out of a video game. A handful of occasionally occurring, just as lackluster, antagonists that would appear to further the plot. And most importantly¡­ ¡­just how awful that novel was. It was axed after a couple hundred chapters. If this is truly reality, then even with my knowledge of the story, the future is uncertain¡ªthat¡¯s if I manage to survive¡­ What was that story¡¯s name? Does it even matter right now? Do I have time to prepare? Can I even survive this? Also, I died? And I''m alive again?! How? Why? Wait, am I a woman now?! This isn¡¯t fair. This is all way too bizarre. I¡¯m scared. With those thoughts, more memories surged in, ones I couldn¡¯t suppress. A whole life, a whole world¡ªgone. And a story that was no longer fiction. Two sets of memories overlapping, beginning to give me a headache. And to top it all off, even more questions that would go unanswered. I felt my pulse quicken. An entire world I once saw through words on a screen, a world I thought to be fiction, two different lives, one being a life I never remembered until now. This is all real. I¡¯m here in that world, living it¡ªa world of terrifying, mutating zombies, a world filled with a never-ending struggle for survival, a world with a romance plot that just did not belong. I began to realize for certain that I was part of this story now. As one of the minor antagonists. One that¡¯s killed off early of all things, destined to die and join the dead. And most importantly I realized I wasn¡¯t ready for what was to come. Refusing to accept this and feeling overwhelmed, I decided the best thing to do was go back to sleep and hope this is all just a nightmare. Chapter 2 Tanya The first thing I noticed as I stirred awake was the sharp scent of disinfectant and the itchy sensation of bandages pressing against my chin. The now-familiar beeping sound echoed in my ears, the heart monitor keeping rhythm with my pulse. The soft rustle of bed sheets followed as I shifted to sit up, and my heart drop into my stomach as reality set in. That wasn¡¯t a nightmare. I squeezed my eyes shut, silently begging that when I opened them again, my surroundings would change. That I¡¯d return to my old life¡ªnot that I could remember much of it. Looking towards the ceiling and taking a deep breath, I started counting backwards from ten. 10¡­ 9¡­ 8¡­ 7¡­ When I opened my eyes, the sterile white ceiling was still above me, glaring down as if mocking my wishful thinking. My hand drifted to the bandages on my chin, my fingers brushing over the raised bumps of stitches beneath the gauze. A dull ache pulsed with everything breath as I fought myself to steady my growing panic. Yeah¡­ okay, this is real. How the hell did I end up in a fictional world? A make-believe world I¡¯d read casually is now suddenly my grim reality? And of all the characters, why this one? I wasn¡¯t the protagonist¡ªnot even a side character with a decent story. Nope. I was a disposable minor antagonist¡ªdesigned to further the romance between the female lead and her groupies. Someone that was somehow labeled a villain. At least it''s a known trope I suppose. The original Tanya was no villain, just another desperate survivor clinging to any chance that came her way. Unfortunately, that ¡°chance¡± happened to be the kidnapping and hostage-taking of the female lead. And that so-called ¡°arc¡± was pathetic. Kidnap the heroine, demand supplies in exchange for her release, get overpowered by the male leads high on their ¡°realized love,¡± then die unceremoniously, forgotten by readers. Fifteen or so forgettable chapters. That¡¯s how long Tanya lasted. Don¡¯t worry, original Tanya, I still remember. I know you were no villain, just someone simply trying to survive. You were never a villain¡ªantagonist, sure¡ªbut even then, it¡¯s a stretch. Just a plot device. A stepping stone for someone else¡¯s character development. How depressing is that? I couldn¡¯t follow that Tanya¡¯s footsteps. I couldn''t let myself become that same doomed character. Every decision, every step I take, needs to push me further away from that tragic mess. Surviving a zombie apocalypse is going to be hard enough without living under a death flag. Lost in thought, I barely heard the door creak open. The nurse from yesterday walked in, her professional mask still firmly in place. She carried a clipboard in one hand and a plastic bag of my belongings, labeled with my name, in the other. ¡°Good morning Ms. Richter,¡± she said, setting the bag on the bedside table. Her voice was polite, with a hint of boredom. ¡°How¡¯re you feeling today?¡¯ I blinked, scrambling to respond. ¡°Better, I think¡­ just¡­ processing.¡± She nodded, her expression unreadable. ¡°That¡¯s to be expected, I¡¯m sure you went through quite a bit yesterday.¡± She glanced at her clipboard, then the clock on the wall, and continued. ¡°Fortunately, your injury isn¡¯t severe. You should heal up nicely¡ªmight end up with a scar on your chin, but nothing too noticeable.¡± Her tone shifted slightly as she added, ¡°You¡¯ve been cleared for discharge. One of your coworkers is waiting out front to take you home. All that¡¯s left is some paperwork. The NYPD and your insurance will cover your bill.¡± The faint edge of irritation in her voice didn¡¯t go unnoticed. Okay¡­ so you¡¯re clearly not thrilled to be here. Got it. I swallowed hard, a mix of relief and apprehension tightening my chest. Leaving the hospital meant stepping back into the soon-to-be chaos of my new reality. Still, I couldn''t stay here forever. No matter how daunting it felt, I had to move forward. The nurse handed me a small business card, her eyes flicking back to the clock. ¡°Here¡¯s my contact information. If anything else comes up, or if you have any questions, don¡¯t hesitate to call.¡± I took the card, quickly muttering, ¡°Thank you.¡± The name on the card read Sherry Watters. A quick glance at the nametag pinned to her scrubs confirmed the same.
After completing the discharge process, I stepped out of the hospital¡¯s front entrance. The crisp morning air filled my lungs, grounding me in this new, unsettling reality. The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm, golden light over the waking city¡ªa sight I might¡¯ve paused to admire under different circumstances. Instead, my focus shifted to the parking lot ahead. A familiar sedan caught my eye, along with an equally familiar man leaning casually against it, a cigarette between his fingers. As I approached, he glanced up, his stoic expression unchanged. ¡°Detective Harris,¡± I greeted, my voice steady despite the turbulence running rampant inside me. He nodded in acknowledgment, wordlessly flicking his cigarette to the ground and extinguishing it underfoot. Without a word, he opened the passenger door for me. I wasn¡¯t entirely sure how I knew what to expect from him, but something about his demeanor felt familiar, as if the understanding had always been there, tucked away in a corner of my mind. A man of few words. Once we were on the road, the city blurred past the windows. Breaking the silence, Harris gave me a brief update. If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. ¡°The raid was declared a success. A few officers took hits¡ªmost minor, a couple more serious. News took some potshots at us per usual.¡± Relief washed over me, accompanied by a strange sense of pride. The SWAT captain in me felt happy, despite the sloppy execution. That''s to be expected, the raid was a mess after all. I''m just glad things ended well. My fists clenched, nails pressing into my palms as I struggled to hold on to something¡ªanything¡ªto steady myself as my earlier thoughts began to drift back. Tanya¡ªthe original Tanya¡ªwas marked for death. I couldn¡¯t escape the grim thought that I might be walking toward the same fate no matter what I tried. It would be so easy to let that truth consume me, to give in and accept it. But part of me refused. I can''t¡ªwon¡¯t¡ªlet myself be swallowed by it. Not without a fight, anyway. I wasn¡¯t her¡ªnot quite anymore, that is¡ªbut at the same time, I was. It was a strange, maddening feeling, like standing on the edge of a cliff, knowing you can¡¯t go back but not sure what lies ahead. This was my life now, confusing as it was. I had the advantage of knowing the future, or at least, some of it. I knew what was coming. But how much of that knowledge could I trust? The story was never finished, and I couldn¡¯t be certain that my actions wouldn¡¯t cause a butterfly effect, disrupting everything. My memories¡ªsplit between this new life and the fragments of my past one¡ªfelt like pieces of a puzzle that weren¡¯t quite fitting together. I could feel them shifting inside me, slowly filling the gaps, but it wasn¡¯t fast enough. My head felt like a loading bar stuck in the middle of a process. The virus¡­ How much do I remember? The basics were clear¡ªthe initial outbreak, the chaos that followed, the world crumbling as the virus spread like wildfire, first across the United States, then to the rest of the world. But the finer details were hazy, slipping through my mind like water through my fingers. What would I need to survive? Could my knowledge be enough to keep me alive? Harris¡¯s voice broke through the haze of my thoughts, flat but carrying an undertone of concern. ¡°You¡¯re on leave for a little while. Take care of yourself. If you need anything or just some help, us at the station are always here for you.¡± I nodded, appreciating the simplicity of his words. ¡°Yeah, thanks Harris.¡± When we reached my apartment complex, I briefly hesitated before stepping out of the car. The familiar building loomed before me, a strange blend of comfort and unease settled in my chest. I glanced back at Harris, giving a brief wave. He nodded curtly before driving away, leaving me standing in front of the entrance.
As I made my way inside, my feet moved on autopilot, navigating the familiar halls and stairways. How do I know where to go? The realization hit me like a freight train. I had both sets of memories¡ªTanya¡¯s and my own from my previous life. My old memories were fragmented, centered on the story I now found myself living. I knew this place¡ªknew the way¡ªbecause the original Tanya knew it. My head began to spin. The duality of my existence becoming more apparent with each passing moment. I subconsciously punched the code to my apartment into the keypad on the door handle, unlocking it before stepping inside. The sight that greeted me was a stark contrast to my work life. The walls were accented with as much pink as possible, adorned with frilly curtains and an array of stuffed animals and clich¨¦ girly decorations. It was like stepping into yet another world¡ªa world that didn¡¯t fit the image of a SWAT leader. With a slight chuckle, I realized how bizarre this situation was. It¡¯s laughable, especially when compared to my current situation: transmigrated into a body that wasn¡¯t mine, with a looming apocalypse on the horizon, and, of course, my death flag. It honestly gave me a brief reprieve. I went and sat on the edge of my bed, surrounded by stuffed animals, frilly pillows, and floral-patterned sheets. My gaze swept over the overly exaggerated d¨¦cor. The disconnect between who I was, who I appeared to be, and the contrast with the man I used to be gnawed at my subconscious. But I quickly reminded myself that I didn¡¯t have time to dwell on that right now. I needed to focus on what mattered¡ªsurvival. I can adapt to my changes later. Grabbing a notebook and pen from the nearby desk, I sat down, skimming the pages full of writing before settling on a blank page. I began to write what I knew. My hand moved quickly, the urgency of my situation driving me. A situation only I was aware of. Notes on the Apocalypse, I scrawled at the top of the page. Underneath, I started listing everything and anything I could remember from the original story: After hastily writing down what I could remember, I started to think some more. Using my status, it should be possible to set up quarantine zones ahead of time. The only problem is that the original story doesn¡¯t mention much outside the main character¡¯s perspective. The girl was a flower head through and through. It would be hard to get a jump on the initial infection to contain it if I don¡¯t know where it starts. I would definitely have the advantage in people and supplies so there¡¯s that at least¡­plus, with my knowledge of the future¡­ I paused, tapping the pen against my chin, only to wince as pain moved through my jaw. What do I know about the virus itself? Again, my knowledge felt limited. My head was still foggy. Things were fragmented in my mind, between the novel¡¯s incomplete story and my dual set of memories. I began to continue to write down what I could remember. I knew the virus evolved over time, changing with each generation. After the fourth noticeable evolution in the story, the novel was axed. Once generation 4 becomes a thing, I¡¯ll have no knowledge of what comes next in the virus. Maybe, if I¡¯m lucky, they¡¯ll simply die off, and things can go back to normal. With a snort, I muttered aloud, ¡°Yeah, right. No chance things will be that convenient.¡± Reading over my brief notes, the last line stared back at me¡ªa glaring reminder of the unknown. I underlined it twice, uncertainty gnawing at my mind. What comes after? Since the novel never reached that point, it was up to me to face whatever lay beyond. I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment. Forget a job in police work. I have to be ready. I have to use every bit of future knowledge I have to survive. The world outside might be normal for now, but it¡¯s only a matter of time before it all turns upside down. I dropped the pen onto the desk, my hand trembling slightly. The weight of everything¡ªthe unknown future, the virus, my transmigration, and the fact that I was essentially rewriting the story as I lived it¡ªsettled heavily in my chest. I looked around the room one last time. The frilly pink curtains, the stuffed animals, the life that wasn¡¯t mine but now also was. It all feels so wrong. So out of place. But there was no time to dwell on that. I stood up, pacing the room. The silence felt deafening, each step a reminder that I was alone in this, with only the fragments of my memories and whatever knowledge I could salvage from the unfinished novel to guide me. I need to focus. I need to survive. Then, as if on cue, my stomach growled loudly, cutting through the tension. I hadn¡¯t eaten since the night before, and the exhaustion was starting to weigh on me. I needed to take care of myself before diving into the mountain of planning that awaited me. A quick shower and maybe a bite to eat¡ªthat¡¯s all I needed to recharge for a bit. I walked toward the bathroom, the tiles cold under my feet, and paused in front of the mirror. A woman staring back at me, she had a pretty face with blonde hair that fell just past her shoulders and bright blue eyes that seemed a little too wide, too innocent, almost foreign. She had soft features¡ªfull lips, high cheekbones, and skin that seemed to glow under the bathroom light. Is that me? I blinked and stepped closer, almost expecting the reflection to change, to reveal someone else. But the face in the mirror didn¡¯t change. It was me. Right. I need to take a shower. And just like that, panic set in. I froze. How do I¡ª? I¡ªwait, am I supposed to¡ªhow does this even work now? Would this be okay? My mind started to spiral. I¡¯d had plenty of showers as a man, but now? In this body? How the hell was I supposed to get around this? I stared at my reflection like it was an alien in front of me. This is... ridiculous. Right? It''s just a shower. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized I hadn¡¯t the faintest clue how to handle this new body. I¡¯m not even sure how to¡ª I looked down at myself, then back at the mirror, wondering if I could somehow figure it out by sheer willpower. I let out a breathy laugh, more out of frustration than amusement. ¡°What the hell am I supposed to do now?¡± I need to stop panicking. Just take a shower. Right? Right. My hands fumbled at the waistband of the sweatpants I was still wearing¡ªsomething I should¡¯ve already taken off, but I hadn¡¯t gotten that far before the panic set in. With a deep sigh, I walked to the shower, shaking my head. I can¡¯t believe I¡¯m actually having a freakout over this. I turned on the water, and as the steam filled the room, I finally allowed myself a small chuckle, despite everything. Yeah, survival and saving the world? That¡¯s tomorrow¡¯s problem. Today? I¡¯m just trying to figure out how to shower without losing my mind. I stepped into the shower, closing the curtain behind me.