I always thought passing away meant the end — an eternal sleep. Imagine my surprise when I found myself in a white room with a stranger sitting right in front of me.
"Hello, Zephyr. I regret to inform you that you have passed away."
"No shit, Sherlock," I blurted out. A million thoughts crossed my mind before I suddenly snapped back to reality. "I apologize — that was uncouth of me."
The stranger just stared at me for a few moments, then shook his head and chuckled gently. "No need for that. You're taking this a lot more calmly than most ever did."
"Well, I lived long enough to know a hot head gets you in trouble," I said, cracking a small grin.
"Yes, that it does," the stranger chuckled again, amusement in his voice. "Let me introduce myself. I am what you would call a ROB — one of the many out there, and I'm in charge of this sector. I have selected you to reincarnate into another world of your choosing, with a few limited wishes. Choose wisely, as you'll be stuck with these choices for the duration of your life in the world you choose."
"You're kidding," I asked, my eyes widening slightly in disbelief.
"As serious as you or me," he said, tone flat.
"I've read plenty of fanfictions to know there's always a price to pay for this. So what is it?" I asked, getting more serious.
"Nothing," ROB said.
"Nothing?" I replied, lifting an eyebrow.
"Yes. Nothing," affirmed ROB.
"Well, okay then," I muttered. ROB chuckled.
"Let's get this going, shall we? Now — choose your world."
"The Walking Dead," I said instantly; an amused chuckle escaped him.
"Are you sure? Once you choose there's no turning back," ROB asked.
"Yes. It's always been my favorite world, and I always wanted to try and change the fate of the characters there."
"Alright, granted. Now for your wishes — you get to choose three reasonable ones. Choose carefully," ROB said with a smirk.
"Wait — before that: I'm going to keep my memories, right?"
"Yes, you will. Otherwise reincarnation would be pointless," ROB chuckled.
"Right. In that case, my first wish is to have a peak human physique with an enhanced immune system. Nothing supernatural — I know falling ill in the apocalypse is a surefire way to die."
"Granted — but don't expect immunity to the wildfire virus," ROB said.
"Wouldn't dream of it," I said with a grin. "As for my second wish, I want an inventory where everything inside stays fresh."
"Granted, but it won't be unlimited," ROB cautioned.
"Just give me the biggest you can within the limit," I replied, already expecting as much.
"All right. The best I can give is a 50000×50000×50000 inventory," ROB said.
"That works," I said, eyes widening slightly at the size. ROB caught my expression and chuckled.
"For my third wish I would like to have meta knowledge."
"Hmm… granted. Good. Now — the timeline of your reincarnation and the age you wish to be?"
"I would like to be reincarnated three days before the apocalypse truly begins, at the age of twenty-five."
"Good. That would give you a few days to prepare. Smart. Now, for being a good sport, I'll add in a couple of boons to help you along the way. Now off you go."
"Wait — what—"
Before I could continue, I found myself standing in the middle of a familiar apartment. My old apartment. I headed to the bedroom for a mirror. My eyes widened at my reflection: I was twenty-five again. Gone was the graying hair and the wrinkles. My lower back no longer screamed in protest. My knees no longer creaked like rusted hinges. My body felt like I could bench-press a car. I was young again.
Tears welled in my eyes, threatening to spill. I blinked twice and wiped the stray tear away, hardening my resolve.
My eyes caught a sealed letter next to my wallet and keys atop the nightstand. I reached for it and tore the seal off.
Hey — forgot to mention the boons. I took the liberty of transferring all your belongings under your name.As for the second boon, you will find yourself healing faster than before — injuries that would have taken you a month to heal will now only take a week.I hope you live a life with no regrets, and I'll see you later.— Yours truly, ROB
"Thank you. I'll see you later," I muttered, chuckling.
I grabbed my wallet and checked its contents: an ID, a driving license, and a credit card. "Well, looks like everything's in place," I whispered. I checked the drawer of my nightstand — my gun was still where I put it: a Glock 19. I checked the magazine. Just as I set it down, I closed my eyes and felt for my inventory. I could summon it with a thought.
I stashed my pistol inside it along with four boxes of 9mm ammo. I reached under the bed and pulled out my rifle case. Inside sat a Winchester Model 70 that I used for hunting when I felt like shooting someone, along with ten boxes of .270 Winchester ammo. I closed the case and put them inside the inventory as well, along with a laptop and a desktop and all their assortments.
I went to the safe hidden behind a cheap painting and emptied its contents: two wads of $100 bills, three of $20s, and five of $5s — emergency cash — as well as twenty more boxes of ammo for my pistol and rifle. I turned and headed for the closet, emptying its contents into my inventory: duffel bags and military backpacks, camping gear, blankets, shoes, boots, and socks.
In the kitchen I packed all the food I found, perishable and non-perishable alike — cooking oils, assortments of spices, bags of flour and rice, cooking utensils, pots, pans, forks, knives, spoons… As I headed to the garage I paused briefly before reaching to pack the electronics: fridge, microwave, coffee machine, toaster, blender, washing machine — you never know when parts will be useful. In the garage I stashed all the tools I could find — sockets, wrenches, screwdrivers, fasteners, torque wrenches, chisels — as well as a generator, a portable welding tool, boxes of nails, screws, bolts, and batteries, a nail gun, a hand saw, a drill, a car jack, a spare car battery, two empty jerry cans, two sealed engine oil bottles, and a couple of car parts.
Back in the living room I packed the TV and the remote control, as well as some bits and bobs, finishing with the looting. I stepped outside to the bank to withdraw whatever I could of my savings. I spotted my truck — an old red 1979 Ford Ranger Lariat still in decent condition. I hopped in and turned the ignition; the truck started with a loud purr.
"Definitely have to do something about that noise if I'm keeping this truck," I muttered as plans for early preparations rapidly formed in my head. Shit was going to hit the fan soon.
(To be continued…)