Hugo woke up feeling more in trol than he had sihis nightmare began. The st few days had been a whirlwind of survival, fighting, and barely scraping by. But now, for the first time, he wasn’t just reag—he nning, preparing. It was time to take the step.

  The world outside was still chaos, but inside his apartment, he could create order.

  The first thing he did was establish a routi wasn’t much, but it gave him a sense of stability. Every m, he started with a workout—push-ups, sit-ups, squats. His body o be stronger, more resilient. He had no idea how long he would be stu this time loop, but if he was going to keep dying and ing back, he at least o be better prepared each time.

  After exerg, he ed his equipment. His knife was wiped down, his bat ied for any cracks, and his makeshift armor adjusted. The magaziaped around his arms and legs were a crude defense, but they had already proven useful.

  His apartment had to remain a stronghold, so he also dedicated time to maintenance. He reinforced his barricades, making sure nothing had shifted ht. His makeshift rope of bedsheets tied to the baly was still in pce—his emergency escape pn if things went south. Every piece of furniture he had used to block the stairwells was checked and adjusted if needed.

  After his m routine, he took the time to patrol his floor. He moved quietly, bat in hand, cheg each apartment door, listening for sounds of movement. Most of the zombies in the plex were ated for—he had killed several, trapped one, and had a rough estimate of how many remained. But he couldn’t afford to be careless.

  He also kept an eye oside world. He spent time each day at his window, the streets below. The patterns of the undead were being clearer—when they moved, how they reacted to noise, where they clustered. The world might be dead, but it still had rules, and Hugo was learning them.

  As the day passed, he felt a growing sense of fidence. He wasn’t just surviving anymore—he reparing for whatever came .

  After two days, he decided to go downstairs. He still had enough food for a couple more days, but it was getting low, and he knew he couldn’t wait until starvation forced him out.

  He moved carefully dowairwell, bat in hand, trying to be quiet. The air was thick with dust, the faint smell of decay lingering. The hallway below was dim, only small slivers of light breaking through the boarded-up windows. The silence made his pulse qui—too quiet. Too still.

  Then, as he took aep, something lu him from the darkness.

  The weight hit him hard, smming him into the railing. He barely had time to raise his bat befnashih snapped just inches from his throat. His mi bnk with pure survival instinct.

  Hugo gruwisting his body to shove the thing back, but it was relentless, g and thrashing at him. He swung the bat in a desperate arc, smashing it into the zombie’s side. It barely staggered.

  A fsh of paied in his ribs as the undead’s filing limbs struck him hard. The impaocked the breath from his lungs. Panic surged through him.

  He gritted his teeth and swung again—this time, he aimed for the head. The bat ected with a siing ch, sending the creature reeling backward. He didn’t hesitate. Hugo stepped forward and brought the bat down again, hard, until the writhing stopped.

  His breath came in ragged gasps as he stepped back, pressing a hand to his side. A nasty bruise was already f along his ribs, pain radiating with every breath. Carelessness had almost cost him.

  Leaning against the wall, he forced himself to focus. The floor below was dangerous, more than he had thought. If he wao make it through this, he o be smarter.

  Still clutg his side, Hugo moved toward the apartment, deg agaiering the one directly below his own. He had heard noises from there yesterday, and he wasn’t ready to deal with whatever was inside.

  The apartment was locked, but he had gotten good at breaking in by now.

  Pushing the door open cautiously, he stepped ihis apartment was differe, but minimal. A few posters on the walls, a colpsible table pushed against the wall, and an air mattress instead of a bed. There were several bikied items scattered arous, gloves, and a bike pump in the er.

  A goward the kit firmed what he had hoped for. The previous tenant had stocked up on food. s of beans, pasta, protein bars, and bottled water. Not an endless supply, but more than enough to make this trip worth it. He loaded his backpack carefully, making sure to distribute the weight evenly.

  Then he spotted it—the real jackpot. Against the wall he entra a sleek, well-maintained bicycle, plete with a moue rad reinforced tires. This wasn’t just any bike; this was the kind used by couriers who raced through the city, dodging traffic like it was sed nature.

  Hugo ran a hand over the handlebars. "This could be useful."

  The final find was an old, folded map of the city pio the fridge. He grabbed it, unfolding it carefully. The previous owner had marked several routes—likely shortcuts and safer paths they had used while w. He studied it for a moment before tug it into his bag.

  This was a win. He had food, a faster way to move around, and information that could give him an advantage iy.

  With his backpack full and his ribs ag, Hugo took o look around before heading back out. This time, he moved with more caution. He had gained something valuable today, and he wasn’t about to lose it by making aupid mistake.

  It was time to head back.

  Ba his apartment, Hugo id out the map o table, smoothing out the creases. He sed the area surrounding his plex, taking note of key locations—supermarkets, er stores, gas stations. The previous owner had marked some areas with notes, likely pces they had delivered to frequently.

  His inal pn had been to fully loot his apartment plex before venturing outside, and now he was sure it was the best approach. There could be ons, supplies, or anything else that might increase his ces of survival. A firearm would be ideal—something to keep him safe whe wasn’t enough.

  Beyond that, he o think about the long term. Water was his biggest . Could he set something up on the roof to collect rainwater? Maybe even a small garden up there? It wasn’t like he was leaving anytime soon.

  His fiapped on the map thoughtfully. He o secure the present before pnning for the future, but it felt good to have a future to pn for.

  The m, Hugo set out with a new goal—clearing more of the apartment plex. If he wanted any ce of seg his long-term survival, he o make this building safe. The idea of finding a firearm was still fresh in his mind, and it kept him motivated.

  He moved carefully through the halls, trying to lure out any uhat might be lingering. He mao isote one—a nky man with sunken cheeks and torn clothes. It was slow, stumbling towards him, and Hugo easily dispatched it with two precise strikes to the skull.

  The sed zombie he entered was a different story.

  A massive man, once obese but now horrifyingly bloated and swollen, shuffled towards him. His flesh sagged unnaturally, and every step sent a wave of putrid stento the air. Hugo braced himself and swung his bat hard into its temple.

  It barely flinched.

  His stomach dropped as the zombie lurched forward, swinging its thick arms wildly. Hugo dodged just in time, feeling the rush of air as the heavy limb narrowly missed him. He struck again, aiming for the khis time. The zombie colpsed with a groan but kept crawling toward him, its thick fingers g at the floor.

  Panting, Hugo raised his bat again and brought it down with everything he had. Again. And again. It took five full-strength hits before the skull finally caved in, and the thing stopped moving.

  His arms burned from the exertion, his breath came in shasps, but he had won. Two more down.

  He wiped sweat from his forehead, stepping back to take in his surroundings.

  Hugo decided it was time to reinforce the building further. His goal was to secure one floor at a time, ensuring his safety before expanding outward.

  He started by barrig the sed-floor stairwell pletely. Dragging a heavy dresser from one of the apartments, he wedged it firmly against the stairway entrance, ensuring there was no way anything could push through. He reinforced it with a bookshelf, stag it with trainis to add signifit heft. Then, to make sure nothing could climb over, he pulled in a wooden table and a across the top, filling any remaining gaps.

  For the remaining stairwell, he needed a quid effective way to trol access. He found a metal bar from a closet rod and wedged it against the door handle, making it difficult to open from the other side. This would be the only way he traveled between floors from now on.

  After seg the sed floor, Hugo turned his focus to another crucial issue—water. The taps had already run dry, and there was no ce of them ing back. If he didn’t prepare, he’d be irouble soon.

  He gathered every pot, bowl, and tainer he could find from the emptied apartments and carried them up to the rooftop. Ohere, he arrahem in a wide spread, making sure they were positioo catch as much rain as possible. Some he pced directly uhe drainage points where water would naturally collect, hoping to maximize efficy.

  As he worked, he thought about long-term solutions. Could he build a proper rain catt system? Maybe using pstic sheeting from some of the abandoned apartments to direct water inter basin? It was something to sider.

  With water somewhat addressed, he turo another long-term issue—food. A garden could be a game-ger if he could get it started. He began searg through the apartments, hoping to find anything he could use. There were no seeds etables to pnt, but he mao collect several flower pots, pnters, and bags of soil. It was a start.

  He had never kept a garden before and had no idea what season was best for which vegetables, but he figured he could learn. Maybe there was a book or something in one of the apartments that could help. For now, it was about setting up the spad preparing for when he did find something worth pnting.

  For now, this would have to do. He stood bad surveyed his work, satisfied that he was taking aep toward true survival. If the rain ever came, and if he could eventually find something to grow, he'd be ready.

  That evening, Hugo prepared a simple but warm meal, enjoying a quiet moment with Salem. The cat sat by his side, watg him cook with curious eyes as he boiled some instant noodles and added what little seasoning he had. It wasn’t gourmet, but it was enough to make him feel aplished.

  As he ate, he reflected ohing he had dohat day. The barricades, the water colle, the makeshift garden. He was building something sustainable, something that could st. For the first time in a long while, he felt proud of himself.

  Just as he was about to turn in for the night, a distant explosion rocked the city. The walls trembled slightly, and Hugo sat up in arm. Salem’s ears perked up, the cat shifting uneasily.

  He rushed to the window, untg and pushing it open. A faint glow flickered in the distance, smoke rising against the night sky.

  "What the hell was that...?" he muttered, gripping the windowsill.

  From down below, a gruff voice broke the silence. "My thoughts exactly."

  Hugo's breath caught. He wasn’t alone.