My name is Ren Takahe, and I'm your classic Osaka misfit half-American, half-Japanese, and 100% addicted to horror flicks. Night of the Living Dead 28 Weeks Later I could quote them in my sleep. Video games Dying Light and Days Gone were practically lifestyle guides for me.
Then reality decided to get meta on my ass.
I woke up one morning, head throbbing, to a cold, mechanical voice buzzing in my skull. It was like a Siri update gone horribly wrong.
[SYSTEM ACTIVATED]
[User Identified: Ren Takahe]
[Purpose: Survival Entertainment Index Evaluation]
[Estimated Apocalypse Commencement: T-minus 30 days]
[You have been selected.]
[Welcome to: S-IO (Survival-Input-Output System)]
[New Stat Tree Unlocked.]
[$3,000,000 credited.]
A jolt ran through me. What the hell was this? Some kind of elaborate prank?
The voice continued, devoid of warmth.
[⚠️ Warning: Funds may only be used for survival-related materials.]
[Attempting to purchase land, hire personnel, or alert others will result in voided transactions.]
[Before you accept:– You are not special.– You were chosen for entertainment.– Your survival means more entertainment.]
[Would you like a tutorial on global viral pandemic containment failure?]
I stared at the prompt, blinking. This had to be a joke. A really twisted joke. My finger hovered over the projected "N" button.
It didn't matter. Before I could react, the system chose for me.
[Y / N]
And then the world dissolved.
Suddenly, I was standing in the middle of Dotonbori, Osaka's neon-drenched entertainment district, but everything was wrong. The laughter and chatter were gone, replaced by screams. The bright lights flickered and died. Blood stained the pavement, turning the reflections into something nightmarish. People clawed at each other, tearing flesh, their eyes vacant and rabid.
The infected.
They were everywhere.
I watched myself a ghostly version of me standing frozen, paralyzed by fear as a woman with a torn face begged for help. I saw myself turn away, unable to act, as she was swarmed and devoured.
The simulation sped up, showing different scenarios, each one ending in failure. Trying to save a child, only to be bitten. Hiding in a convenience store, only to be overrun. Arming myself with a baseball bat, only to be swarmed and overwhelmed.
[Simulation Complete]
[Timeline 01: Hero Complex]
[Outcome: Infection. Death. Failure.]
My stomach lurched. I gasped for air, the phantom taste of blood and decay filling my mouth. This wasn't a game. It was too real. The fear was visceral, the despair crushing.
I had thirty days.
Thirty days to prepare for this hell.
Thirty days to survive.
I stared at the "Y" button, my hand shaking. This was insane. But what choice did I have?
I pressed it.
Instantly, agony exploded in my skull. It felt like molten metal being poured into my brain, searing every nerve, every thought. I screamed, a silent scream trapped inside my mind, as my body convulsed.
And then the knowledge came.
A torrent of information flooded my consciousness, overwhelming my senses. I saw diagrams of locks, blueprints of weapons, maps of Osaka's hidden alleys. I heard lectures on foraging, first aid, and chemical synthesis. I felt my muscles twitch as new pathways were carved into my brain, rewriting my reflexes, my instincts.
[NEW SKILLSETS UNLOCKED]
[✅ Lockpicking (Basic to Intermediate)]
[✅ Improvised Weapon Crafting (Urban Materials)]
[✅ Urban Foraging (Edible Plants, Insect Protein, Trash-tier Nutrition)]
[✅ First-Aid & Antibiotic Synthesis (Includes Penicillin Culturing)]
[✅ Stealth Movement (Urban Terrain)]
[✅ Scavenging (Bypass Entry, Cache Identification)]
[✅ Route Planning (Risk Assessment & Escape Path Optimization)]
I collapsed to my knees, gasping for breath, my body trembling. Blood trickled from my nose, my fingers spasmed, but I knew how to pick a lock with a paperclip. I could identify edible weeds growing in the cracks of the sidewalk. I could make penicillin from moldy bread.
"What the hell..." I whispered, wiping the blood from my face.
This wasn't a cheat code. This was a survival crash course delivered with the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
And it wasn't even the hard part yet.
I stumbled to my feet, my mind racing. I had to tell someone. Warn them. Save them.
I grabbed my phone, my fingers hovering over Mom's number. Dad. Maybe Kaito or Hana. Someone had to believe me.
But then the system's interface flared red, a warning flashing across my vision.
[SYSTEM WARNING]
Another simulation slammed into me, this time even more brutal.
I stood in my apartment, phone in hand, my voice frantic. "It's coming! Some kind of virus! I'm serious! You have to prepare! Just trust me!"
My friends laughed, dismissing it as another one of my horror obsessions.
"Ren, you're always watching those zombie movies," Kaito chuckled. "Chill out, man. It's just a new flu strain."
My dad sighed, shaking his head. "Ren, you need to stop watching those conspiracy shows. It's affecting your judgment."
Mom's face was etched with worry, but even she couldn't bring herself to believe me. "Ren, honey, I'm sure it's nothing. Just be careful, okay?"
Time skipped, the simulation accelerating.
The outbreak hit. Panic erupted in the streets. The news was filled with reports of a strange, aggressive illness spreading rapidly. Then came the violence, the chaos, the death.
And then they came.
My friends, my parents, standing outside my apartment, their faces contorted with terror. "Ren, help us!" Hana screamed, pounding on the door. "Please, you knew this was coming, right? Let us in!"
I hesitated, a flicker of doubt in my mind. But they were my family, my friends. How could I turn them away?
I let them in. I gave them food, water, shelter. I protected them, risking my own life to keep them safe.
Weeks passed, maybe months. We barricaded ourselves in my apartment, rationing supplies, fighting off the infected whenever they got too close.
Then one night, the inevitable happened.
A horde of zombies, drawn by the noise and the scent of living flesh, breached our defenses. Screams filled the air. Shadows danced at the windows. The undead poured in like a tide of rotting flesh.
And they
They ran.
My own parents, my closest friends, abandoning me to save themselves. They pushed me toward the horde, using me as a shield, a distraction.
I saw myself being torn apart, the pain excruciating, the betrayal even worse.
[Simulation Ended]
The system's voice echoed in my mind, cold and devoid of emotion.
"Humans, no matter how intelligent, are still animals. They fear. They flee. They abandon. Even with a lifetime of shared blood or memories, they will leave you when danger comes."
"Your parents will abandon you even if you are their child."
I collapsed onto the floor, the weight of the simulation crushing me. I couldn't breathe, couldn't cry. I just stared at the ceiling, shaking, the image of my loved ones running away seared into my mind.
A part of me the part that still believed in the inherent goodness of people—died right then.
Not all of it. Not yet. But something cracked, something fundamental. And I knew, with a chilling certainty, that I was alone.
I sat up, my body numb, my mind detached. The world felt distant, unreal.
Then, the system's interface reappeared, a shopping list forming in front of me. Items I never would have considered before now.
Bandages, sure. Canned food, obvious. But also:
Calcium hypochlorite for water purification.
Activated charcoal for detox.
Vinegar and sugar to culture penicillin molds.
Wire cutters, spring steel for makeshift traps.
Insect repellents, not for bugs but for disease vectors.
Large tarps and heavy-duty plastic sheeting.
Ammonia and bleach, carefully balanced, for disinfecting.
Small manual tools hand drills, files, sewing kits.
Fishing hooks and nylon lines (for improvised traps and snares).
I had no idea half this stuff existed until the system showed me.
The system's voice broke the silence, clinical and cold.
[SYSTEM ADVISORY]
[Purchasing Strategy:]
[To avoid drawing suspicion or triggering law enforcement, spread purchases across multiple stores and districts.]
[Avoid bulk buying from single retailers.]
[Prioritize cash or untraceable transactions when possible.]
[Coordinating supply pickups increases chance of unnoticed prep.]
I nodded, my heart pounding. This was no longer about stocking up it was about camouflage. About blending in, becoming invisible.
I mapped out my route, my mind racing.
A pharmacy on the east side for bandages, antiseptics, and antibiotics.
Hardware stores scattered around Osaka's outskirts for tools and wire.
Convenience stores for canned food and water bottles.
Outdoor sporting goods shops for tarps, ropes, and survival gear.
I set small daily budgets for each stop, blending into the usual crowds. I bought just enough to avoid suspicion, grabbing no more than a few cans or a box of supplies at each place.
Each time I left a store, I glanced over my shoulder, feeling eyes on me. The quiet hum of the city carried normal life, but underneath, I knew the storm was coming.
The next few days became a careful dance shopping, hiding, cataloging supplies, practicing lockpicking on old abandoned lockers I found near the river. Each purchase felt like a gamble.
Could someone notice? Would I be stopped and questioned?
I glanced up as the system's holographic interface flickered to life before me. Floating numbers, bars, and icons hovered in midair cold, clinical, yet mesmerizing.
[STAT SHEET — REN TAKAHÉ]
[Strength: 12 (+2)]
[Endurance: 15 (+3)]
[Agility: 14 (+4)]
[Perception: 16 (+5)]
[Intelligence: 18 (+6)]
[Stealth: 10 (+5)]
[Crafting: 8 (+7)]
[Lockpicking: 0 → 12]
[First Aid: 5 → 10]
[Scavenging: 3 → 9]
[Survival Instinct: 7 → 14]
Below the stats, a progress bar pulsed slowly:
[Next Skill Unlock: Advanced Improvised Weapon Crafting — 45%]
The system's voice chimed softly: "Your adaptability and focus have improved your Perception and Intelligence stats. Continuing practice will unlock advanced skills."
I touched the air, zooming in on the Lockpicking stat. Twelve points. That meant I wasn't just fumbling with bobby pins anymore I could break into most urban locks now.
I paused in my lockpicking practice, wiping sweat from my forehead. It was getting harder to keep up the charade of normalcy. The news was filled with unsettling stories reports of strange animal behavior, an aggressive flu strain spreading in Hokkaido. People were starting to cough on the trains, their eyes glazed over, their movements jerky.
The clock was ticking.
I glanced at my phone. A message from Kaito.
"Hey, Ren! Wanna grab some ramen tonight? New place opened up in Namba. On me!"
My stomach twisted. I wanted to see him, to talk to him, to warn him. But the system's warning echoed in my mind.
Alerting others will result in voided transactions.
What did that mean? Would the system punish me? Or would it just be another simulation, another lesson in the futility of trying to save others?
I typed a quick reply, my fingers trembling.
"Sorry, man. Got a lot on my plate right now. Raincheck?"
I closed my eyes, feeling a pang of guilt. I was isolating myself, cutting myself off from the people I cared about. But what choice did I have?
I opened my eyes, my gaze hardening. Survival came first.
I picked up the lockpick set, my fingers moving with newfound confidence. The lock clicked open, the mechanism releasing with a satisfying snap.
I was learning. Adapting. Evolving.
The system's voice echoed in my mind, cold and distant.
[SYSTEM INFO: PATHOGEN PROFILE]
The "zombie virus" is a hybrid pathogen combining characteristics of:
Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy (BSE, aka Mad Cow Disease)
Chronic Wasting Disease (CWD) from deer and elk
Rabies Virus
This neurodegenerative prion-virus hybrid targets the brain's limbic system, specifically the amygdala and hypothalamus.
The result:
Disruption of fear response and emotional regulation
Extreme, unprovoked aggression
Loss of higher reasoning and social inhibition
The pathogen spreads primarily through saliva and blood via bites the virus and prions both enter the bloodstream and travel to the brain, triggering rapid neurological degeneration.
Infection incubation averages 24–72 hours depending on bite severity and host immunity.
Sensory effects:
Vision: Reduced acuity; motion detection preserved but details blurred
Touch & Taste: Significantly diminished sensitivity
Hearing & Smell: Sharply enhanced; infected rely heavily on these senses for hunting and tracking
Behavioral result: Infected exhibit relentless pursuit of targets, heightened response to noise and scent, and impaired ability to process complex stimuli, leading to predictable but dangerous attack patterns.
I let the information sink in.
They don't hunt like animals exactly. They're driven by raw instinct, focused only on prey and threat signals through sound and smell.
Which meant if I wanted to survive I had to be silent. And mask my scent. And stay out of sight.
I spent hours researching online, cross-referencing the system's information with scientific articles and survival guides. I learned about prion diseases, viral infections, and the human brain. I studied the effects of fear, stress, and trauma on the body and mind.
The more I learned, the more terrified I became.
This wasn't just some virus. It was a complete breakdown of the human condition, a descent into primal savagery.
And I was the only one who knew it was coming.
The next day, I continued my shopping spree, carefully spreading my purchases across different stores and districts. At a hardware store in Shinsekai, I picked up wire cutters, duct tape, and a roll of spring steel.
"Find everything okay, sir?" the shopkeeper asked, a bored look on his face.
I nodded, forcing a smile. "Yeah, just doing some home repairs."
He shrugged, ringing up my purchases. "Good luck with that. These old buildings need a lot of work."
As I left the store, I noticed a group of teenagers loitering across the street, their eyes following me. They looked harmless enough, but I couldn't shake the feeling that they were watching me.
I quickened my pace, my hand instinctively reaching for the knife I had hidden in my pocket.
Paranoia was setting in. I was starting to see threats everywhere.
I reached my apartment, locking the door behind me and drawing the curtains.
I surveyed my growing stockpile of supplies, feeling a sense of grim satisfaction.
I was ready. Or at least, as ready as I could be.
That evening, as I was organizing my supplies, the system's interface flickered to life again.