Michael woke with a start. Not because of gunfire this time, but because of a sharp ping in his head. A sound that wasn't a sound, more like a thought pressed into his skull.
> [System Synchronization Complete. Access to Foundational Survival Database Granted.]
His chest rose and fell quickly as he sat up, wiping sweat from his brow. For days he had felt little nudges small flashes of instinct when things went bad. How to swing a bat with less wasted movement, how to use cloth to slow Sarah's bleeding when her leg got scraped. But now, it wasn't instincts. It was clarity. Precise. Cold. Like a manual had been hidden in his mind and suddenly thrown wide open.
Sarah stirred nearby, curled beneath a threadbare blanket they had scavenged. Her leg still looked swollen, but the infection hadn't spread at least, not yet.
Michael rubbed his face and muttered under his breath, "Guess we're really doing this."
The system didn't flood him with magic, or some video game-like menu of infinite choices. Instead, it broke down his environment with practical, brutal survival sense.
His eyes shifted to the corner of the abandoned gas station they had holed up in.
[Observation: Broken glass bottles available. Potential weaponry or Molotov component if accelerant sourced.]
[Observation: Nearby vending machines contain sugar-rich sodas. Useful for short-term energy but poor long-term nutrition.]
[Observation: First-aid cabinet missing. However, bleach residue suggests cleaning supplies may remain in back room.]
Michael blinked, half-annoyed and half-relieved. "So, what, you're like my own personal science teacher?"
The system didn't answer in words, just more flashes of knowledge. Schematics, methods. How to build a water filter from charcoal and cloth. How to sterilize wounds with makeshift alcohol solutions. How to dismantle a car battery and rewire it to create sparks for fire.
It was overwhelming. But it was also… hope.
"Michael?" Sarah's voice was soft, hoarse. "You okay?"
He forced a smile and turned to her. "Yeah. Just… thinking."
"You're always thinking," she said, wincing as she adjusted her leg. "Where are we going?"
Michael glanced toward the boarded-up windows. In the distance, the night carried sounds of distant screams and the sharp crack of military gunfire. Civilization was still collapsing in slow motion.
"Somewhere safe," he said, though the words felt empty. Then, with new certainty: "But first, I'm going to make sure you don't get worse."
Her eyes searched his. She didn't know what he meant, not fully. But she trusted him. That was enough.
The back room smelled of chemicals. Michael covered his nose as he rummaged through overturned shelves. Cleaning sprays, half-spilled bleach, and empty cardboard boxes.
> [Recommendation: Dilution of sodium hypochlorite solution possible for wound sanitation. Warning: concentration must be reduced to 0.5–1% to avoid tissue damage.]
Michael muttered, "Right, so basically: don't burn a hole in her leg."
He found a half-full bottle of bleach, a dusty jug of water, and an old glass jar. His hands trembled slightly as he followed the system's instructions, diluting the solution carefully. When he returned to Sarah, he soaked a cloth in it and cleaned around her wound. She hissed and gripped his arm, but the swelling seemed to calm slightly afterward.
Sarah studied him as he worked. "How do you… know all this stuff?"
Michael hesitated. He couldn't tell her the truth—not yet. He barely understood it himself. "Picked up a few things. Guess it finally paid off."
She didn't press, but her expression told him she wasn't fully convinced.
That night, as Sarah drifted into uneasy sleep, Michael couldn't. His mind spun with system prompts, each one nudging him toward possibilities.
Improvised bow construction.
Rainwater collection setup.
Basic antibiotic alternatives: mold cultures (risk high).
Fortification methods: overturned furniture + rope tension barriers.
It was knowledge, sure. But it wasn't free. Every time he focused too long on one process, his temples throbbed and his vision blurred. Like his brain was straining to hold in too much, too fast.
He leaned back against the cold wall, whispering to himself, "One step at a time."
The next morning, Michael decided to test something simple. They needed fire not just for warmth, but for boiling water.
> [Recommendation: Flint unavailable. Alternative: Car battery + steel wool or conductive wire.]
He raided an abandoned sedan outside the gas station. The windows were already smashed, the seats looted, but the battery was intact. It took him the better part of an hour to drag it back inside, sweat pouring down his neck.
With scavenged wire and patience, he sparked a small fire in an empty oil drum. The flame caught, dancing hungrily.
When Sarah woke, her eyes widened. "You… did that?"
Michael grinned despite himself. "Guess I did."
For the first time in days, they had hot water. They boiled what little they had collected in bottles and shared it slowly, each sip clean and pure.
By the third day, Michael noticed something new. The system wasn't just about giving him instructions it was adapting. Almost… learning what he needed.
When Sarah coughed too hard one night, panicked thoughts rushed through his mind. And then, like an answer, the system highlighted ways to ease respiratory strain how to brew makeshift teas from scavenged plants, how to create steam to clear her airways.
Michael sat by the fire, clutching his head. "Why me? Why now?"
No answer came. Just silence. But in that silence, Sarah's breathing eased. And that was enough.
Days blurred into a rhythm. Scavenge. Reinforce the gas station. Treat Sarah's leg. Avoid strangers they could hear gunshots and shouting down the main road often. The world outside was tearing itself apart, and Michael's system gave him just enough knowledge to carve out a fragile bubble of survival.
But he knew it couldn't last. Not here. Supplies would run out. Soldiers or infected would eventually sweep through.
One evening, as the sun bled across the horizon, Sarah asked him quietly: "Do you think Joel made it?"
Michael stiffened. He hadn't thought of Joel in days, not really. The chaos of their separation had consumed everything. But now, the memory of Joel's face the raw fear as he clutched Sarah in the chaos of town came back.
"I don't know," Michael admitted. "But I think he's still out there."
Sarah nodded, almost to herself. "Then maybe we'll see him again."
Michael didn't answer. He didn't want to promise something he couldn't give. But deep down, he wondered if the system whatever it truly was had thrown him into this mess for more than just survival.
That night, he dreamt of cities burning. He dreamt of men in hazmat suits dissecting corpses. He dreamt of a map spreading like a disease, red dots crawling across continents.
When he woke, the system pulsed again:
> [Global Collapse Inevitable. Survival Probability: < 2% without systemic intervention.]
[Directive: Acquire resources. Establish secure base. Protect dependent.]
Michael stared into the darkness, heart pounding. Less than 2%.
He turned to Sarah, still asleep, and whispered: "Guess that means we're screwed… unless I play your game."
The fire crackled beside them. For the first time since the outbreak began, Michael didn't feel like prey. He felt like someone preparing for a war only he could see clearly.
And as terrifying as that was, it also gave him purpose.