It's been two weeks since I move into the luxury hotel suite to get my body into peak physical condition. But preparing for the apocalypse requires more than strength and stamina. To survive the complete collapse of civilisation, I'll need a vast array of technical skills as well. Foraging, hunting, first aid - things an orphan like myself was never taught. Fortunately, my time loop situation allows me to rapidly gain proficiencies that would normally take a lifetime.
In previous versions of the timeline, I had not bothered dedicating time to learn these intense survival skills. I assumed securing a well-stocked shelter would be adequate preparation. But I eventually realise that strongholds can be overrun and supplies can run out. To truly endure, one must be equipped to face the wilderness alone.
Today, I enrol in an intensive wilderness survival course in the mountains. It covers crucial skills like making fires, building shelters, finding and purifying water - knowledge that will mean the difference between life and death soon enough.
The instructor, Mr Choi, is a grizzled outdoorsman who takes in my designer clothes and expensive watch with amusement.
"First time out in the woods, son?" he asks with a chuckle.
I nod. "You could say that. But I'm a quick study when necessity demands it."
He smiles knowingly. "Necessity is indeed a fine motivator. Just stick with me, and you'll have the fundamentals down in a few weeks."
We spend the first classes learning how to construct shelters - lean-tos, dugouts, and raised platforms. The other students bumble through the tasks uncomfortably. Of course, for me, it's child's play, having assembled such structures countless times before. But I take care to mimic their mistakes and frustrations, not revealing the extent of my experience.
When it comes time to make fire using flint and steel, only I succeed on the first try, earning an impressed look from Mr Choi. "Well, well, looks like you have some natural talent after all! Here I thought you were just another helpless city boy."
I just grin. "What can I say? I really like burning things."
In addition to the classes, I spend hours in the forest each day practising and honing survival skills on my own. I track, harvest, clean, and cook a rabbit. I assemble traps and snares out of scavenged materials. I memorise which plants in the region are edible or medicinal and which bring agonising death. Mr Choi monitors my progress with quiet approval.
Back in the city, I continue my unwavering fitness regimen at the hotel. But during all other available moments, I expand my knowledge across a startling array of disciplines - anything that might increase my chances of enduring the apocalypse.
I take detailed mechanics and machining courses so I can maintain and repair any needed equipment. I study emergency first aid procedures, setting bones, and suturing wounds. I learn civil engineering principles that might prove useful in fortifying shelters. No topic is too obscure if it stands to enhance my survival in some way.
At a sprawling university campus, I quietly audit a diverse array of classes outside my experience - agriculture, meteorology, astronomy, psychology, and pharmacology. The students and professors pay me little mind, assuming I'm merely some ageing curiosity seeker. They have no idea the stakes riding on my mastery of this material.
I hire experts from across the country to tutor me privately in their fields of expertise. A veterinarian teaches me how to treat animal injuries and illnesses. A master gardener instructs me in food cultivation principles. A martial arts guru schools me in hand-to-hand combat techniques. I absorb their wisdom like a sponge.
Weeks pass in a blur of perpetual study and training. My hotel suite transforms into a makeshift laboratory and library, every surface cluttered with reference books on topics ranging from anatomy to zoology. I push myself to mental and physical exhaustion daily, then revive to do it all again because I know what's at stake if I falter.
With each passing day, news of the mysterious global virus grows increasingly alarming. But the rest of the world goes about its business obliviously. They have the luxury of ignorance and denial. I do not. If I fail to prepare for every eventuality, it will mean certain death.
But doubts sometimes creep into my mind during rare moments of fatigue. Am I losing myself in this endless obsession with preparation? Have I allowed fear of the future to overtake the present? Is survival at any cost truly meaningful if there's no time left to live?
But I force the thoughts away. This is bigger than me now. My unique knowledge gives me an obligation to endure and rebuild, no matter how heavy the burden. I was chosen for this purpose, even if I don't yet understand why. My path is clear, even if isolated and lonesome.
After months of relentless skill training, I meet with Mr Choi for a final wilderness exam. He watches, impressed, as I perfectly execute trapping, hunting, fire-making, navigation, and other abilities he taught.
"Well, I have to admit you've impressed me these past weeks," he says gruffly. "I've never seen someone take to these skills like you have. You've got the right instincts and temperament to handle yourself in the harshest environments now. Just keep your wits about you."
I smile graciously and shake his calloused hand. His teachings may well keep me alive in the bleak days to come. But of course, he has no notion of what's truly in store, nor the role his instruction will play in my survival.
And so I prepare both body and mind, heedless of ridicule or reputation. Let them think what they want in these final days of comfort and order. Everything that matters now is gathering the tools and experience needed to outlast the extinction event that is fast approaching.
Because when the thin veneer of civilisation peels away, revealing the harsh reality underneath, most will be left reeling and unprepared. But not me. I was made ready. And I will endure.