"Huff... huff... Where am I?"
Ethan Cole suddenly jolted awake in bed.
"Wait, wasn't my head blown off!?"
He scanned the room.
A woman was sleeping next to him, and scattered across the floor were a flight attendant's uniform, stockings, and a bra.
"Hold on, this is... the flight attendant I got off the plane with three days ago!"
Shocked, Ethan grabbed the phone on the nightstand. The time read 12:01 AM.
And the date was November 1st!!!
He rushed to the bathroom and stared blankly at his reflection in the mirror. It was still his young, human face, alive and well.
"Did I really... come back to life!?"
"Back to fifteen days before the zombie apocalypse game starts!?"
Suddenly, a notification rang in his mind:
[Ding! Congratulations, lucky one! You've been granted a one-time chance to be reborn, along with a spatial storage ring.]
He focused his thoughts, and sure enough, an infinitely vast space appeared in his mind, like a separate dimension.
[Ding! Please choose: Join the humans or the zombies?]
"A cheat ability, and a spatial storage ring!?"
"If I choose to be human, I can stockpile supplies and hide out with different women in a safehouse. Isn't that the perfect setup for a post-apocalyptic hero?"
"So this time, I choose... zombies!"
Suddenly, a voice boomed from above:
"Idiot!!! If I'd known, I would've given this rebirth chance to someone else!"
...
Three days later.
In the yard of a slaughterhouse, workers were busy hauling fresh meat.
Oddly enough, besides the meat, there were also jars of bright red blood being carefully packed into glass containers.
In the morning sunlight, the jars gleamed with a crimson hue, almost like fine wine.
"Big Frank, what's up with the boss? The farm was doing fine, so why did he suddenly order the slaughter of over a hundred thousand animals?" one worker asked, unable to hold back his curiosity.
Another worker chimed in, "Yeah, and why does he need so much blood?"
Foreman Frank frowned. He didn't understand it either, but he didn't want to seem clueless in front of the workers.
"Don't ask too many questions about the boss. Just do your job."
"Oh, got it."
The workers continued their tasks.
They wore masks, white gloves, and even had their hair tightly covered.
Frank reminded them again, "Keep everything clean. Don't let anything fall into the meat. Ethan's a real stickler for cleanliness. One hair in the meat, and he'll dock your pay."
"Got it, Big Frank. Don't worry."
The workers nodded, but privately, they couldn't help whispering among themselves.
"Have you guys noticed? The boss has been acting kinda weird lately."
"Weird how? He seems normal to me."
"He's a clean freak. Hates anything dirty. Last time he saw me smoking while working, and some ash fell on the cutting board, the way he looked at me... it was like he wanted to kill me."
"Oh, that explains it! I was wondering why he..."
"Shh! Stop talking."
One of the workers cleared his throat, cutting off the conversation. In the distance, a tall, slender young man was walking toward them. He was dressed in a crisp white shirt, looking spotless and sharp, as if untouched by a speck of dust.
His features were perfectly chiseled, so strikingly handsome that it was hard to look away.
But his narrow eyes held a coldness that sharply contrasted with his warm appearance.
Foreman Frank quickly stepped forward to greet him.
"Boss, the 9,600 cows, 4,000 turkeys, 20,000 pigs, over 50,000 chickens, and 7,000 sheep have all been slaughtered."
Ethan nodded, his gaze sweeping over the neatly wrapped meat and jars of blood, clearly satisfied.
"Go ahead and settle the wages."
"Thank you, boss. It's been a pleasure working with you."
Frank's face lit up with a smile. He instinctively reached out to shake Ethan's hand, but Ethan just stood there, staring coldly at his outstretched hand, not moving an inch.
Realizing his mistake, Frank awkwardly withdrew his hand, forcing a smile. Everyone knew Ethan had a severe case of germophobia and hated physical contact. It was common knowledge around the farm.
"Well, we'll be off then, boss. Hope we can work together again next time."
Frank chuckled nervously, leading the workers out of the yard. They quickly boarded a small bus and drove away from the scene.
Ethan watched as the workers drove off, then walked over to the piles of meat and jars of blood. With a simple wave of his hand, everything vanished in an instant.
Of course, the meat and blood hadn't disappeared into thin air—they had been stored in Ethan's spatial storage ring.
The space inside the ring was vast and limitless, with time completely frozen. Anything placed inside would remain unchanged indefinitely.
Ethan's mind drifted back to the apocalyptic zombie game from his previous life. When the game began, 1% of all life on Earth randomly transformed into zombies.s had the option to join either the zombie or human factions. If not enough people chose to become zombies, the system would forcibly mutate random individuals.
But death was real.
The terrifying scenes of the apocalypse were still fresh in his memory. Zombies roamed the streets, mutated monsters wreaked havoc, and humanity faced extreme shortages of resources.
People fought viciously over a single bottle of clean water or a moldy piece of bread. They betrayed friends and family, tearing off the masks of civility in the face of survival.
If an ordinary person were reborn just before the apocalypse, their first instinct would be to stockpile supplies to ensure survival. Water, food, medicine—these would be the top priorities for anyone siding with the humans.
But Ethan had chosen a different path.
He preferred to stockpile raw meat and fresh blood.
Because… he was about to become the first zombie.
For zombies, blood and flesh weren't just food—they were the source of power.
By consuming blood and flesh, zombies could absorb energy, evolving continuously until they became the Zombie King.
A zombie with an abundant supply of blood and flesh could evolve at an unimaginable speed.
In short, a zombie's evolution depended on how much blood and flesh they could devour.
As a zombie, Ethan's potential for growth was directly tied to how much blood and meat he could consume.
Just then, his phone rang. It was Nina Alvarez, an employee from his supermarket.
"Boss, the 100,000 frozen steaks, 50,000 frozen chicken wings, and 30,000 frozen meatballs you ordered have all arrived."
"Good. Tell all the major suppliers across the country to keep the orders coming. If international suppliers can deliver within ten days, place orders with them too," Ethan instructed calmly.
"Wait, more orders?"
Nina's voice was filled with surprise. "But... boss, we're already out of working capital. We can't even afford the deposits."
"I'll handle the money. Just keep placing the orders."
"Uh, okay then."
Nina agreed, though she was still full of doubt.
No money, yet still ordering more supplies? What was all this stockpiling for? Was the world really about to end?
...
Ethan owned a farm, a large supermarket, an estate, and several properties—part of the inheritance left by his parents.
His parents had passed away when he was very young.
He grew up in an orphanage and inherited his parents' assets when he came of age.
Over the years, he had worked hard to expand his businesses, but his liquid assets were limited.
Now, the most valuable things he owned had all been stored in his spatial storage ring.
"There are only twelve days left until the apocalypse begins. I need to figure out how to get more money and keep stockpiling blood and meat."
As Ethan pondered his next move, he noticed two cars approaching on the road outside the farm: a Maserati Quattroporte and a Honda Civic.
A group of thugs stepped out of the Honda Civic, covered in tattoos and sporting brightly dyed hair.
Most people would feel a headache coming on at the sight of them, but Ethan's lips curled into a slight smile.
"Out of money, and someone comes to deliver it. Hungry, and someone brings food..."
As the Maserati Quattroporte came to a stop, a middle-aged man stepped out. He was dressed in a black suit, bald, with a thick gold chain around his neck and a leather briefcase tucked under his arm. His swagger made it clear he thought he was in charge.
This was Warren, a well-known developer in Los Angeles. He had long had his eye on Ethan's farm, convinced that developing the land would make him a fortune.
But no matter what offer Warren made, Ethan had always refused to sell.
Since persuasion hadn't worked, Warren had decided to apply a little pressure. He brought along a group of thugs to intimidate Ethan into selling.
"Ethan, long time no see!" Warren called out with a smug grin.