The fluorescent lights of the government mental hospital flickered faintly, casting washed-out shadows across the Neurology Department.
Inside Room 207, Adam Gray, 22 years old, 180 cm tall, and over 200 kg, sat hunched on the edge of the examination chair. His large hands trembled as he tore open yet another snack packet and stuffed it compulsively into his mouth.
Crumbs clung to his chin, but his eyes—bloodshot, exhausted—remained unusually calm as he spoke.
"…and every night for the past two weeks, the same thing happens, Dr. Philip. I close my eyes here, and the moment I fall asleep… the other me wakes up in a world covered in cold, fog, and corpses."
Across from him, Dr. Philip, a graying neurologist with decades of experience, scribbled notes while maintaining a careful neutrality on his face.
Adam continued, voice low and steady.
"In that world… two weeks ago, a zombie outbreak began. And I didn't just dream about it. My soul… merged with another version of me over there. When I sleep here, he wakes up. When he sleeps, I open my eyes here. And it doesn't hurt. It doesn't feel wrong. It feels—real."
His fingers tightened around the empty snack wrapper.
"It's too detailed. Too continuous. Not like dreams. It's like I'm living two lives."
Dr. Philip closed his notebook gently.
"Adam, your girlfriend mentioned your rapid weight gain. She worried. And combined with your… vivid experiences, I believe this may be an onset of schizophrenia—a deep delusional disorder. I strongly recommend hospitalization."
The words hammered into Adam like cold nails.
"I'm not delusional," he murmured. "I know it sounds crazy, but—"
"Adam." The doctor sighed. "Dreams feel real when the mind wants them to. Please take the medication I prescribed, rest, and stay away from fantasy novels or apocalypse media for a while."
Outside — Reality Breaks
Adam stepped into the hallway, medication slip in hand, only to freeze.
Olivia Winters, his girlfriend of three years, stood near the exit. Her expression was ice-cold as she scanned the diagnosis paper.
When her eyes met his, there was no softness, no affection—only disgust.
"Adam," she said sharply, "I didn't mind that you were broke, because at least you used to be handsome. But now? Look at yourself."
Her finger jabbed toward his round stomach.
"You're a fat pig. Poor and ugly. And now you're mentally
ill too?"
The words cut deeper than any blade.
Adam swallowed hard. "Olivia… we can fix this. We just need to talk. The last few months have been rough for me—"
"Rough?" She laughed. "You were Yale's campus heartthrob. Girls chased you. I chased you. And after getting together, you became clingy, insecure, obsessed with me. You ruined yourself."
"That's not—"
"You're immature. No career plan. No ambition. You wasted three years of my youth. We're done. Completely."
Adam stood silent.
The girl he once adored, the girl he once believed in—now felt like a stranger.
Something inside him… broke.
"Fine," he whispered.
She didn't reply.
A sleek Porsche 718 rolled up beside her, and Olivia slipped inside with practiced familiarity.
The driver looked at Adam with a mocking smirk.
Roderick Black, a notorious rich playboy.
Adam realized the truth with chilling clarity—
He hadn't just lost her. He'd been replaced long ago.
Night — The Dream Calls Again
Back at his cramped rented apartment, he found Olivia's belongings already gone.
She had prepared her escape in advance.
Adam stared at the empty closet for a long moment… then laughed bitterly.
"I'm not crazy," he muttered. "It's real. I know it's real."
At 9:30 PM, after finishing a pot of lotus root and pork rib soup, he sank into bed.
Sleep took him quickly.
Apocalypse — The Other Morning
He opened his eyes again—
9:30 AM.
Bone-chilling cold.
Dark basement.
Hunger clawing his insides.
Here, in the apocalyptic world, he was weaker, thinner—starving.
Only half a moldy slice of bread and half a bottle of water remained.
"So the good dream ended," he whispered—the "good dream" being his real world.
He swallowed the disgusting bread, forced down the water, and breathed through the pain in his empty stomach.
"If I don't find food today… I die."
Zombies slowed in the cold, so he wrapped wires around his forearm, took a kitchen knife, and crept out of the basement.
The streets above were silent except for the distant gnawing of corpses.
Supermarkets were stripped bare.
The cities had fallen in just two weeks.
His only hope was scavenging from locked apartments—something he'd learned before the apocalypse from a lock-picking hobby.
Apartment 1805 yielded a single wedding candy under a bed. He devoured it with tears in his eyes.
"Pathetic," he choked. "I'm crying over a candy."
Death at the Door
At Apartment 1901, as he bent to pick the lock, a door suddenly burst open.
A zombie lunged.
Adam's heart stopped—but his body moved.
He slammed the door back, pinning the zombie's shoulder, then stabbed wildly—
once, twice, twenty times—
until the skull crushed and the body went limp.
Blood dripped from the blade.
He was panting, but not trembling.
He had killed a man for a piece of bread last night.
This?
This was nothing.
As he wiped his knife, something glittered within the mangled skull—a small crystal, white and shimmering faintly.
It smelled faintly… of rice.
He searched the luxurious apartment—gold bars, jadeite, expensive décor—
but no food.
Hunger tore at him mercilessly.
His vision blurred.
In desperation, Adam took the crystal and shoved it into his mouth.
It melted instantly, sweet and warm—
Then the world exploded.
Breakthrough
Fire surged through his veins.
His skin flushed red.
Muscles twitched violently.
His eyes burned.
He collapsed to the floor, writhing as pain swallowed him whole.
"AHHH—!"
Something in his mind shattered—
and something else opened.
A hazy space—dim, floating, about one cubic meter wide—appeared within his consciousness.
He felt something from the apartment get sucked into it.
Then—
BANG.
His head hit a box of gold bars.
Darkness swallowed everything.