Ryco stumbled, one leg useless from the bullet that slammed him down into the cracked concrete. Pain shredded through his body like fire, each breath a struggle. He coughed, tasting copper and dust, and tried to crawl backward, away from the shadow that devoured the moonlight.
"Move… move!" he barked at the figures retreating up the ruined stairwell, his voice rough, cracking. "The hell are you doing?!"
No reply. Only the echo of their boots fading, leaving him alone. Betrayed. His chest heaved with the weight of disbelief and rage. Carlo. Lissa. The ones he trusted with his life. The ones he'd protected, fed, kept alive. They had used him. Left him as bait.
"Cowards…" he hissed between ragged breaths, blood dripping from the corner of his mouth. "I should've let you rot in the snow…"
Above him, the Tyrant's shadow stretched over Ryco like a living nightmare. Its claws, long and jagged, flexed in the dim light. Muscle moved under taut, unnatural skin. Its jaw opened slowly, a wet, rattling sound like metal grinding.
Ryco's eyes burned, vision swimming. He could feel the weight of the end pressing down, crushing him before the monster's final strike.
And yet, anger flared brighter than fear. "You… you'll regret this!" he croaked, voice barely audible. "I swear… every… single… one…"
A heavy step brought the Tyrant closer, its claws scraping concrete. Ryco tried to raise a hand in defiance, trembling, blood slick and sticky. The world narrowed to pain, to betrayal, to the looming shadow.
Then, out of nowhere, a sound—high, digital, almost cheerful—cut through the chaos.
A screen. A glowing rectangle, hovering above his vision. Blue light flickered, sharp against the darkness. He could barely see the symbols. Couldn't read them. Couldn't comprehend.
Ryco blinked through the blur, voice ragged:
"Yeah… yeah… whatever…"
He whispered the only word that came to mind, a tiny defiance in the face of inevitability:
"YES."
The Tyrant's claws came down, the world exploded in white-hot pain—and then nothing.
Silence.
Death.
Rule 1 — Back Before the End
Ryco woke to the smell of stale air and dust. His eyes snapped open, blinking against the weak morning light streaming through the cracked blinds. His body was intact. Whole. No blood, no pain, no broken bones.
He coughed, dry and sharp, as memories slammed into him like a freight train.
The betrayal. Carlo, Lissa, the others—using him as bait. The Tyrant—towering, monstrous, tearing him in half. And then…the last thing he saw before death: that glowing window, the wordless command, and his instinctive "YES."
He sat up, breathing hard, blood pounding in his ears, and the rage began to burn.
"I'm… back," he muttered. "And this time… I'm not going down quietly."
He closed his eyes and let his mind wander through the future he remembered. Every headline. Every warning he'd ignored. Every step that led to the apocalypse.
The magnetic pull of the Earth—slowly shifting, causing chaos in weather patterns.
The weather—the heatwave, then the sudden snow in the Philippines, the unnatural frost that killed crops and froze rivers.
The first infections—how the CryoRot virus spread from isolated carriers into the first outbreak, turning ordinary humans into Runners.
The crash—the plane, the asteroid-carried virus trapped in ice, and the scientists who unwittingly unleashed it when the ice melted.
He opened his laptop and skimmed old news articles, searching for confirmation. Nothing. All normal. Yet he knew what was coming.
A grin curled, bitter and sharp, across his face. Revenge wasn't just a feeling anymore—it was a plan.
Ryco stood, voice low and determined:
"Okay… first things first. If I'm going to survive this, I need a plan. And I'm not leaving anything to chance."
He grabbed a pen and a scrap of paper, and started drafting his Guide to Survival—his personal blueprint for the year ahead:
1. Food — Hunt. Gather. Stockpile. Think months ahead. No more relying on luck or strangers.
2. Meds — First aid. Antibiotics. Painkillers. Anything to keep a body in working condition.
3. Train — Muscle, stamina, reflexes. Practice weapons. Remember every trick I learned in the future.
4. Prepare — Tools, traps, weapons, improvised armor. Anticipate the monsters before they come.
5. Find Shelter — Secure location. Hard to breach. Hidden. Dry. Cold-proof.
6. Scouting & Recon — Know the lay of the land. Anticipate disaster zones. Identify resources.
7. Record Everything — Every skill, every event, every change. This time, knowledge is survival.
8. Revenge — Carlo, Lissa, the rest. They won't just get lucky. Not this time.
He leaned back in his chair, exhaling slowly. The list was crude, but it was a start.
"Step one: survive. Step two: thrive. Step three: make them all regret leaving me to die," he muttered.
Ryco glanced at his arms, flexing his fingers. Muscle memory—the skills, the instincts—were still there, buried beneath the years. He could feel them stirring, ready to be called back to life.
He wasn't just a man anymore. Not yet. But he had a plan. And plans… were dangerous.
Ryco dug through his small, cluttered apartment like a man possessed. Empty cans, broken chairs, old wires, even a bent coat hanger—anything could become part of a bow or arrow. His fingers were scraped, blackened with dust and grime, but he didn't care.
"Okay… string… shaft… something to make the limbs flexible but strong…" he muttered to himself, squinting at a bundle of old wires. "Come on… come on…"
A sudden vibration on the desk made him freeze.
Ring. Ring.
Ryco picked up the phone, brow furrowed.
"Jake?" he said cautiously.
"Ryco! Bro! You free for lunch?" Jake's voice was loud, cheerful, completely oblivious to the apocalypse that Ryco had lived through in the future.
Ryco blinked. "Lunch? Like… normal, non-apocalypse, non-zombie lunch?"
"Yeah! Let's grab some ramen at that new place. Come on, man, it's been forever!"
Ryco stared at the phone, then at the pile of scraps around him. Bow limbs, wire, a few broken tools… survival mode was calling. But Jake… Jake was the reminder of a life that hadn't gone completely sideways yet.
He groaned. "Of course. Perfect timing. My life literally depends on crafting a weapon for the coming zombie–meteor–magnetic-shift disaster, but sure, ramen sounds good."
"Awesome! Pick you up in 20!" Jake hung up before Ryco could protest further.
Ryco rubbed his face, muttering under his breath. "Twenty years from now, I'm going to remember this call and wonder why I even answered it."
He glanced at the tools again. Broken wires, a bent broomstick, a spool of fishing line. "Fine… quick lunch. Then I'm off to the province. And this time… I'm actually making a proper bow. No excuses. Survival first, ramen second."
And with that, Ryco grabbed his jacket, shoved some scraps and tools into a backpack, and headed out the door.
The year before the end was only beginning, and even normal distractions like lunch couldn't stop him from preparing… not really.
Ryco walked down the street with his hood up, fingers drumming on the straps of his backpack. He was still thinking about bow limbs and arrowheads when he turned the corner—
—and almost bumped into the last person he wanted to see in any timeline.
Lisa.
Her hair was tied in that same messy ponytail she pretended was "effortless," her smile sweet enough to rot teeth. In the future, she'd been nothing but trouble. Ate his food, wasted his ammo, pretended to care so she could mooch off him.
In reality?
A parasite in human form, he muttered in his head.
This bitch ruined my whole stash twice. Even ate my last instant noodles when I was starving.
Someday… I'll make you pay.
She spotted him instantly.
"Ryco! Oh my god, hi!" she chirped, waving like she cared.
He forced a polite half‑smile. "Hey… Lisa."
He angled his body to walk past her, planning to ignore everything that would come out of her mouth next.
He didn't get the chance.
A heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder.
His vision snapped white for a split second.
Instinct roared up from somewhere deep—somewhere forged by the apocalypse, sharpened by fear, and burned in by betrayal.
Before Ryco even processed it, his body had moved.
He grabbed the wrist.
Twisted.
Dropped his weight.
And flipped the guy straight onto the pavement with a thud.
"UGH—! What the hell!?"
Carlos.
Of course.
Lisa gasped, covering her mouth. "C‑Carlos! Are you okay!?"
Ryco froze, staring down at him.
Shock and realization hit him at the same time.
My body moved on its own… muscle memory from the future? No—soul memory. I must've brought back the instincts I trained with…
He swallowed, putting on a guilty face. "Crap—Carlos, man, I'm sorry. Reflex. I thought someone was trying to jump me."
Inside, he wasn't sorry at all.
You deserve way more than a flip, bastard. You're the one who shoved me into that pit. You're the reason that Tyrant got me. And Lisa—this bitch—shot my leg so she could escape while I got ripped in half.
Outwardly, he offered a hand and helped Carlos up.
"Sorry, bro. Really," Ryco said calmly.
Carlos dusted himself off, annoyed but hiding it under fake friendliness.
"What're you doing around here anyway?"
"Jake called me," Ryco replied. "Said he wanted to grab lunch. I'm heading there now."
Lisa perked up. "Ooh, where? Maybe we can—"
"Nope," Ryco cut her off with a quick wave. "He's already waiting. I'll catch you guys later."
He turned away, refusing to give them a chance to linger.
As he walked off, his thoughts sharpened.
Focus. Supplies first. Training next. Shelter. Preparations.
When the time comes, I'll settle every score.
Just you two wait.
His steps grew steadier, more purposeful.
Because in this lifetime?
Ryco wasn't going to die in anyone's place but his own choosing.
Ryco slid into the booth at the ramen shop, Jake already waving him over with a grin. The smell of broth and noodles hit him, warm and comforting, almost surreal compared to the memories of snow, blood, and rot that haunted him.
"You're late," Jake said, laughing. "I already ordered for both of us."
"Of course you did," Ryco muttered, settling into the seat. He couldn't help the small grin tugging at his lips.
They dug in, slurping noodles and laughing like life was simple. For a few minutes, Ryco almost forgot the Tyrants, the Runners, the betrayals. Almost.
Then Jake leaned back, chewing thoughtfully. "Hey… did you hear the rumors? About… the Earth's magnetic field?"
Ryco froze mid-slurp. His mind snapped back, every instinct screaming.
"Magnetic field?" he asked carefully.
"Yeah," Jake said, shrugging. "Scientists say it's slowly shifting backwards. If it keeps going, the weather could get… weird. Really weird. Like, maybe the Philippines could get snow or something. Crazy, huh?"
Ryco's stomach went cold. The news should've made him laugh, made him shake his head. Instead… he felt the hairs on his neck stand on end.
This is the news I never got in my past life, he thought, eyes narrowing. I was too busy simping to that bitch, too busy letting idiots ruin my life to pay attention. Tch.
Now it hit him differently. No excitement. No curiosity. Just warning lights flashing.
Things haven't changed. This is great… now I can prep accurately.
If I'd heard this before, I'd be excited for snow.
Now… it gives me shivers.
He leaned across the table, voice lowered. "Jake… listen to me. You need to train. Hunt. Stack supplies. Everything you can. For real. No excuses."
Jake blinked. "Wait… why? What's going on?"
Ryco met his best friend's eyes, keeping his tone calm, but firm. "What if the snow… stays for long? Not just a cold snap. Real, months-long… disaster-level cold. You don't want to be caught unprepared."
Jake nodded slowly, the seriousness sinking in. "…Alright. I get it. I'll help. Stack supplies, train with you."
Ryco allowed himself the faintest smirk. "Good. It's better to be paranoid now than dead later."
For the first time since waking up in this second chance, Ryco felt a spark of control. He had knowledge others didn't. He had time, and he wasn't wasting it.
The apocalypse hadn't started yet—but he was already planning, already preparing. And now… even the weather itself could no longer take him by surprise.
To be continue