The heat hit Ethan Walker first.
Texas summer heat—thick, unforgiving, the kind that pressed down on you like the sky itself was trying to grind you into the road. Interstate 35 stretched ahead in a long, wavering ribbon of asphalt, framed by scrubland and distant billboards advertising barbecue joints and gun shows. Ethan drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting near the cracked window, letting just enough air in to breathe.
The radio murmured low. News talk. Something about riots overseas, supply shortages, another disease outbreak nobody seemed able to agree on. Ethan wasn't really listening.
He'd learned, growing up outside Waco, that worrying about things you couldn't control was just a slower way to die.
Then every screen in the truck went black.
The dashboard died. The radio cut mid-sentence. Even the faint glow of his phone vanished as if someone had flipped a universal switch.
Ethan frowned and eased off the accelerator. "You've gotta be kidding me…"
The truck's engine still ran, but the silence felt wrong—too sudden, too complete. That was when the air in front of his windshield rippled.
Words appeared.
Not on glass.
In the air itself.
---
GLOBAL EVENT INITIALIZING…
BIOME: EARTH
MODE: APOCALYPSE (ZOMBIE VARIANT)
---
Ethan's foot slammed the brake. Tires screamed as the truck fishtailed slightly before stopping on the shoulder. His heart pounded hard enough to hurt.
"What the hell…?"
The text didn't flicker. Didn't glitch. It hovered there, steady and undeniable, translucent blue like a heads-up display ripped straight out of a game.
All around him, cars slowed—or didn't. A sedan plowed into the back of a pickup. Farther ahead, a semi-truck jackknifed, steel shrieking as it tore through the median. People poured out of vehicles, shouting, pointing at the same impossible thing Ethan was seeing.
More text appeared.
---
PLAYER COMPATIBILITY CHECK…
STATUS: CONFIRMED
---
A woman near the wrecked sedan screamed.
Ethan turned just in time to see a man stumble out of the driver's seat, clutching his chest. His skin darkened in spreading veins, eyes rolling back as foam bubbled from his mouth. He collapsed onto the pavement, convulsed violently—
Then stood back up.
His neck bent at an angle no living spine should manage. His jaw hung slack, teeth bared and wet. When he turned, his eyes were cloudy, dead, and locked onto the screaming woman.
He lunged.
The bite was wet. Meaty. Real.
The woman's scream cut short as the thing tore into her shoulder, dragging her down onto the asphalt.
That was when the world broke.
Gunshots rang out. Someone cried for help. A child screamed for their mother. The bitten woman thrashed weakly, then went still.
Ethan's instincts kicked in hard and fast, the way his father had drilled into him during hunting trips and hurricane evacuations.
Move. Now.
He slammed the truck into gear and floored it, swerving back onto the road as bodies and vehicles clogged the lanes. In the mirror, he saw more people fall—saw them get back up.
Zombies.
The word snapped into place with horrifying ease.
His phone buzzed violently in his pocket.
A new interface unfolded across his vision, layered over the carnage.
---
CHEAT INTERFACE UNLOCKED
UNIQUE ABILITY ACQUIRED
ABILITY: RUST ARCHITECT
STATUS: ACTIVE
---
Ethan laughed once, sharp and disbelieving.
"No. No way."
He knew Rust. He knew it better than most things in his life. Three thousand hours logged. Base designs sketched on scrap paper during slow workdays. Bunkers, honeycombs, door mazes, trap corridors—ways to survive when everyone wanted you dead.
The interface responded instantly, as if reading his thoughts.
---
BUILD SYSTEM ENABLED
MATERIAL CONVERSION: ACTIVE
MOD SUPPORT: DETECTED
---
A zombie slammed into the side of the truck, denting the door and snapping Ethan's head sideways.
"Shit!"
He veered hard off the highway, tires bouncing over dirt and grass as he aimed for the familiar blue-and-white sign ahead.
BUC-EE'S — 1 MILE
The parking lot was already chaos when he skidded in. Glass crunched under his tires. Shopping carts lay overturned like abandoned barricades. The massive storefront loomed ahead, lights flickering erratically.
Ethan grabbed the tire iron from under his seat and bolted.
Inside, the smell hit him—blood, oil, and something sour and wrong. Shelves had been torn apart. A body lay sprawled near the jerky aisle, chest ripped open.
The interface pulsed again.
---
RESOURCE DETECTION ENABLED
---
The world changed.
Objects glowed faintly with color-coded outlines. Wooden pallets behind the counter shimmered green. Broken metal shelving glinted silver. Even the beaver-themed sign near the bathrooms registered as scrap.
Ethan swallowed.
"If this works the way I think it does…"
A groan echoed down the aisle.
A zombie lurched toward him, dragging one leg uselessly behind it. Its jaw snapped as it closed the distance.
Ethan swung the tire iron.
The impact crushed the thing's skull with a sickening crunch. The body collapsed—and dissolved into faint motes of light that streamed toward him.
---
SCRAP ACQUIRED: 12
---
Ethan stared.
"…Holy shit."
He moved fast after that.
A fire axe came off the wall with another prompt flashing into existence.
---
TOOL EQUIPPED
MOD APPLIED: STONE TOOL HAT
GATHER RATE +200%
---
He tested it on a wooden pallet.
The axe bit deep, and the pallet exploded apart unnaturally clean, breaking down into glowing fragments that vanished into his inventory. The motion felt right—intuitive, efficient.
Outside, zombies were gathering.
Ethan burst through the back door and ran for the treeline bordering the parking lot. The axe rose and fell. Trees shattered faster than physics should allow. Metal signs peeled from their posts. A discarded shopping cart folded inward like it was made of foil.
The interface tracked it all calmly.
---
WOOD: 1,240
METAL FRAGMENTS: 380
SCRAP: 96
---
His breathing steadied.
This wasn't luck.
This was a system.
Ethan scanned the open ground behind the Buc-ee's, mind already mapping layouts. Flat terrain. Limited angles of approach. Visibility.
Perfect.
"Place Tool Cupboard," he muttered.
---
CONFIRM PLACEMENT?
---
"Yes."
The air warped.
A faint blue grid spread outward from the spot, snapping to the land as if reality itself had been overlaid with invisible rules.
---
BUILD PRIVILEGE ESTABLISHED
DECAY DISABLED WITHIN RANGE
---
For the first time since the world went insane, Ethan felt something solid beneath his feet.
He built.
Foundations snapped into place one after another, square and tight. Walls rose. Door frames followed. The process was almost effortless, his thoughts translating directly into structure.
Zombies hit the walls seconds later.
Wooden fists slammed uselessly against reinforced planks as Ethan upgraded on the fly.
---
UPGRADE AVAILABLE
WOOD → METAL
---
The walls thickened, dark steel plating sealing itself with heavy clanks. A door appeared—and transformed mid-placement into reinforced armor.
Ethan backed away as the structure finished forming.
The zombies could do nothing.
They beat against the walls, snarling, clawing, teeth scraping uselessly.
Inside, the base was quiet.
Ethan leaned against the wall and laughed—breathless, shaky, alive.
"I'm not dying today," he said softly.
Night fell quickly.
The sky darkened to a bruised red, stars flickering in strange, unfamiliar patterns. From inside his base, Ethan watched new windows unfold.
---
MOD SYNCHRONIZATION COMPLETE
ACTIVE MODS:
• AUTO-TURRET (PASSIVE POWER)
• TRAP STACKING ENABLED
• ELECTRICITY OVERHAUL+
---
A turret unfolded itself onto the roof, mechanical limbs clicking into place. It tracked movement automatically.
Gunfire shattered the night.
Zombies fell in heaps beneath the lights Ethan hadn't even remembered placing.
Ethan sat on the floor, axe across his knees, exhaustion finally creeping in.
He thought of his father—of long drives across empty highways, of lessons about preparation and stubborn survival.
Texas didn't make heroes.
It made survivors.
Outside, the dead kept coming.
Inside, Ethan Walker closed his eyes.
The server had wiped.
And for the first time in his life, he was ready.