Don't hoard supplies! Don't hoard supplies! Don't hoard supplies! I wrote these words on my neighbor's living room wall with lipstick before hurriedly leaving. This was three days before the apocalypse began, and counting the previous times, this was the fourth time I had returned to this timeline. I was trapped in a bizarre loop; every time I perished in the apocalypse, I would return here again. On one hand, I was grateful for what seemed like immortality; on the other hand, I began to feel an extreme fear of death. After all, experiencing death three times was an inhuman torment, both physically and mentally.
