My Matrix Safehouse in the Doomsday Inferno

I once judged people’s character by their kindness, only to be stabbed in the back by my brother and shoved into a zombie horde by the woman I loved.

Reborn thirty days before the apocalypse, I bring back more than memories of my death: I’ve also awakened the [Matrix Space].

This time, I won’t be a saint:

I’ll fill my extra-dimensional space with tens of billions’ worth of supplies and turn a bank vault into a divine kingdom in hell.

While my enemies are still dreaming, I’ll have already paved their shortcut to hell.

When the virus sweeps across the globe on the storm winds, turning 95% of humanity into bloodthirsty abominations;

when survivors struggle through bitter cold and madness, I’ll be deep inside my impregnable fortress, calmly wiping down my blade.

They call me the “Doomsday Merchant,” the “Lone Wolf,” and the “Reaper Incarnate.”

But I know:

This isn’t a game of rebirth. It’s the last cold funeral song I’ll write for the old world.