Reborn before the apocalypse, I know that doomsday runs in “seasons.” Season One: The city is surrounded by zombies. While everyone else scrambles for food, I quietly stock up on every cleaver and sheet of steel in the hardware store. Season Two: A global ice age. While everyone else looks for warm clothes, my warehouse is packed with self-heating coal and generators. I know the answers to every version, so to me, the apocalypse is just a hamster’s stockpiling game.
