I am the Apocalyse

Chapter 1: Waking Up to a Wanted Poster

Ethan gasped, his lungs burning as if he had just swallowed hot ash. He sat up abruptly, his joints popping like dry twigs in a fire. Dust rained down around him, catching the faint, flickering light of a dying monitor.

"System initializing," a cheerful, synthetic voice echoed directly inside his skull. "Welcome back to the land of the living, Ethan. Well, thirty years later, but who's counting?"

Ethan clutched his head, his vision swimming. "What... who’s talking? Am I dead?"

"Nope. Just extremely late to the party," the voice replied. A glowing blue screen flickered to life in his field of vision. "I'm the Future Self System. And before you ask—yes, I am you. Or rather, a digital backup of your future brain. Nice to meet me!"

"This is a joke," Ethan muttered, his voice cracking like dry parchment. He looked down at his hands. They were thin, pale, and trembling. "Thirty years? I was twenty-five. I was just... in my apartment. There was a flash of light."

"Yeah, well, things went south real quick after that flash," the System said. "Look to your left."

Ethan turned his head slowly. A dusty, cracked holographic projector on a nearby console sparked, humming as it cast a shaky projection into the air. It was a poster featuring his own face, scarred and rugged, under bold red letters.

"Is that... me?" Ethan squinted at the floating words. "Most Wanted: Dead or Alive? Reward: Five hundred thousand credits? Why does my face look like it got run over by a tractor?"

"Hey, I think we aged like fine wine," the System chuckled. "But we can admire our ruggedly handsome face later. Right now, we have a tiny, highly armed problem."

A heavy metallic thud echoed from the corridor outside the ruined laboratory.

"Is someone out there?" Ethan whispered, trying to push himself up. His knees buckled immediately, sending him crashing back onto the cold, gritty floor. "Damn it. My legs feel like wet noodles."

"Muscle atrophy," the System remarked. "Thirty years in a stasis pod does wonders for your figure, not so much for your stamina. Grab the journal."

"What journal?"

"The digital one in your head. Open the first page. I left you some notes."

Ethan squeezed his eyes shut, and a messy, hand-written digital page unfurled in his mind. He read it aloud in a panicked whisper. "‘Hey, junior. If you’re reading this, I’m probably dead and you’ve just woken up. Don’t panic. Actually, panic a little, it keeps the blood pumping. There’s a vent behind the broken terminal. Use it. Oh, and watch out for the dog.’"

Ethan froze. "A dog?"

Right on cue, a low, guttural growl vibrated through the bottom of the shattered steel door at the end of the room.

"Yeah," the System said. "That dog."

Muffled voices drifted in from the corridor, growing louder by the second.

"Check this room," a gruff voice ordered. "The scanner's picking up a fresh heat signature."

"Probably just a giant rat, boss," a second voice replied, accompanied by the heavy clank of combat boots. "This sector was cleaned out weeks ago."

"Does a rat emit pre-collapse bio-signatures, you idiot? Keep your rifle up. If it's a survivor from the old facility, they're worth a fortune to the cartel."

Ethan's heart hammered against his ribs. "They have guns. They definitely have guns."

"And very bad attitudes," the System added. "You need to crawl, Ethan. Now."

"I can't!" Ethan hissed, dragging his heavy limbs forward centimeter by centimeter. His fingers brushed against something cold and metallic. He wrapped his hand around a rusted iron pipe lying near a shattered console. "This is a nightmare. I’m going to die twice on the same day."

"Technically, it's thirty years later," the System corrected. "And the door is about to—"

The steel door flew off its hinges with a deafening crash.

A massive, cybernetically enhanced hound with glowing red eyes bounded into the room, its metallic jaws snapping. Behind it, two men clad in mismatched armor and carrying assault rifles stepped through the settling dust.

"There! By the terminal!" the first scavenger shouted, pointing a rifle. "Wait... is that the guy from the poster?"

"Holy shit, it is!" the boss yelled. "Get him! Don't shoot the face, we need the bounty confirmation!"

The hound lunged, its metallic teeth aiming straight for Ethan's throat.

Ethan screamed, swinging the rusted pipe with every ounce of adrenaline left in his starved muscles. CLANG.

The pipe struck the side of the beast's head. The hound yelped, sparks flying from its shattered cybernetic eye as it crashed into a pile of junk.

"Nice swing! Now move your ass!" the System shouted. "The vent! Behind the terminal! Push the grate!"

"I'm trying!" Ethan gasped. He scrambled backward, kicking wildy at a loose metal grate on the wall. It gave way with a loud pop.

"Hey! He's escaping into the shafts!" the scavenger boss yelled. "Shoot his legs!"

Bullets chewed through the concrete wall, showering Ethan with sharp plaster.

"Squeeze in, skinny!" the System urged. "Use those starved ribs to your advantage!"

Ethan threw himself headfirst into the dark, narrow ventilation shaft, dragging his legs in just as a shotgun blast vaporized the entrance behind him.

He slid down the steep, dusty metal chute, completely losing his grip as gravity took over.

"Where does this lead?!" Ethan screamed, sliding faster and faster into the pitch black.

"To the alleyway outside!" the System yelled back. "Try to land on something soft!"

"There is nothing soft in a ruined city!"

The slide ended abruptly. Ethan flew out of the opening, tumbling ten feet through the cool night air.

THUD.

He landed squarely on top of a sleeping woman wrapped in a heavy tactical cloak, who had been resting against a pile of crates.

"Ugh!" she gasped, the wind knocked out of her.

Before Ethan could even register what he had hit, her eyes snapped open. They were cold, sharp, and lethal. In a split second, she grabbed his collar, twisted her hips, and flipped him over.

Ethan's back slammed hard against the dirty concrete. Before he could draw a breath, the cold, razor-sharp edge of a combat knife was pressed firmly against his windpipe.

The woman pinned him down, her knee crushing his chest. Her face was half-hidden by a dark scarf, but her gaze was rock-steady and furious.

"Give me one good reason," she whispered, her voice dangerously calm, "why I shouldn't slit your throat right now."

Ethan swallowed hard, the blade stinging his skin. "I... I really hate Thursdays."