TWD:Zombie System

Troy stood silently near the window, watching the city below as I finalized my thoughts. The sky was already dimming, and a strange tension lingered in the air—like the world was holding its breath before plunging into chaos.

I turned to him. "Troy," I said, breaking the silence.

He shifted his attention to me immediately. "Yes, sir?"

"I need you to start recruiting more men—experienced ones. Former military, mercenaries, retired special forces, bodyguards. Anyone who knows how to shoot and survive."

"How many?" he asked, already mentally forming a plan.

"Eighty," I replied without hesitation.

He raised an eyebrow slightly, but didn't question it. "And the budget?"

"There's no limit," I said firmly. "Pay whatever it takes. But there's a condition—they have to be like us."

"Orphans," he said, nodding slowly. "No families. No attachments."

"Exactly," I confirmed. "Everyone we bring in must be someone who won't be used against us. No loved ones to be threatened. No emotional weaknesses. The men I've already hired meet that standard. You, me—we've all lost something. That's why we don't break easily."

Troy folded his arms. "I'll screen every one of them myself."

"Good. Also," I added, "start ordering weapons. Anything we can get—firearms, ammo, gear, armor. If it shoots or protects, I want it."

"Yes, sir," he said, already pulling out his encrypted tablet. "I'll reach out to our black market contacts and a few ex-military suppliers."

"Get it done quietly. We can't attract too much attention yet."

As Troy began his work, I walked toward the elevator panel and pressed a button.

"I want Max Barb here," I said.

Troy gave a single nod. "Already called him. He's on his way up."

Minutes later, the doors slid open with a soft ding. Max stepped inside—tall, broad, and calm as always. At fifty years old, he still carried himself with the disciplined presence of a seasoned special forces veteran. Now, he was my trusted butler and logistics manager.

"Sir," he greeted, giving a short bow of respect.

"Max, I need you to start stockpiling supplies immediately," I told him. "Food, water, fuel, solar panels, two-way radios, gas masks—everything we'll need to operate off-grid. Think long-term survival."

He nodded. "How much are we working with?"

"I'm authorizing ten million dollars for initial preparations. Use it fast and wisely. Focus on essentials and high-priority gear. Delivery and storage should be secure and discreet."

Max gave another nod. "I'll get it done."

He turned without another word and headed out, already pulling up lists and contacts on his own device.

I exhaled, pacing slowly across the room.

After settling things with Troy and Max, I pulled out my phone and dialed Jessy first, then Ray. They picked up almost immediately, both of them sounding tense—they could feel it too. The shift in the air. The sense that the world was about to change forever.

"It's worse than we thought," I said, skipping the pleasantries. "This isn't just an outbreak—it's something a hell of a lot more dangerous."

There was a pause on both ends. Then I continued.

"I need you both to come here. Bring your families with you. We're stronger together, and we need to prepare—now. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Today."

Jessy spoke first. "I've already started stocking up. I'll bring my mom and my sister."

Ray added, "Same. I've got my parents and grandparents with me. We've got supplies loaded up. We'll head out soon—should be there by afternoon."

"Good," I said, finally feeling a bit of weight lift from my chest. "Be careful on the road."

Once the call ended, I leaned back on the couch, running a hand through my hair. A long exhale escaped my lips. One step at a time, Marcus. One step at a time.

But there was still more to do.

I picked up the phone again and called my lawyer—Alex Caruso, a sharp and experienced man in his mid-40s who's handled my legal matters since I started building my empire. The line rang twice before he picked up.

"Marcus," he greeted smoothly. "Something urgent?"

"Yes," I said. "I need you to begin liquidating most of my properties. Immediately."

There was a pause, then his professional tone cracked just slightly. "Liquidate? Marcus, what's going on? That's not exactly a small move—"

"Just do it," I said, cutting him off. "Don't ask questions, Alex. Sell everything. I only want to keep one—the Quan Resort. Leave that untouched. Everything else goes."

He was quiet for a moment, then sighed. "Alright. I'll get the paperwork started. Are you sure about this?"

"Yes. And get it done fast. Full discretion, no leaks."

"Understood."

I ended the call.

The Quan Resort would be our stronghold.

It was one of my private beachside properties—sprawling, secluded, and connected to the ocean. There were five large buildings already built, and a wide open area perfect for expansion. Best of all, I had a private yacht docked there. If we ever needed to escape or explore by sea, we could.

I already envisioned the layout—walls, barricades, water tanks, solar stations. It wouldn't take much effort to convert it into a fortress. The place was originally designed to be a luxury retreat, but now? Now it would be our sanctuary… our first camp in a dying world.

Once Jessy and Ray arrived with their families and supplies, we'd move out. This hotel was too exposed. Too close to the city.

At the Quan Resort, we'd have space, water access, natural isolation—and eventually, power.

And if things played out the way I feared… it would also become the birthplace of the new world.

-------------------------

To All Readers

Thank you for reading ! Your support means everything. If you're enjoying the story, I'd love to hear your thoughts—whether it's your favorite scene, a character you like, or ideas for what you'd like to see next.

Your comments, reviews, and suggestions help me improve and keep the story going strong. Let's build this world together—every bit of feedback counts!

Don't be shy—drop a comment, leave a review, or share your ideas. I'm always listening.