TWD:Zombie System

Despite the enormous amount I'd already spent, there was still a staggering $100 million left in reserve. That was thanks to the combined wealth of Jessy, Ray, and me—pooled together for a single cause: survival.

But money? It would become meaningless soon.

That's why I had already started working on something better. A system that would replace currency entirely.

We would implement a new internal economy here at the Quan Stronghold.

People would be assigned specific roles—builders, guards, farmers, medics, teachers, technicians, etc.—and in exchange for their work, they would receive "Units" as payment.

Units would function like digital currency—earned based on work, difficulty, and hours. They could be used to "purchase" supplies, request better accommodations, earn more privileges, or gain higher rank in the new world we were building.

To keep things simple and accessible, I ordered my tech team to repurpose old phones and tablets into a basic system for Unit tracking and balance transfers. It would be offline-capable, secure, and synchronized via a central server with daily manual backups.

We weren't just surviving—we were laying the foundation of a civilization

Just as I was finalizing some plans with Max regarding the Unit system's first rollout, he rushed toward me—urgently.

"Sir," Max said, slightly out of breath, "Jeremiah Otto is on the line."

Jeremiah Otto.

That man and I had a complicated past. We had done business once, years ago. He was stubborn, proud, and deeply paranoid—but competent, and more importantly, a survivor.

I took the phone.

"Jeremiah," I said evenly.

"Marcus," his gruff voice crackled through. "I heard what you've been doing. Liquidating your assets. Building something."

I didn't reply, and he continued.

"I've started something too. A safe place. A ranch in Nevada—Broke Jaw Ranch in Blaine County. We've got people, land, water, even fences, but... I don't have the liquidity. Supplies I ordered are stuck, and the rest of my assets are tied up."

He sounded frustrated. Desperate.

"I know you have resources, Marcus. We've worked together before. If you're in a better position... I was hoping maybe you'd consider backing us. Or even joining us."

I was quiet for a moment, then answered, "I already have my own stronghold, Jeremiah. Fully secure. We're building a self-sustaining city here."

There was silence on the other end.

Then, softer, almost defeated, he said, "Understood. Still… I'll send my coordinates. We want to keep lines open. Maybe we can still work together."

He gave me the coordinates and details of the Ranch before hanging up.

I turned to Troy. "Call France. Get him up here."

Minutes later, France Oxwel entered the room.

"You called, sir?"

I nodded. "You're going to Broke Jaw Ranch in Nevada. Otto wants help. You're going to be my representative there."

"Yes, sir," France replied without hesitation.

"You'll take 10 people with you. Use the UH-60 Black Hawk. I want a secure arrival, no mistakes."

"Understood."

I handed him one of our limited satellite radios. "Stay in constant contact. You'll have full authority to act on my behalf.

He gave a sharp nod.

"Once there," I added, "offer to help with security. Build goodwill. Select volunteers from their ranks to help form a militia. Earn their trust."

He raised a brow. "You planning something bigger?"

I gave a faint smile. "I'm building a federation. Independent communities working under one banner."

"And at the top of that banner?"

"Me."

"Copy that."

He saluted and turned to prepare.

As the blades of the Black Hawk roared to life minutes later, I stood at the balcony of the central tower, watching France and his squad take flight.

After the call and France's departure, I returned to my work with Max and the experts overseeing the development of our Unit System.

We spent hours in the command room finalizing the digital platform, making sure the system could function independently from the internet, powered by internal servers and solar energy. Basic touchscreen phones and rugged tablets would be distributed among workers and families, preloaded with the Unit System app.

I helped outline the structure, rules, and rewards—what roles would earn how much, what bonus incentives would be given for risk, and what privileges could be bought with accumulated Units.

Finalized Unit System (New Currency)

Name of Currency: Units

Distribution Method: Through digital wallets on repurposed smartphones

Earned Through:

Construction, farming, security, hunting, teaching, and medical work

High-risk tasks (like outside scavenging or defending the walls) give bonus Units

Used For:

Food portions, upgraded quarters, access to better gear, communication requests, priority medical care, etc.

Volunteers & Military Service: Double pay and fast-track promotion options for volunteering in defense forces

By 11:00 PM, we had it locked down. Max had already called in the printing department to produce instruction manuals, and our techs began encrypting the first wave of Units.

"This will work," I muttered, looking at the prototype phone in my hand. "It has to."

Max gave me a nod, "Sir, we'll make it work. This system—it's order in chaos."

Tomorrow morning would be a critical moment.

I, Jessy, and Ray would speak to the people—officially announcing the Unit System and the next phase of our stronghold's development. We would explain how work would be rewarded, how no one would starve, and how everyone would have a role in this new society.

I also planned to recruit volunteers from among the new arrivals. Many had already worked under me before—former bodyguards, private security, logistics staff, and drivers from my past ventures. Counting them, I now had over 200 trained personnel ready to serve.

With their help, and the influence Jessy and Ray held over their respective groups, we'd lay the foundation for a civilized militia and a functioning economy.

I exhaled deeply.

"Whew... I've got a lot to do."

I stood on the balcony outside the command room, staring out over the moonlit compound. Spotlights swept the perimeter. Workers were still digging trench lines and finishing wall reinforcements. The scent of tilled earth from the south carried on the ocean breeze, mixing with the faint odor of diesel fuel from nearby generators.

Down below, I saw guards doing their rounds, medics finishing shifts, and children being tucked into bed.

In the back of my mind, I thought about the timeline.

If I was right—and I usually was—then this would be around the time that Nick Clark had just been hit by a car after stumbling out of that church… the moment that would set Fear the Walking Dead into motion.

The virus was already out there—spreading quietly, one infection at a time.

I still had time—but not much.

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