"Finished again. That makes it seven times."
Samuel Hayes rubbed his slightly dry eyes. He was a devoted fan of The Walking Dead, the hit TV series he'd been following since the very first season aired.
Even after the finale, he kept coming back to it, watching it over and over, seven times now.
He picked up his phone from beside him. The faint glow lit up his face.
"Ten o'clock already. Time for bed."
Lying in bed, scenes of the main characters' endings kept replaying in his mind. A strong yearning stirred inside him.
'If I were in that world, I'd change every single part of the story that pissed me off.'
With that thought, his imagination ran wild.
He pictured himself pulling off all kinds of badass, dramatic moves, saving the characters he liked, wiping out the ones he didn't.
Then he'd build a powerful faction. Negan? The Whisperers? Total trash!
"Hehehe…"
Half-asleep, Samuel lay in bed with a slowly morphing grin, one that was turning just a little too twisted…
The night passed without incident.
Ding!
At five in the morning, his phone buzzed with a notification. He reached for it and saw a message from a group chat called "TWD", short for The Walking Dead.
Mark: "New member reporting in! Hope you're all doing wellヽ(°▽°)ノ."
"..."
Emma: "It's five freaking a.m., are you insane? I've only slept four hours and you woke me up! Go die!"
Samuel's biological clock woke him up at five every day, so the early message didn't bother him.
In fact, he was in a pretty good mood and replied casually.
"Just woke up. About to start working out. Chat later."
Emma: "Whoa, Samuel really lives a disciplined life, huh?"
"Heh, can't skip training. It's part work, part hobby."
…
Samuel, came another ping from Mark: "Got time later? Need to talk to you about something."
"Ok. Catch you in a bit."
After brushing his teeth and a quick face wash, he threw on a tank top and stepped into his home gym.
Samuel was the head of security for a multinational company. Thirty-four years old, 190 cm tall.
His looks were decent, parents were still alive, and he was single.
He'd bought a 2500 square feet, four bedroom apartment in the city center, so he had the house, the car, the savings.
Prime marriage material. So why was he still single?
Maybe because he was a homebody. Aside from work and workouts, he rarely went out for fun.
His life was a simple loop: home and office.
Of his four rooms, one had become a gym, another a training room, one an entertainment room, and the last his bedroom.
His home was fully equipped to meet all his needs, except work.
His quirky parents had also married late. His mom had him at almost thirty-three, so they never pressured him about marriage.
The two of them were constantly out traveling, twice a year, each trip lasting six months.
Their attitude was, 'Let the next generation deal with their own problems'
Samuel had once served in the army as a recon soldier in a special forces unit, basically a special forces soldier among special forces.
After retiring, he didn't choose a cushy job. Instead, he joined this company and, thanks to his skills, quickly rose to the position of security chief.
Perhaps out of habit from his military days, and partly due to his current job, he'd never given up on physical training.
At 5 a.m., the streets outside were already starting to wake up. Wearing a T-shirt, he ran at a steady pace on the treadmill in his home.
…..
Even after running for an hour, his breathing was still steady. His thighs swelled slightly from the prolonged exertion, the muscles rippling with explosive strength.
Though he weighed 80 kilograms, heavier than average, his body fat was extremely low. With years of training and his recon background, he was practically a walking weapon.
Finishing his run, he moved on to a couple dozen sets of weight training for major muscle groups, then headed into the training room to practice his forms.
Shower. Change. Head downstairs.
Beep.. beep…
"Hello? Samuel, are you done?"
"Mark? I'm on my way to the office. What's up?"
"Well, I'm thinking about writing a Walking Dead fanfiction and got stuck on a few setting details. Thought I'd run them by you."
"You? Writing fanfiction? Weren't you doing fantasy novels? Since when are you into niche apocalyptic stuff? You know there's no money in that, right?"
"Not doing it for the money. It's been so long since the finale, but I still feel super unsatisfied with how the story went.
My last book just wrapped up, so I figured I'd write this one to fulfill a personal wish."
"All right then. Ask away. Actually, now I'm kinda curious about this story of yours."
Samuel and Mark had never met in person, but during casual chats, Mark had mentioned being a fantasy novelist.
Said he made decent money from it. The group was full of all kinds of people, but Mark was the only novelist he knew.
"Great! Samuel, I'll be direct. Since we've talked before and I know a bit about your life, I think you'd make the perfect main character for my story.
Basically, it's you, transported into The Walking Dead, using your knowledge of the plot and your skills to change the course of events."
"Haha, Mark, you won't believe this, but I had the exact same thought last night."
"Hehe, then I'll take that as a yes. As a bonus, I'll throw in a little gift."
"Oh? What kind of gift?"
"You get to choose two weapons and two skills. When you 'arrive' in The Walking Dead, the weapons will be on you, and the skills will feel like you've always had them."
"When I arrive? You mean the character in the novel after transmigrating, right?"
"Right...right…slip of the tongue."
"Hmm, let me think. Forget guns. A knife will do. I can collect the rest myself. As for skills… I'd need to be able to craft tools, definitely some medical knowledge…
And maybe farming, growing crops. No need for weapons then. Just give me those three skills. That should cover most situations."
"Got it, no weapons, but crafting… medical… farming… Got it. Oh, and I'll reset your physical body to when you were twenty two… Hehe, all right then, I'm off to brainstorm.
Probably start writing in the next couple of days. Catch you later, Samuel."
"Yeah, later."
In a dimly lit room, a young man with glasses sat at his computer, muttering as he typed.
"All right, all your requests are in… Let's throw in a few language packs for good measure…"
That young man was Mark. So focused on his screen, he didn't notice the clock on the wall stutter for just a second, the moment he typed the first word.