Hugo woke up the next morning feeling a strange mix of determination and dread. The past few days had been a cycle of death and survival, trial and error, but today, he was going to try something different. Today, he would push the limits of his existence in this loop and see just how far it would let him go.

  He went through his morning routine as usual—some light exercises, checking the barricades, making sure Salem was fed. The cat had become a small comfort in this madness, a silent companion that reminded him that not everything in this world was out to kill him.

  Afterward, he gathered his thoughts and made his way downstairs. The tension was still there as he approached Apartment 201, but this time, it was less about fear and more about curiosity. Would the old man acknowledge him today?

  He knocked and stepped to the side, waiting a beat before speaking.

  "Morning. It’s me, Hugo. I told you I’d be back."

  Silence.

  He wasn’t discouraged. Instead, he leaned against the wall and started talking. "I’ve been working on securing the building. I blocked off one of the stairwells, reinforced my floor, and took out a few more of those things. Still a lot of them left, but I’m getting there."

  Still nothing. Hugo sighed but kept going. "I found some useful stuff in the apartments—food, supplies, even a bike. Not sure how much use it'll be in a city full of undead, but it might come in handy if I need to make a quick getaway."

  He crouched down and placed another bottle of water and some food in front of the door. "Anyway, leaving this here. No strings, just like before."

  As expected, there was no response, but he knew the old man was listening. He felt it. Maybe tomorrow, he’d get something more than silence.

  With his morning interaction done, Hugo turned his focus to the next part of his plan—clearing out more of the undead and testing the loop.

  He carefully descended to the next floor, gripping his bat tightly. The air was thick with the scent of decay, and the dim lighting made every shadow seem like a threat. He moved cautiously, peering into each hallway, trying to get a sense of where the zombies were lurking.

  The first one he encountered was easy—an older woman, frail in her undeath, who barely put up a fight before he took her down. The next one was tougher—a man built like a truck, his bloated body resistant to the blunt force of Hugo’s bat. It took several swings, dodging slow but powerful swipes, before he managed to crack the skull open.

  Panting, Hugo leaned against the wall, taking stock of himself. That was two more down. He was getting better, more efficient.

  But he needed to know more about the loop.

  The thought had been in the back of his mind for a while now. He had died in all sorts of ways—shot, torn apart, crushed from a fall. But what if he was in control of it? What if he could choose when to reset?

  He didn’t want to test it under normal circumstances. But what if he had no choice?

  That was when he heard it—the guttural growl from deeper inside the hallway. A shape moved in the shadows, quick and low to the ground. Too fast.

  A dog.

  Hugo barely had time to react before it lunged. He swung the bat instinctively, but the creature dodged with unnatural speed. It latched onto his forearm first, teeth sinking into the magazines he had taped around it. The layers of paper held, but the force still sent a shock of pain up his arm as the creature thrashed.

  He tried to shake it off, but the dog was relentless, charging forward and sinking its teeth into his flank. Hugo roared in pain, stumbling back as the infected animal tore into him, its jagged teeth ripping through flesh this time. He barely had time to recover before the dog leaped again, its jaws clamping down on his shoulder.

  Hugo gritted his teeth, the pain shooting through his body like fire. He slammed his bat down on the dog's back, but it didn’t even flinch. The infected animal felt no pain, no hesitation. It only wanted to kill.

  He gasped, pressing his hand to his side—he was bleeding. Not profusely, but enough that, given time, it would become a serious problem. His arm throbbed, his vision swam slightly, and the weight of his injuries started pressing down on him.

  The dog recovered quickly, circling him, saliva dripping from its blackened jaws. Hugo forced himself to raise his bat again, even as exhaustion threatened to pull him down. The next time the dog lunged, he was ready. He swung with everything he had, the bat cracking against its skull. The creature collapsed on the floor, stunned but still twitching.

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  Wasting no time, Hugo lifted his boot over its head and stomped down, again and again, until the thing finally stopped moving.

  He stood there, panting, staring at the lifeless body of the infected dog. His whole body was shaking. He was alive, but for how long?

  Blood continued to drip from his wounds. Slowly. Steadily. He wasn’t going to die right away, but in a few hours? Without proper medical treatment? It was inevitable. And with those bites, he was surely infected—or at least, he didn’t want to wait and find out.

  This was it.

  He could feel himself fading, his body failing. He wouldn’t make it back to his apartment like this. He had two choices—sit here and wait to die, which could take hours, or end it himself.

  His hand trembled as he reached for his knife.

  Would the loop reset? Would he wake up again, whole and unhurt? Or would this be the end?

  There was only one way to find out.

  He took a breath, steadied himself, and made the cut.

  It didn’t take long for his consciousness to fade.

  He woke up in his bed. The loop had restarted.

  His breathing was ragged as he stared at the ceiling, his body drenched in cold sweat. His hands instinctively reached for his side, for his shoulder—nothing. No wounds, no pain. Just the phantom memory of the teeth tearing into him.

  He sat up slowly, exhaling. The loop had worked. He was alive, unhurt. At least now, he knew for sure—it would still reset if he took his own life.

  There were still so many questions about how it worked, but at least this was a start.

  Hugo swung his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing his temples. He didn’t know whether to feel relieved or horrified by the knowledge he had just gained.

  But one thing was certain.

  He had another chance.

  He went about his routine again. The same interaction with the neighbor. It was getting exhausting to restart everything each time, but at least he was still alive. That made him think. What if he could take really short naps to save his progress more often?

  He returned to his apartment and forced himself to lie down, trying to sleep for just a few minutes. It took longer than expected, his mind racing with the implications, but eventually, he drifted off. Fifteen minutes later, he woke abruptly. It worked

  Now there was only one thing left to test—how to die in the least painful way possible.

  Hugo made his way to the rooftop, forcing himself to stare over the edge where he had once fallen. The memory of the impact flashed through his mind, but he shook it off. If he jumped headfirst, it would be over instantly. Quick. Painless.

  It took longer than he expected to force himself to move. Then, with a deep breath, he sprinted forward and leaped.

  Darkness.

  He woke up in his bed. The sun was shining. His heart pounded as he glanced at the clock. Morning. Not the couch where he had taken a nap—his bed.

  It didn’t work.

  Fifteen minutes wasn’t enough to create a restart point. He thought back to his previous naps. The one with Salem had worked. More than fifteen minutes, but less than two hours. That was the window.

  After two tests in the same day, Hugo decided he had learned enough. He had found out some useful information. Now it was time to restart again—training, the neighbor, clearing the zombies, watching out for the dog.

  Determined not to repeat the same mistakes, he set out once more. This time, he was faster. More efficient. The old lady fell just as easily as before, and the big guy took fewer swings now that Hugo knew where to aim.

  And just as he heard the dog rushing toward him, he spun on his heels and bolted for the door.

  He reached it just in time, slamming it shut behind him, hearing the dog’s body hit the wood with a dull thud. Panting, he braced himself against the door and grinned.

  "Not this time, fucker," he muttered. Then, chuckling, he added, "You won’t get me twice."

  The dog barked and scratched at the door, frustrated at losing its prey. Hugo took a deep breath, gathering himself. He’d won this round, but he knew he wasn’t done yet. There were more things in this building—more threats, more dangers.

  Straightening up, he tapped his fingers against the door and smirked. "I’ll deal with you later."

  The next morning, Hugo completed his routine before heading downstairs to speak to the old man again. Knocking and stepping to the side as always, he began talking.

  "Morning. I figured I’d update you again. I’ve been thinking about long-term survival, but I don’t know the first thing about growing food. If I want to make use of the roof, I need to figure that out."

  He hesitated before adding, "Also, the virus has mutated. I found a zombie dog downstairs."

  For the first time, a gruff voice responded from the other side of the door.

  "...No shit."

  Hugo froze for a moment, caught off guard by the old man's response. It was the first time he had acknowledged him beyond the sound of a gunshot. He shifted his weight, glancing at the door.

  "Yeah, no shit," Hugo muttered. "I barely got away from the thing. It’s fast. Too fast."

  A pause. Then the neighbor spoke again, his voice rough like sandpaper. "You sure it was a dog?"

  Hugo frowned. "What else would it be? Had four legs, sharp teeth, and a nasty bite. If it wasn’t a dog, then I don’t know what it was."

  Another silence, but this one felt different. Like the old man was thinking. Hugo took a breath and pressed on. "Look, I get it. You don’t trust me. But if animals are turning too, we’ve got a whole new problem on our hands. This building might not be as safe as we thought."

  A scoff. "You just figuring that out now, kid? Now you’re catching up."

  Hugo narrowed his eyes at the door. "Fine. You know more than me? Enlighten me, old man."

  No response. Of course. The guy was throwing scraps, nothing more. Hugo rubbed his temples and sighed. "At least tell me this—are you seeing anything weird outside? Anything different? I check the streets from my window, but I don’t have the best vantage point."

  Another long pause. Then, finally, a short, reluctant answer. "More of ‘em. A lot more."

  Hugo straightened. "More zombies? Where are they coming from?"

  "Hell if I know," the old man grumbled. "But they weren’t here before. Not this many. Started showing up a few days ago."

  That sent a chill down Hugo’s spine. He had noticed more movement outside, but he assumed it was just the same undead shifting around. If more were arriving, that meant something was driving them closer.

  "Any idea why?" Hugo pressed.

  The old man hesitated. Then, with a tone that suggested he was already regretting speaking, he muttered, "Might be an enclave."

  Hugo’s eyes widened. "A group? Survivors? Where?"

  "Didn’t say I knew that much," the old man snapped. "Just that they might be out there. You think all these rotters are just wandering in by chance? Somethin’s drawing ‘em."

  Hugo exhaled sharply. "And you know this how?"

  Silence.

  Hugo clenched his jaw. The old man knew something, but he wasn’t about to share details. Hugo had two options: push harder and risk losing the little progress he had made, or back off and let the information come naturally.

  He chose the latter. "Alright. I get it. You don’t trust me. But if there are more survivors out there, that changes everything."

  "Not necessarily for the better," the old man muttered.

  Hugo leaned against the wall, processing the information. More zombies meant more danger, but if there were actually other people out there, he had to consider his next steps carefully. Did he try to find them? Would they even be friendly? The old man’s hesitation suggested that meeting other survivors wasn’t necessarily a good thing.

  "Well," Hugo said finally. "Appreciate the talk, old man. Guess I’ll check back tomorrow."

  A grunt of acknowledgment came from inside the apartment, but nothing more. It was as close to a goodbye as Hugo was going to get.

  He turned and made his way back up the stairs. There was work to do. He needed to check outside, verify if there really were more zombies coming in, and figure out whether this enclave was worth investigating.

  Surviving was hard enough. Now, he had to decide if finding other people was even worth the risk.