Frank woke with a start, finding himself in an unfamiliar apartment on a crappy twin bed. His back ached, something he hadn’t felt in years. His stats had long since reached the point where the bodily discomfort of life faded away. He groaned at the feeling. It was different from the pain of an injury, and he somehow got the feeling his pain tolerance was being suppressed. Frank sat up glancing around. No decay, no hasty repairs and patches. It felt familiar to him. A sense of nostalgia tugged at the edge of his mind, until he looked to his left, and saw an alarm clock, the digital display proudly displaying the time and date. 7:15. October 23, 2022. His eyes narrowed. He peered over the room, more carefully than before. A realization bubbled up. This was his room. Before. This was where he was at the beginning.

Could it be an illusion? To what purpose or end? Was he dreaming? Could this be the fever dream of his dying body crushed under the rubble of the last hideout of mankind? Frank pinched himself carefully, then took inventory of his sense. Nothing was out of place. Too real to be a dream. Somehow, or some way, he was back. He looked back at the clock. 7:23.

Eight in the morning. He’d been in the shower when everything had unraveled. Not this time. He’d chatted around campfires about this situation more than once. What would you do if you could send a single message? If you had a year to prepare? Hypotheticals bandied about to pass the time and distract from the horror. He’d even discussed what he’d do with an hour, in detail. The memory flowed back to him. 37 minutes would have to do. He called his parents. How to get them to do something to prepare for what was to come? His best bet was to convince them to travel.

“Hello, this is Ethel speaking.”

“Hey mom.”

“What’s up kid?”

“I’m having a bit of an emergency here. My car got stolen last night. I just called the police to report it and they’ve said the thing is totalled, but they’ve got it at the station.”

“Oh no. That’s horrible dear.”

“Yea, I’m kinda stuck at my place and need a ride into town. Would you and dad be able to drive out and get me? Maybe we can catch brunch? My treat.”

“That would be wonderful. You don’t get out our way much, you know?” Frank heard her yell something, presumably towards his dad, then she returned her attention to him. “Well, we are gonna head out right away then. Probably be on our way in fifteen minutes, there in an hour and a bit. I look forward to seeing you son.”

“Same, and thanks for helping me out.”

“Of course, love you dear.”

And then she hung up. It had gone pretty much as he’d hoped. He’d given his parents impetus to move quickly without panicking them, got both of them to come, and both of them to skip breakfast so they didn’t delay. He wouldn’t see them; there wasn’t enough time. But, they’d be wearing coats and shoes and his mom would have her bandages and disinfectant along with whatever other sundries she kept in her coat. His dad would have his Buck knife. Frank had no idea how they’d fared the last time he lived through this, he’d never found them. Almost no one found someone they knew.

His immediate family dealt with, he briefly thought about how being an only child was an advantage here. His grandparents were dead years ago, spared what was to come, he only had to worry about his parents. Others he’d traded hypotheticals with spent a long time thinking about who they could and should contact. He only had one call to make. He started searching through his drawers, eventually finding his own knife, a gift from his father he had never bothered to carry. He hadn’t remembered where it was, only that he had it. It was by far the most important thing for him to have on his person. Five minutes to find it, three on call with his parents. 28 left. He then went and found his sturdiest pair of blue jeans. They were dirty. Soon enough he wouldn’t be able to tell if they had been. Two pairs of underwear. Boxer briefs, to minimize the chafing. He remembered the chafing.

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His body was not the gnarled mass of lean muscle he had developed over a decade of futile struggle. Instead, it was pudgy, slouchy, and physically weak. He’d be able to fix the last part soon enough, but the first and second would require effort. It annoyed him, that he’d taken such poor care of himself, but it’s not like he could have predicted this, the first time. Almost everyone had started out unprepared. He looked at the hiking boots in his closet. He’d been planning on a hiking trip with his dad, next spring. He hadn’t broken them in yet. A shame, but he couldn’t afford blisters. He grabbed a pair of sneakers instead. One pair of thick woolen socks. He wanted a second on his person, but there was no way he could wear them and the shoes. One pair of woolens was already tight when compared to a regular athletic sock.

He put on his shoes, looking next for a shirt. A brown t-shirt, over top of which went Frank’s most robust sweater. Then, a coat, sadly just a cheap shell, leather gloves, and a brimmed ushanka his father had bought him. Unlike the knife, he’d gotten a lot of use out of it commuting in the winters of Northern British Columbia. Now fully dressed, he started looking through his cabinets. He filled one of his coat pockets with baking chocolate. It was disgustingly bitter, but also shelf stable and mostly fat. Likely the best source of calories he would have laying around in his cottage. A flask, slipped into the inside pocket of his coat. In the other outer pocket, the one that held only his knife, he placed half a pack of smokes. Not his. Probably a friend or acquaintance had left it there. It’d been too long for him to remember who. Valuable though, enough to get a favour or something useful.

He considered what he could place in his jeans, wandering through his home. Matches, hidden behind his cutlery tray. Not waxed. But at least he had them. A Zippo, also not his. Frank's methodical searching of his small cottage ate through the remaining time. He had five minutes. Without any other useful tools laying around his home, he settled on filling his remaining pocket space with cheese. He cut it up into cubes, then bagged it, then shoved it in his pocket. It’d be at least two meals worth of calories. No one he knew had been able to bring anything that wasn’t worn or in a pocket of a piece of clothing worn with them. It didn’t stop Frank from grabbing his hockey stick as the time counted down towards the beginning of the end.

7:59 AM, the alarm clock now read. It would only be a moment. Frank waited patiently. In an instant, the clock turned over to 8:00 AM. And he felt that same sensation he’d felt the last time. That rush of something entering him, of a space inside him he didn’t know existed being filled with energy. The sensation of being wrenched out of where he was without actually moving. And then the System greeted him.

Welcome to the Tutorial, Frank. In order to ensure the survival of your species, it is recommended you give an earnest effort.