Duplicator’s Apocalypse

Book 1 **Chapter 1 - Awakening in a Ruined World** 4,328 word count

Ethan Cross awoke to the sound of silence. It wasn't the comforting kind of silence, nor the peaceful hum of a sleeping city. It was the heavy, suffocating silence of abandonment, of a world stripped of life.

He blinked, his vision blurry as he pushed himself up from the plush leather couch beneath him. The room around him was luxurious, too luxurious. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across an entire wall, giving him a view of a ruined cityscape. Towering buildings, cracked streets, rusted cars—signs of life long extinguished.

"Where the hell am I?" he muttered, rubbing his temples. His memories were scrambled, fragments of a life that wasn't his flashing through his mind. He remembered gaming marathons, late-night movie binges, and the steady rhythm of working with his hands, crafting weapons and armor in some workshop. And yet, here he was, in a high-rise penthouse, in what looked like the apocalypse.

Something was wrong.

He stood, legs slightly shaky, and took inventory of his surroundings. A glass coffee table sat in front of the couch, overturned bottles and empty glasses scattered across it. A grand fireplace lined one wall, ashes cold and undisturbed. The kitchen beyond was modern, stainless steel appliances still pristine under a thin layer of dust.

He moved toward the kitchen, scanning the space for anything useful. His hands brushed over the counter, and a sudden tingling sensation shot through his fingers. Instinctively, he focused—and the knife he touched shimmered and appeared twice.

Ethan froze.

The second knife was identical, down to the faint scratch near the handle. He picked it up, weighing it. Real. Solid. Functional. He flipped it in his hand, testing the balance.

He had just duplicated an item.

"Okay… that's new." His voice was steady, but his heart pounded in his chest.

He turned the knife over in his hands, eyes narrowing. If he had this ability, what else could he do? Experimentation could wait—he needed to figure out where he was and what had happened.

Moving to the window, he pressed his hand against the glass, looking down. The streets were choked with abandoned vehicles, some burned-out husks, others left mid-turn, as if their drivers had simply vanished. Crumbling storefronts, shattered windows, and distant movement in the shadows. Something was down there.

He needed to get out.

First, supplies.

He went through the penthouse, gathering anything useful. In the bedroom, he found a sturdy backpack and filled it with bottled water, protein bars, and a few kitchen knives. A leather jacket from the closet added a bit of protection. He grabbed a flashlight, checked its batteries, then duplicated it. The second flickered to life just like the first.

As he moved, he became more aware of a presence. Not a person. Not a voice. Something… watching.

Turning sharply, he noticed a small potted plant on the nightstand.

A tree sapling.

Its tiny leaves quivered slightly, though there was no breeze. Its roots shifted, curling in the soil. The feeling in Ethan's chest grew stronger—a connection.

He picked up the plant carefully. It felt warm. Alive in a way he couldn't explain.

"What are you?" he asked softly. The plant didn't answer, but a faint pulse ran through his fingers, as if acknowledging him.

Shrugging, he tucked it into his bag. "Guess you're coming with me."

Time to move.

Ethan made his way to the stairwell. Elevators were a death trap in an apocalypse. He peered over the railing—forty-five floors down was a long way. He tightened his grip on his bag and started descending.

The deeper he went, the darker it became. The building's emergency lighting flickered weakly, casting long shadows.

Somewhere below, something growled.

Ethan froze mid-step. The sound was wet, guttural, hungry.

Not alone.

He pulled out one of his duplicated knives and crouched low, pressing himself against the stairwell wall. The growling grew louder, accompanied by shuffling footsteps. A shape emerged below—a twisted, decayed figure, its head lolling unnaturally to the side.

A zombie.

It wasn't the slow, lumbering kind. This thing twitched, its eyes glowing faintly, its mouth twisted into a permanent snarl.

Ethan's grip tightened on the knife. He had fought countless battles in games. He had trained with weapons in his past life. But now? This was real.

The creature snapped its head toward him, nostrils flaring.

Then it lunged.