The dying dog called to me from half a block away.
I was walking back to the subway after leaving the compound—2 AM, streets empty, my mind full of fortification plans—when my Death Aura pulsed with sudden intensity. Something nearby was dying. Something with a soul strong enough to sense through walls and distance.
I stopped walking.
The pull was different from Ghost. Stronger. More desperate. A life clinging to its final moments with everything it had.
Not yet, I told myself. I don't need another binding. I need to focus on—
But my feet were already moving. Drawn by that dark gravity in my chest.
I found it in an alley behind a closed restaurant. A large dog—German Shepherd mix, from the look of it—collapsed against a dumpster. Blood pooled beneath its hindquarters. Hit by a car, probably, and dragged itself here to die alone.
Its eyes found me as I approached. No fear in them. Just exhaustion and acceptance.
Help?
The thought wasn't words, not exactly. More like an impression. A plea for the pain to stop.
I knelt beside the dying animal. My Death Aura reached out, sensing its remaining life force: maybe ten minutes, if it was lucky. Maybe less.
I could walk away. I should walk away. One cat was enough. I didn't need a pack of bound creatures drawing attention.
But this wasn't just about need.
What am I becoming?
I reached out and placed my hand on the dog's head.
"I can end the pain," I whispered. "Or I can give you something else. A second life. In service to me."
The dog's eyes, somehow, seemed to understand.
Master?
"Yes. If you want it."
Silence. The dog's breathing was shallow, ragged. Its life force flickering like a candle in the wind.
Then: Yes.
I let my Death Aura flow.
The binding was faster this time—my power had grown since Ghost. I felt the dog's soul catch on my own, felt the thread of connection snap into place. The wounds didn't heal—not completely—but the bleeding stopped. The pain faded to a dull ache.
Master.
The dog's voice was deeper than Ghost's, rougher. A soldier's voice.
"Can you stand?"
It tried. Failed. Tried again. This time, it made it to its feet, swaying but upright.
"What's your name?" I asked.
No name. Just... Guard. Protect. Serve.
"Then I'll call you Sentry," I said. "Can you find your way back to me if I send you somewhere safe?"
Yes, Master.
I reached out with my bond to Ghost, who was waiting in my apartment. Ghost. I'm sending someone to you. A new member of our pack. Let him in.
Distant acknowledgment. Curiosity. Mild jealousy.
I smiled faintly and turned to Sentry. "Go to my apartment. Rest. Heal. When the time comes, you'll be needed."
Sentry turned and limped into the darkness, following the thread of our bond toward home.
I watched him go, then continued toward the subway station.
That was a mistake, I told myself. Another binding, another mouth to feed, another creature to hide from neighbors who would ask questions.
But it hadn't felt like a mistake.
It had felt like the first step toward building an army.
------------------------------
I didn't sleep much that night.
Not because I couldn't—ten thousand years of survival had taught me to sleep anywhere, under any circumstances. But because I didn't want to waste the time.
Four days.
Ninety-six hours until the world ended.
Every minute mattered.
I spent the night making lists. Mental inventories of what I had, what I needed, what I could acquire in the time remaining. The compound would need fortification. The walls were solid, but the gates needed reinforcement. The windows on the ground floor had to be barred or blocked. We would need weapons—real weapons, not just kitchen knives.
And supplies. So many supplies.
Food, water, medical equipment, tools, fuel. Everything that would become impossible to find once the chaos started.
By the time dawn filtered through my curtains, I had a plan.
It would take all four days. It would drain most of my remaining money. And it would require Max Yang and her people to trust me enough to follow my lead.
But it was possible.
It has to be.
Ghost stirred on the bed beside me, her golden eyes opening slowly.
Master did not sleep.
"Didn't need to," I said. "We have work to do."
------------------------------
Day -5 passed in a blur of forced normalcy.
I went to work. Sat through meetings. Nodded at Director Chu's rambling speeches about "client engagement strategies." Ignored Chen Chen's concerned looks.
At lunch, I excused myself and spent the break making phone calls. Hardware stores. Building supply companies. Army surplus dealers. Placing orders, arranging deliveries, spending money with the kind of reckless abandon that would have seemed insane to anyone who didn't know what was coming.
Nobody knew.
Nobody suspected.
I was just another corporate drone, buying some tools and supplies for a weekend project.
The irony was almost funny.
By 5 PM, I had arranged for three hundred dollars worth of materials to be delivered to the compound tomorrow morning. Reinforced chains, padlocks, sheet metal, plywood, nails, screws. Everything we would need to turn Max Yang's squat into a fortress.
I left the office without saying goodbye to anyone.
Three days, twenty-three hours.
------------------------------
The compound looked different in daylight.
Less ominous, but more rundown. The walls that had seemed imposing at dusk now showed their age—cracked concrete, rust stains, chunks of missing mortar. The barbed wire was corroded in places, sagging where the support posts had weakened.
It would hold for now. But only if we reinforced it.
Max Yang was waiting for me at the side entrance, arms crossed, expression unreadable.
"You're punctual," she said.
"Time is important," I replied.
"So you keep saying." She stepped aside to let me in. "Come. We need to talk."
I followed her through the overgrown courtyard, past the rusted machinery, into the main building. Liu Feng was there, along with a third person I hadn't met yet—a lean young man in his mid-twenties with sharp eyes and nervous hands. Hui Zhang, presumably. Max Yang's nephew.
They both watched me with the kind of wary suspicion I had seen a thousand times before. The look of people deciding whether I was useful or dangerous.
Ideally, I wanted them to conclude: both.
"This is Wei," Max Yang said to her nephew. "The one I told you about."
Hui Zhang nodded curtly. "The one who thinks a pandemic is coming in four days."
"Three days now," I corrected. "And I don't think it's coming. I know it is."
"How?"
I met his gaze steadily. "Does it matter? If I'm wrong, you've wasted a few days reinforcing a building you already live in. If I'm right, you'll survive what's coming."
Silence.
Liu Feng shifted uncomfortably. Hui Zhang's jaw tightened. But Max Yang—Max Yang was studying me with those hard, calculating eyes, weighing risks and benefits.
"Show us what you have in mind," she said finally.
------------------------------
I spent the next hour walking them through my plan.
"The walls are the first priority," I said, standing in the courtyard and pointing at the perimeter. "They're structurally sound, but the gates are weak. We need to reinforce both entrances with steel plating and multiple locks. Make it so nothing gets in without us opening the door."
"You mean nobody," Hui Zhang said. "Nothing implies—"
"I mean what I said," I interrupted. "When the pandemic hits, the infected will be... aggressive. We need to assume they'll try to force their way in."
Max Yang nodded slowly. "Like rabies."
"Worse than rabies."
I moved on before they could ask more questions.
"Windows on the ground floor get barred or boarded up completely. Second and third floor windows can stay open, but we need escape ropes in every room in case the stairs are compromised."
"Stairs compromised how?" Liu Feng asked.
"Fire. Collapse. Blocked by infected. Take your pick."
I continued the tour, pointing out weaknesses and solutions. The loading dock needed a rolling gate. The rooftop access had to be secured with a lock that could only be opened from inside. The storage areas needed to be organized for maximum efficiency—food and water in one room, medical supplies in another, weapons and tools in a third.
"Weapons?" Hui Zhang said sharply. "What kind of weapons?"
"Whatever we can get. Crowbars, axes, machetes. Anything with reach and stopping power."
"You want us to fight infected people?"
"I want you to survive," I said flatly. "If that means fighting, then yes."
More silence.
Max Yang broke it. "When do the supplies arrive?"
"Tomorrow morning. Eight AM."
"And you're paying for all of this?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
I looked at her directly. "Because I need this place to survive. And I need you to survive. We have a better chance together than apart."
Max Yang held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded.
"All right," she said. "We'll do it your way. For now."
It was the best I could hope for.
------------------------------
We worked until well past midnight.
Even without the supplies, there was plenty to do. We cleared debris from the courtyard, stacking anything useful and dragging the rest to a disposal pile. We swept and organized the interior of the main building, setting up the storage system I had described. We tested the structural integrity of the walls, looking for weak points that would need patching.
Max Yang worked with quiet efficiency, directing her people and contributing her own labor without complaint. Liu Feng was eager but clumsy, the kind of person who meant well but lacked experience. Hui Zhang was skilled and focused, his earlier suspicion gradually giving way to grudging cooperation.
I worked alongside them, my ten thousand years of survival knowledge making every task easier. I knew exactly which walls were load-bearing, which doors could be reinforced, which rooms had the best defensive positions.
They didn't ask how I knew.
Maybe they assumed I had military training. Or that I was some kind of survival enthusiast. Or maybe they just didn't want to know.
It didn't matter.
What mattered was that we were building something. A fortress. A refuge.
A chance.
------------------------------
Around midnight, we took a break.
Max Yang had made tea—real tea, not the cheap stuff from convenience stores. We sat in the makeshift common area, sipping from mismatched cups, our breath misting in the cool night air.
"You really believe this is going to happen," Max Yang said quietly. "The pandemic. Day Zero."
"Yes."
"And you've... prepared for this before?"
More than you could imagine.
"In a manner of speaking," I said.
"What does that mean?"
I considered my answer. Too much truth would make me sound insane. Too little would undermine their trust.
"Let's just say I've seen what happens when people aren't prepared," I said finally. "I've seen how fast civilization collapses. How quickly neighbors turn on each other. How the ones who survive aren't always the strongest or the smartest—they're the ones who prepare."
Max Yang studied me over the rim of her cup.
"You've seen things," she said. Not a question.
"Yes."
"Bad things."
"The worst things."
Another long silence.
"My nephew thinks you're crazy," Max Yang said. "Liu Feng isn't sure what to think. And me..." She trailed off, then shook her head. "I don't know what you are, Wei. But I know a survivor when I see one. And I know desperation when I feel it."
"Are you desperate, Max Yang?"
"Aren't we all?" She finished her tea and set the cup down. "I've been preparing for collapse for two years. Economic collapse, environmental collapse, social collapse—something was coming. I could feel it. But I never imagined..." She gestured vaguely at the compound. "Never imagined something like what you're describing."
"Most people don't," I said. "Until it's too late."
"Will we be ready? In three days?"
I looked around at the compound—at the walls that needed reinforcing, the gates that needed sealing, the stockpiles that needed building.
Three days.
Seventy-two hours.
It was possible. Barely.
"If we work hard enough," I said. "Yes."
Max Yang nodded slowly, then stood.
"Then we'd better get back to work."
------------------------------
I left the compound at two in the morning, exhausted but satisfied with our progress.
The subway had stopped running hours ago, so I walked. The streets were empty except for the occasional taxi or late-night delivery truck. Above me, the city lights blotted out the stars.
Three days, I thought. In three days, all of this will be gone. The lights. The taxis. The illusion of safety.
But we'll be ready.
My phone buzzed. A message from Ghost.
Master returns soon?
I smiled faintly. The bond between us was growing stronger. She could sense my emotions now, my fatigue, my determination.
Soon, I replied. Wait for me.
Always, Master.
As I walked, I became aware of something else.
My Death Aura was growing stronger.
Not just in range—though that was expanding too, pushing out from the fifty meters it had been to maybe seventy or eighty. But in intensity. In clarity.
I could sense the dying across the city now. Not just nearby, but blocks away. Scattered points of light in my awareness, like stars against a dark sky. An old man in a hospital, hours from the end. A teenager in a car accident, bleeding out on an operating table. A woman in an alleyway, overdosed and fading.
So many of them.
So many dying.
And in three days, the number would multiply a thousandfold.
Soon, I promised them silently. Soon, I'll come for you. Soon, you'll serve a greater purpose.
The power responded to my thoughts, pulsing with dark satisfaction.
It was growing. Preparing.
Just like me.
------------------------------
I reached my apartment at 3 AM, utterly exhausted.
Ghost greeted me at the door, winding around my ankles and purring. I scratched her head absently, then collapsed onto the bed without bothering to undress.
Three days, I thought as consciousness slipped away. Three days until Day Zero.
Three days until everything changes.
Three days to prepare for the end of the world.
In the darkness, Ghost curled up beside me, her presence warm and reassuring through our bond.
Rest, Master, she purred. Tomorrow, we continue.
Yes, I agreed. Tomorrow, we continue.
Because there's no other choice.
The countdown continued.