Dead World Revival

"The Outbreak Didn’t Begin with Screams It began with silence...." Five hundred years before the world turned to ash, Professor Aldeb Fabian sat alone in a subterranean research complex deep beneath Metro Manila. On the surface, the city glittered with life a monument to progress. Down here, in the cold and quiet, progress had become a question mark. The lab was sterile, windowless, and built for secrets. Officially, it didn’t exist. Unofficially, it was the beating heart of the Human Reclamation Project a government backed initiative to “optimize” the human genome against disease, aging, and environmental collapse. Aldeb had joined the project to heal the world. But tonight, he watched it die. His monitor displayed an infection model: a digital map of the city, dots glowing red one by one. The simulation should’ve stabilized at a few dozen cases. Instead, the red spread like wildfire unpredictable, exponential, unnatural. He frowned, adjusted his glasses, and whispered, “Impossible… this isn’t transmission—it’s leap propagation.” He reran the algorithm. The same result. The infection didn’t move through vectors or contact—it jumped, as if the pathogen could anticipate where it needed to go next. Neural signatures. Adaptive intelligence. The virus wasn’t behaving like biology. It was thinking. Aldeb’s reflection stared back at him from the dark screen sunken eyes, streaks of gray in his beard, exhaustion carved deep into his face. He had given twenty years to this program. He knew every variable, every codebase, every classified subproject. And yet, staring at the data, even he couldn’t explain it. He typed a command to isolate the new strain’s genome. The code scrolled in a blur of A’s, T’s, G’s, and C’s—then broke into symbols that shouldn’t exist. Embedded sequences glowed faintly in the digital matrix, forming patterns like language. Not natural mutation. Not random. Deliberate. “Someone’s rewriting it,” he muttered, voice trembling. “Someone inside.” His lab assistant, a quiet young bioengineer named Lira Voss, approached from behind. “Professor, it’s almost midnight. You should rest.” “Rest?” He gestured to the screen. “This strain just violated containment logic. It’s evolving beyond its parameters. Look at this—neural binding ratios exceeding one hundred thousand synapses per minute. That’s not infection, that’s assimilation.” Lira frowned. “That’s… not possible.” “It shouldn’t be,” Aldeb replied. “And yet here it is.” He brought up the sample’s activity log—timestamps, metadata, access trails. Then he saw it: a remote override executed four hours earlier from an encrypted terminal. Access Level Omega. Administrator clearance. He froze. That clearance didn’t belong to him. It didn’t belong to anyone in his division. It belonged to the Central Biotech Directorate. His pulse quickened. The Directorate wasn’t supposed to be involved in field experiments. Their role was policy oversight, funding, approval. If they were manually interfacing with the pathogen’s code, then this wasn’t just research. It was a weapon. The lights above flickered. The hum of the servers deepened, as if the building itself had drawn breath. Lira’s voice broke the silence. “Professor, you’re pale. What’s happening?” Aldeb didn’t answer. He was staring at the central monitor, where new data lines appeared unprompted. Unauthorized processes. The simulation he’d run had connected to something live. The map expanded beyond Metro Manila. Red dots began appearing across other cities Manila Bay, Quezon City, Makati City and etc... Transmission speed: instantaneous. “Cut the uplink!” he barked. Lira moved to the console. “Done. But it’s… it’s still running” Aldeb grabbed a cable and yanked it from the mainframe. The screens glitched—then, all at once, every monitor in the lab displayed a single symbol: a circle of thorns surrounding an eye. Aldeb stepped back. “That’s not part of any operating system.” The symbol blinked once. Then the screens went black. Silence. Then the intercom crackled. A voice—a woman’s, calm and steady. “Professor Fabian. You were never supposed to see this.” Aldeb froze. “Who is this?” “We warned you about curiosity. Your access has been terminated. Remain in the lab. Containment units are en route.” “Containment? What did you do?” he shouted. “You called it evolution, Professor. We call it progress.” Static swallowed the voice. The lights turned red. A siren began to wail—a deep, mechanical howl that vibrated in his bones. Lira backed away, eyes wide. “What does that mean?” “It means they lost control.” He sprinted to the emergency terminal, overriding the lab locks. The system resisted. Access denied. Every password failed. Then came the first sound from the lower wards—a muffled thud. Then another. Then screaming. Lira gasped. “Professor” Aldeb grabbed her arm. “We need to leave.” They ran into the corridor. Warning lights strobed, painting the walls crimson. Glass chambers lining the hall shook as something slammed against them from inside. Shapes moved within humanoid, twitching, clawing at the glass with hands that no longer looked human. One chamber shattered. Fluid spilled across the floor. A body crawled out skin translucent, veins black, eyes vacant. Lira screamed. The thing moved impossibly fast, latching onto her arm. She struck it, but it didn’t react. Its jaw unhinged, snapping like an animal. Aldeb swung his crowbar, striking its skull once, twice, a third time until it fell limp. Lira staggered back, trembling, her sleeve torn. “Are you—?” “I’m fine,” she said, voice shaking. “I’m fine.” She wasn’t. The wound was deep. Her blood darkened, veins already graying. Aldeb stepped back in horror. “No…” Her pupils dilated, her breathing quickened—and within seconds, she was gone. No pain, no scream, just a sudden, vacant silence. Then her body twitched, rising again, wrong in every motion. “Lira…” he whispered. She lunged. He fired his pistol. The shot echoed through the corridor. Then he was alone. He stumbled into the control center, heart hammering, typing commands with trembling hands. “Lockdown breach, Level Three. Project Hades compromised. Code Black authorization request—Fabian, Aldeb.” Access denied. The entire facility had overridden him. Every command rerouted to code name "Erebus." On one of the surviving screens, the infection map reappeared. Metro Manila glowed solid red. The system displayed a single message: CONTAINMENT FAILURE He replayed the data logs from earlier transmissions. The virus leaked and it was airborne and all staff are turned to monsters. This is not an accident. It was intended to happen. Then came another alert: UPLINK TO SURFACE NETWORK ESTABLISHED. Aldeb’s breath caught. If these monster reached the city, "It would infect civilization". He ripped open a secured cabinet, pulled out a portable drive, and began downloading every trace of the research. He had to take it. Had to preserve it for Zion. For anyone who might one day understand what went wrong. Minutes passed. The download finished. He sealed the drive inside his satchel, along with field notes and hard copies. Then he pulled out an old analog communicator a relic of simpler times, disconnected from the grid. He dialed the only number he knew by heart. The line was dead. The signal was gone. Aldeb whispered, forcing calm into his chest. “I’m coming for you, my son.” He looked back at the shattered lab, at the crawling shapes rising from the darkness. This was it—the end of the world. Smoke drifted through the vents. The sirens blared louder. Somewhere deep below, the main reactor ignited. The floor trembled. Aldeb slung his satchel over his shoulder and moved toward the emergency elevator, crowbar in hand. As the doors closed, he caught one last glimpse of the corridor—rows of containment tanks shattered, fluid spilling like blood. The things inside were waking up—hundreds of them. He whispered, “God forgive us.” The elevator ascended in silence. Above, the city burned. Meanwhile The Zombie Outbreak Surface Level It began with a blackout. At 12:47 p.m., every light in Metro Manila’s East Sector flickered once then died. The city, once a hive of neon and noise, fell into a suffocating silence. No sirens. No chatter. No hum of life. Just darkness. Then came the hum. Low. Endless. Vibrating through concrete and bone, it rose from the ground like something buried was waking up. It wasn’t mechanical. It wasn’t natural. It simply was. Inside Manila Hospital, Nurse Camila Reyes stood over a patient whose vitals had just gone haywire. Mateo Cruz, a retired schoolteacher, had been stable for days. But now his eyes had rolled white, and the monitor beside him flashed gibberish symbols and numbers that made no sense. Camila frowned and tapped the screen. Static. Then Mateo sat up. “Sir? You need to lie down—” she said, voice tight with concern. His head jerked sideways with a sickening crack. His mouth hung open, drool spilling from his lips. Then he lunged. Camila stumbled backward, crashing into a tray of surgical tools. The clatter echoed like a gunshot. “Help!” she screamed, her voice slicing through the ward. Two orderlies rushed in. One grabbed Mateo’s arms, the other tried to pull him off. But the old man moved with impossible strength. He bit into Camila’s arm, tearing flesh. She shrieked, blood soaking her scrubs. The orderlies wrestled him down, but he didn’t stop. He clawed, twisted, and snapped bones like twigs. By the time security arrived, Room 409 was a m******e. Camila lay twitching on the floor, her eyes wide and glassy. Then the lights flickered back on. Across the ward, patients began to rise. Their movements were jerky, unnatural. Mouths slack. Eyes white. Outside, on M.R.T Manila, Private Luis Mendoza manned the checkpoint. His radio spat bursts of static and half-words: “Containment… breach… lower wards… compromised…” He didn’t understand. A few minutes ago, the power surge had knocked out communications. Now, vehicles were stalling mid-road. Their lights dimmed. Engines died. People climbed out, confused, looking around. Then came the scream. From the underpass, a woman stumbled into view. Her clothes were soaked in blood. Her eyes wide, unblinking. Behind her, more figures emerged. Dozens. Moving wrong like puppets with tangled strings. “Ma’am! Stop right there!” Mendoza shouted, raising his rifle. They didn’t stop. He fired. One shot. Then another. The bullets hit. The bodies twitched. But they didn’t fall. One reached him. A familiar face. A man he’d waved through the checkpoint earlier that night. The man’s mouth opened in silence. Then he lunged. Mendoza’s scream was swallowed by the swarm. A few blocks away, jeepney driver Mang Rudy has a half-full passenger students, a nurse, a sleeping child in her mother’s arms. The blackout had thrown traffic into chaos, but Mang Rudy had seen worse. He kept the engine running, humming an old kundiman under his breath. Then the jeepney stalled. He turned the key. Nothing. “I apologize,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. “These will take a while, I will just repair it.” The passengers murmured nervously. A man near the back pointed. “Sir. there is a man on the road.” Mang Rudy looked up. A man stood in the middle of the road, shirtless, swaying. Then another. And another. Their eyes were pale. Their skin, gray. The mother clutched her child. “What is that?” The first figure lunged at the jeepney, slamming into the windshield. Cracks spiderwebbed across the glass. Screams erupted. Mang Rudy grabbed the tire iron from under his seat. “RUN! Everyone, RUN!!” He swung as the windshield shattered. At the M.R.T Station, ticket clerk Maribel Santos was counting her last batch of bills when the power cut out. The emergency lights flickered on, casting the station in a sickly yellow glow. She sighed. Another brownout. Then her radio crackled. “…evacuate… do not engage… repeat, do not—” The message cut off. She stepped out of the booth and saw commuters frozen in place, staring at their phones, which had all gone dark. A child cried. Somewhere, a man was shouting for help. Then the turnstiles clicked. One by one, people began pouring into the station—not from the street, but from the tunnels. Their clothes were torn. Their eyes were wrong. Security guard Joel Rivera drew his baton. “Back! Back, now!” They didn’t stop. He swung. The baton cracked against a skull. The figure didn’t flinch. Maribel screamed as the crowd surged forward. In a nearby barangay, the Dela Cruz family huddled in their living room. The father, Tomas, tried to get the generator running while his wife, Liza, calmed their two children. The TV had gone out mid-news broadcast. The last thing they’d seen was a breaking report about “unusual behavior” in the Quezon City. Their teenage son, Paolo, peeked out the window. “Dad… there’s people outside. They’re just… standing there.” Tomas joined him. A dozen figures stood in the street, unmoving. Then, as if on cue, they all turned toward the house. “Close the curtains,” Tomas whispered. But it was too late. One of them sprinted forward, slamming into the gate. The children screamed. Tomas grabbed the kitchen knife. “Upstairs! Go!” In Quezon City, a SWAT team was mobilizing. Captain Reyes, Benjamin barked orders as his team loaded into the armored van. “Reports of mass hysteria, possible bioterrorism. We go in, contain, and extract civilians. No heroics.” They rolled out, sirens off. As they neared the Quezon City, the streets grew darker. Fires burned in the distance. A bus lay overturned, its windows shattered. Bodies littered the road. Then something hit the van. A body. Then another. The windshield cracked. Blood smeared the glass. “Contact left!” someone shouted. Figures swarmed the vehicle, climbing, clawing, smashing. Inside, the SWAT team opened fire. Muzzle flashes lit the cabin. Screams filled the air. The van rocked. Then it stopped. Above Divisoria, sixteen-year-old Aris watched the city bleed. Fires spread like veins. People ran through alleys. He climbed down, heart pounding. He had to find Lia. His little sister slept under the overpass, wrapped in a blue blanket. But when he reached the spot, the blanket was torn. Empty. “Lia?” he called. A figure turned the corner. Small. Familiar. “Lia!” She ran to him, barefoot, arms outstretched. He smiled until he saw her eyes. White. She leapt into his arms, sinking her teeth into his shoulder. He didn’t scream. He just held her. As the city burned around them. By midnight, Metro Manila was unrecognizable. Helicopters circled overhead, casting floodlights onto streets littered with bodies. The infected moved in silence. Tireless. Whole districts went dark. Hospitals. Markets. Schools. Gone. Somewhere in the city’s heart, a substation exploded in a bloom of blue fire. The Malacañang already in ruins At 3:35 p.m., Metro Manila was gone. The outbreak had no screams left to give. Only silence. (4 Hours before the zombie outbreak) Trinity University of Asia, Quezon City 5.3 Kilometers from Manila 8:00am sunlight spilled through the towering windows of school, cutting through the glass and scattering across rows of bright screens and notebooks. Outside, Metro Manila shimmered like the crown of human civilization, unaware that beneath its streets, something irreversible had already begun. Inside Classroom 4-A, Zion Fabian 17 years old was lost in numbers. While students scribbled notes about Newtonian mechanics, Zion traced a spiral across the margin of his page not out of boredom, but instinct. Patterns always calmed him. The ratios of leaf veins, the spacing of planetary orbits, the decay rate of memory over time everything in nature moved to rhythm. And today, that rhythm felt… wrong. “Mr. Fabian,” said Mr. Mark Tanieda, the physics instructor, tapping the desk with a stylus. “Projectile motion, not abstract art.” Zion blinked, snapping from his thoughts. “Sorry, sir. Just modeling decay velocity.” Mr. Tanieda raised a brow. “Decay of what?” Zion hesitated. “Patterns.” A few students chuckled. Mr. Tanieda sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’ll either win a Nobel prize or blow up a city one day. Focus, please.” Zion smiled faintly, but his eyes were distant again. Something in the air pressed against his chest a quiet tension beneath the hum of electricity. At lunch, he sat on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. Students carrying food strays and laughed over jokes of prankster students. Everything looked normal but the fragile, like a simulation seconds before breaking. “Hey, genius,” said Ena Larke, his best friend, slamming a food tray beside him. Her dark hair was tied in a messy bun, grease stains marking her uniform sleeves. “You skipped P.E club again. You can’t just skip class forever.” Zion bit into his sandwich. “I hate physical activity! I prefer science and mathematics.” Ena rolled her eyes. “Of course you were. but you can't graduate if you can't pass that subject.” “I know..,” he said softly, staring at the sky. “Temperature fluctuations are irregular. Power grids are cycling twice per hour instead of once. Something’s drawing massive energy beneath the city.” Ena snorted. “You think too much, How's your relationship with your dad?.” He looked at her sharply. “What do you know about that?” She grinned. “Nothing, relax. Just rumors. You know how students talk.” Zion didn’t answer. His father, Professor Aldeb Fabian, was a name spoken with both respect and unease in the scientific community a man who believed knowledge should never be owned, only shared. He’d left the academic stage years ago for classified research. Zion hadn’t seen him since last month. That ache the quiet distance between genius and humanity ran in the family. By afternoon, the sky darkened unexpectedly. Clouds rolled in without forecast, casting Metro Manila in a metallic shade. The academy’s systems flickered. The intercom buzzed twice before cutting out entirely. Mr. Tanieda frowned, tapping his tablet. “Strange. The central grid shouldn’t—” Then the lights came back on. He forced a smile. “All right, where were we? Gravitational trajectories. Open your books to page—” But Zion wasn’t listening. His gaze locked on the faint vibration running through the floor. Not an earthquake — mechanical, rhythmic, pulsing like a heartbeat from beneath the earth. He raised his hand. “Sir, the floor’s resonating at six hertz.” “What?” Mr. Tanieda blinked. “How could you possibly” The intercom screamed to life, cutting him off. “Attention all staff and students—this is an emergency broadcast. Remain calm and proceed to—” The message distorted into static. Then nothing. A moment later, the emergency lights turned crimson. Students looked around, confused murmurs rising. Ena whispered, “Drill?” Mr. Tanieda forced calm into his tone. “Everyone, stay seated. The academy sometimes runs” The hallway outside erupted in screams. The first one was high and brief. Then came the pounding dozens of feet slamming against tile, chaos flooding the corridors. Something heavy crashed against a locker. A teacher’s voice shouted for help then cut off with a sound no human throat should make. Mr. Tanieda bolted to the door, locking it. “Away from the windows! Now!” Zion froze. His brain calculated: number of steps, distance of noise, pattern of movement. The sounds weren’t random they were hunting. Something organized through instinct, not thought. “Sir,” he whispered. “That’s not a riot.” A shape blurred past the glass a student, or what used to be one. Their skin was pale, veins black, eyes empty and milky. They slammed into the door, teeth gnashing, blood smearing across the glass. The class screamed. Mr. Taneida stumbled back, pale as chalk. Zion’s heart hammered, but his mind didn’t freeze. He moved dragging desks, sealing the door with tables. Ena followed his lead, trembling. “What are you doing?” “securing,” he said, voice steady despite the panic clawing his ribs. “Zion, they’re people!” “No,” he said quietly. “Not anymore.” The thing outside shrieked, pounding harder. The glass spiderwebbed. The intercom buzzed again, spitting out fragments of command. “...containment breach… biocell rupture… all units evacuate—infectious—” Then an explosion rocked the lower floors. The lights died. Smoke began to seep in from the vents. Students were crying now. Mr. Tanieda was shaking. “Windows! We can use the drainage pipe—” Before Mr. Tanieda could finish his sentence, the door burst open. Two infected stumbled through twisted, broken, wrong. One had half its face missing. The smell hit first: rot and copper. A heartbeat later, the classroom exploded into chaos. Glass shattered, windows caved in, and shapes lunged through the smoke. Students screamed. Mr. Tanieda pushed forward, shoving one of the monsters away with a chair. “Everyone! RUN!” he shouted. But another zombie crashed into him, dragging him down. His scream was lost beneath the wet, tearing sound of flesh. Zion didn’t think. He grabbed Ena’s wrist and pulled her toward the lab storage room at the back of the classroom. The reinforced door slammed shut behind them, sealing out the chaos but not the sound. The muffled cries of their classmates bled through the metal, fading into a chorus of horror. Ena slumped against the wall, trembling, her breath ragged. “I think… I think one of them scratched me,” she whispered. Zion turned to her, heart hammering. “Are you okay?” She shook her head quickly. “It’s nothing. I’m fine.” He hesitated, eyes darting toward the hallway beyond the door. “We need to move. Now.” They slipped out into the corridor, hearts pounding. The main entrance loomed ahead a glass atrium that opened to the courtyard. But when they reached it, they froze. The glass was shattered. The courtyard beyond was a sea of infected. Dozens maybe hundreds pressed against the broken frame, twitching, sniffing the air. Zion’s stomach twisted. “We can’t go through there.” “They’ll see us,” Ena whispered, her voice shaking. “We’re trapped.” “No.” Zion’s eyes darted upward. “In Laboratory!.” They ran. Their footsteps echoed through the smoke-filled hallways as the first shriek rose behind them. The infected had caught their scent. “Faster!” Zion shouted, running through the hallway. They reach inside the laboratory, lungs burning, the screams growing louder. outside, hands clawed and slams the door and could break any moment. Zion saw the chemicals then comes up with the idea and whispered "Concentrated Nitric Acid and Organic Materials like Alcohol or Acetone can be use for us to escape. Nitric acid is a powerful oxidizer, and its reaction with organic substances can be extremely violent, often resulting in immediate fire or explosion" Ena confuse. "Zion, English please?" He mixed the chemicals and calculate the exact time of the door will break and the explotion. (He begone the count down) "We only have 30 seconds before this will explode, we soak with water and use Fire Blanket to cover ourselves and run pass through the fire" Ena (Surprised and trust his smart decision) "Ok Zion, I trust you!" Zion (Counting 3.. 2.. 1..) The door broke and the chemical exploded. The infected were thrown across the room by the blast. Then he and Ena used it to their advantage, running past the fire to escape. While running through the hall way “Zion!” The voice cut through the roar of flames. Zion turned and his breath caught. Standing beneath the red emergency light was Professor Aldeb Fabian his father. His lab coat was torn, face streaked with soot, glasses cracked. He held a crowbar in one hand and a pistol in the other. “Dad!” Zion ran to him. Aldeb pulled him into a fierce, desperate hug. “You’re alive. Thank God.” Ena staggered behind, pale and sweating. “Professor…” Aldeb’s eyes darkened. “She’s is infected.” Zion froze. “What?” Ena smiled faintly through tears. “Sorry, Zion… I know I won’t last long. I saw what happened to the others when they were bitten or scratched.” “What are you saying!?” Zion’s voice broke. Aldeb’s tone was grim. “It spreads through contact bite or scratch. The infection takes hours… sometimes minutes.” Ena’s lips trembled. “Zion… before that happens, I just want you to know… I love you.” Her voice quivered, tears falling freely. “If I ever get a second chance… I promise I’ll make sure I won’t be just your best friend — but your forever.” Zion’s world stopped. Then Ena collapsed. Her body convulsed violently. Her eyes rolled back — white, lifeless. “No! Ena — stay with me!” Zion dropped beside her, shaking her shoulders. But it was too late. The girl he loved was gone. A guttural snarl escaped her lips. Her hand twitched. “Zion,” Aldeb said softly. “She’s turning.” He raised his pistol. “Don’t!” Zion shouted, grabbing his father’s arm. “Please!” “She’s gone, son.” Ena lunged. The shot echoed across the burning city. Zion stared as her body went limp, crumpling in his arms. He knelt beside her, silent tears streaking down his face. “I should’ve seen it… I should’ve—” Aldeb’s voice cracked but stayed firm. “Zion. If you want to cry, do it. If you want to hate me, do it. But we can’t stop now. We have to survive this.” Zion glared at him, his voice breaking. “Dad… I already lost Mom. Now Ena the one person I truly loved! I never told her how I felt! What’s the point of my existence!?” Aldeb slapped him hard. Zion blinked, stunned. “I came all the way to Manila,” Aldeb said, voice shaking with fury, “I crossed through hell itself to save you and now you’re giving up!?” Zion’s breathing steadied. He clenched his fists. Reality crashed back in. “Do you remember the story I told you about the bunker?” Aldeb said quickly. “Supplies that can last a hundred years. Solar power, books, computers everything humanity needs to survive an apocalypse.” Zion frowned. “You knew this would happen…?” Before Aldeb could answer, a loud crash echoed from below. The school’s main doors had given way and the infected flooded in. “All your questions why, how they’re in that bunker,” Aldeb said. “The main entrance is breached. We have to reach the fire exit and get to the rooftop. Rescue teams might still be out there!” Zion nodded sharply. “Let’s go!” They ran through the smoke and blood, the groans of the infected echoing behind them. At the rooftop, Aldeb slammed the steel door shut, but a mass of arms forced it open again. The horde was too strong. The door shuddered under their weight. Zion stumble upon what he saw, "Manila City is Gone" “Zion! Take my journal in my coat pocket! And this USB!” Aldeb shouted. “You must survive! Go to the bunker! I’ll hold them off!” Zion grabbed the items, shaking. “No, Dad! We can escape together!” “I can’t, son.” Aldeb raised his bitten arm, the flesh already blackened. “It’s too late for me. But you you can change everything. Use what I’ve taught you. You’re brilliant, Zion. You can rebuild the world.” The door exploded inward. The infected swarmed him. “Dad!!” Zion stumbled back, horrified. He didn’t notice the crumbling edge of the rooftop behind him. As the infected lunged, his heel slipped. The world fell away. “I’m sorry, Dad…” he whispered and the world went black. Silence. Then — birdsong. Zion’s eyes opened to sunlight filtering through thick vines. He was lying on soft moss, surrounded by towering trees and ruins buried in green. “I’m alive…” he whispered. “But how?” He searched his reflection in a puddle younger, maybe fifteen again. “I’m… reincarnated?” Pain shot through his head visions, memories of the boy who scavenge for food, the apocalypse, Ena, his father, the fall. Then clarity. “It’s been five hundred years since the outbreak,” he said, voice trembling. “The world moved on… but I’m back.” He clenched his fists, eyes burning with resolve. “God… fate… whoever gave me this second chance — I’ll make it count.” He looked up at the sunlight breaking through the canopy. Zion stands firm, proud, motivated and confident facing the sun. “I won’t let my father’s efforts go to waste. I’ll rewrite history. I’ll rebuild the world using science.” END OF EPISODE 1