TWD: Iron Shield Corporation (ISC)

"— Beware, the world is ending!"

I glanced to the side and saw a homeless man shouting. He seemed insane, gesturing wildly and yelling at anyone who passed. Most people ignored him, walking past as if he were just part of the scenery. I let out a breath and murmured to myself as I focused back on the road:

— The world really is getting darker.

I drove through Atlanta's busy streets, the signs of a world in decline all around. To most, life seemed normal: traffic moved, buildings loomed high, and store lights flickered. But for those paying attention, something was undeniably wrong.

I pulled up in front of my family's mansion. It wasn't overly extravagant but definitely stood out in this affluent neighborhood. A large, two-story house with a well-manicured lawn. As I stepped out of my car, Marcos, our butler, was already waiting at the door.

— Good morning, Mr. Henry — he greeted me in his usual professional tone.

— Morning, Marcos. Is my father complaining about life again?

He gave me a small smile, unfazed by my question.

— He's particularly reflective today, sir.

— Age catches up with all of us, I suppose. — I smirked. — I'll go see him before he finds something to complain about me instead.

Walking inside, I passed through the spacious hall and living room, heading to the garden in the back. My father was there, sitting in his wheelchair, a caretaker by his side. He was mumbling to himself, staring into the distance.

— When I was your age, everyone respected me. They feared me… And now, I'm just a useless old man.

— You're not that old, Dad — I said as I approached.

He turned his head to look at me and broke into a grin.

— Well, look who's here, my favorite son!

— Thomas would be jealous if he heard you say that — I teased.

— Thomas... — He sighed, shaking his head. — Ever since he went off to college, he's practically disappeared. A bright boy, but...

— He has his commitments, Dad. To be fair, I'm not much different.

— Maybe. — His tone shifted abruptly as he fixed me with a serious look. — And the plan?

I sat down beside him, matching his tone.

— It's finished. The bunker is ready.

He took a deep breath, relief and worry mixing on his face.

— That bunker cost us a fortune, Henry. I hope you know what you're doing.

— I know exactly what I'm doing, Dad. Trust me, it'll be worth every penny.

He nodded slowly, though doubt lingered in his expression. We chatted for a bit longer before I excused myself and headed to my office.

Sitting in my leather chair, I stared out the window, lost in thought. Memories of the past resurfaced, unbidden…

Two years ago, when I was 20, I woke up disoriented. Everything felt off: my reflection in the mirror, the people around me, even the world itself. At first, I thought I'd traveled back in time, living in someone else's body. It seemed like the only logical explanation. But as time passed, the truth became clear.

This wasn't my world.

Small discrepancies started to pile up—names of places, historical events, companies... It all felt slightly wrong. The realization struck when I stumbled upon research about a "virus" that caused people to become violent and uncontrollable. That was when it clicked. I was in The Walking Dead.

My luck? I figured it out early. In this life, I was Henry, the eldest son of Edward, the owner of Iron Shield Corporation (ISC), a major weapons supplier to the government. I had grown up surrounded by military contracts and high-stakes negotiations. With my father's declining health, I had taken over the company at a young age.

Armed with knowledge of what was coming, I began to prepare. Using ISC's resources, I purchased an old Cold War bunker in the northern Georgia mountains. Over the course of two years, I renovated it, turning it into far more than a simple underground shelter.

It was a mansion beneath the earth.

The bunker could house up to a thousand people, equipped with modern ventilation systems, farming areas, dining halls, recreation rooms, and even a small hospital. I stocked it with enough food and supplies to sustain 300 people for two years. The cost was astronomical—enough for my father to call me insane. But I pressed on, ignoring the criticism.

Now, with the bunker finally complete, there was only one step left. By my calculations, the virus would start spreading in less than three months. I needed a security team to protect the bunker and ensure everything stayed under control.

I picked up the phone on my desk and dialed a number. After a few seconds, a deep voice answered.

— Yes, Mr. Henry. The list is ready.

I leaned back in my chair, a smile tugging at my lips.

— Excellent. You know the deal: half now, half after delivery.

— Understood. Consider it done.

A notification on my computer signaled a new email. I opened it to find the promised list attached—names, specialties, locations, everything I needed.

— Always a pleasure working with you. I'll transfer the payment now.

A low chuckle came from the other end of the line.

— It's always an honor to work for you, Mr. Henry.

I hung up and stared at the list on my screen. Each name was another piece in the puzzle of survival. Time was running out.

Now, it was time to act.