The last beginning, perhaps

I jolt awake to the familiar surroundings of my modest bedroom. This should be the moment—the morning I resign from the police force to open my new detective agency. The start of another three-month countdown to the global zombie pandemic.

But something feels different. Off.

I sit up slowly, my mind flooding with vivid memories of the repeated days. I have lived through this very same morning four times now. Four separate cycles that always led to approximately three months until the start of the apocalypse.

Except... the air feels different. The light streaming through my window seems brighter, more vibrant. I can hear birdsong outside—a sound I don't remember from previous cycles.

I shake my head, trying to clear the fog of confusion. This must be another reset, I tell myself. It has to be. I know what comes next. I know what I need to do.