《Apocalypse Tycoon: My Monopoly Cheat》
Ch.1: Entering the Apocalypse Game
"Remember, there''s only one objective in the Apocalypse Game."
"Survive. Survive. Survive."
The amplified voice boomed, echoing across the plaza. "Memorize these key points. Your life, and the survival of our base city, depends on it."
"One: Identify the Apocalypse Event immediately upon entry. Gather relevant supplies accordingly. This is critical."
"Two: Exercise extreme caution when encountering anyone, be they scavengers, rebels, refugees, or even other survivors, especially in the early stages when you lack self-defense capabilities."
"Three: Collect valuables. These could buy your life if captured by refugees."
"Four: Establish a secure hideout as soon as possible. A good hideout is key to surviving the initial phase and crucial for long-term survival."
"Five: Quickly assess your environment ¨C city, grassland, wilderness, forest, or desert ¨C and apply survival protocols as per your training."
"Six: Hideout upgrade requirements vary by zone. Don''t blindly follow other survivors'' examples. Refer to the in-game guidance provided by the Apocalypse Game."
A thousand people stood in a hushed, anxious mass before the colossal bronze structure, the loudspeaker''s relentless pronouncements hammering into their ears. Thomas Smyth frowned, etching the instructions into his memory.
Just my luck, he thought grimly. A freakin'' apocalypse.
It had only been a day since he''d arrived in this world, but Thomas already understood the dire situation. This parallel Earth, three years prior, had been ensnared by the Apocalypse Game during the solar system''s orbit around the galactic center. Disasters had erupted globally: volcanoes, earthquakes, floods, heatwaves, pandemics, blizzards¡ In just six months, the planet''s population had plummeted by eighty percent, civilization teetering on the brink of collapse.
That''s when the Apocalypse Game officially began.
One hundred bronze structures materialized across the globe, becoming the nuclei of human base cities. Each month, each city could send between fifty and a thousand people into the Game for survival challenges, earning survival supplies based on the number who survived each cyclical apocalyptic event. These supplies were the lifeblood of the struggling cities.
Thomas was one of the unlucky thousand chosen this month.
He followed the crowd into the bronze edifice, revealing a massive portal within. Reaching the shimmering gateway, he rubbed his hands nervously and stepped forward.
Too bad we can''t bring anything in, he thought, the idea barely formed before the world went black.
He blinked, his vision adjusting to the desolate cityscape. Wrecked cars littered the streets, buildings stood scarred and broken, shattered glass crunching underfoot. Bullet holes pockmarked the walls, silent testament to past violence.
He found himself inside a looted convenience store. A single bottle of water lay abandoned on the floor. He snatched it up, tucking it into his jacket pocket. Every resource, no matter how small, was precious now.
A game interface materialized before him, displaying information about the Apocalypse Game. A stark warning dominated the screen:
Apocalypse Event in seven days: Polar Blizzard. Duration: 3 days.
A blizzard? Fantastic, Thomas thought sarcastically. Hideout choice is going to be paramount. Underground is ideal.
He navigated the interface: Hideout (grayed out), Backpack, Chat. He opened his Backpack, revealing sub-menus: Items, Health, Skills, Crafting. He placed the water bottle in his five-slot Item inventory, surprised to find it occupied two slots. Clearly, item size mattered. He''d need to find a backpack to increase his carrying capacity.
The Health tab displayed body temperature, hunger, thirst, HP, and stamina. Skills and Crafting were both empty.
Gamified survival stats, huh?
He opened the Chat window: Friends (empty), Zone Chat, World Chat. World Chat scrolled with frantic messages:
Damn it, I spawned in the grasslands! Middle of nowhere!This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Did you guys see the event? Polar blizzard! We''re screwed!
Help! Refugees are chasing me in the city!
Refugees spotted! Be careful everyone!
Guess what I found? A rebel military base on the coast! Trying to infiltrate¡
What kind of world is this? Thomas thought, scrolling through the chaotic messages. He noticed a small speaker icon next to World Chat, displaying the number "1." Focusing on it revealed a message:
[Players have 1 World Chat message per day.]
One message. He''d have to make it count. Zone Chat was similar, except without the message limit. He noticed a small figure icon in the corner, followed by the number 1000.Current survivors in the zone, I guess.
Clicking on a random player''s avatar brought up three options: Whisper, Trade, Block. Simple enough.
He checked the time: 4 PM. Sunset wasn''t far off. Finding hideout was his top priority.
Just then, a new prompt appeared in his mind:
[Apocalypse Game Super Monopoly Beta Plugin ready. Bind?]
"Bind," Thomas said, a flicker of hope igniting within him.
As his voice faded, the system responded:
[Apocalypse Game Super Monopoly Beta Plugin bound successfully.]
[One daily dice roll available. Current rolls: 1.]
[Note: This is a beta version. The plugin will upgrade to the full version after the survivor endures the first Apocalypse Event.]
A fist-sized die materialized before him, along with a Super Monopoly map resembling a miniature city. Squares representing various locations and events were laid out, and a tiny version of himself stood at the starting point, labeled "Convenience Store." It was just like the board game ¨C roll the die, move your piece, reap the rewards.
With a mental command, the die tumbled, landing on:
[3]
His miniature self hopped forward three spaces, landing on a square depicting a subway station.
Purchase Subway Garden Station for 250 points?
Thomas noticed a "Starting Funds" section on the interface, displaying 500 points.
"So I have 500 points to start?"
He didn''t fully understand the significance of the station, but he knew this was an investment game. Purchases equaled progress.
"Purchase station," he confirmed.
250 points deducted. Subway Garden Station purchased.
A detailed 3D map of the station flooded his mind, revealing every room and item within. He stared, stunned, then grinned.
A blueprint of the station! Jackpot!
In this apocalyptic wasteland, resources were king. And now, he had an inside track. He knew the station''s layout like the back of his hand. The supplies within were practically his already.
The map was even live-updating. He could see several moving green dots ¨C rats, he realized ¨C scurrying through the station.
So that means¡ A thought sparked. Anyone entering the station would be under his surveillance. The ultimate tactical advantage.
He studied the map, his eyes settling on a secluded room. Perfect for a hideout. Hidden, spacious, and with a few glimmering items marked within.
He cautiously exited the convenience store, heading towards the station. Thankfully, it was only a couple hundred meters away. He glanced around the deserted street, then broke into a run, the distant sounds of gunfire and explosions echoing in the air.
He reached the Garden Subway Station entrance and descended into the dimly lit passage, following the mental map towards his chosen room. The air hung heavy with the scent of dust and decay. The marble floor, however, was surprisingly clean, as if the city''s descent into chaos had been recent and swift.
He navigated the twisting corridors, arriving at a concealed metal door. After confirming the room was clear, he pushed it open. A concrete staircase descended into darkness, illuminated by a faint glow.
He followed the stairs down, his hand brushing against a light switch. He flipped it. The fluorescent lights flickered to life. The city''s power grid, at least, was still functioning, likely thanks to the rebel occupation.
The room opened into an L-shaped space, clearly a former security monitoring room. A simple cot stood against one wall, facing a bank of monitors. Only one screen flickered with static ¨C the source of the faint light.
He opened the hideout tab in his interface. It was no longer grayed out.
Designate this location as your hideout?
[Warning: hideout location cannot be changed once designated!]
"Confirm."
The game initiated the hideout conversion process:
[1%¡ 5%¡ 18%¡ 34%¡ 100%]
[Hideout designation complete!]
Information about his new hideout appeared on the screen:
[Hideout]
[Owner: Thomas Smyth]
[Current Facilities: Rest Area, Door]
[Available Facilities: None]
[Area: 82 sq m]
The information was sparse. He focused on the two existing facilities:
[Rest Area]
Effect: Restores 80% Stamina during sleep. Consumes 40% Hunger, 30% Thirst.
Note: Trust us, it''s better than sleeping on the floor.
Next Stage: Rest Area Level 1
Requirements: 5000 Apocalypse Coins, Blanket x1, Matches x1
Upgrade Time: 30 minutes
Current resources insufficient for upgrade.
---
[Hideout Security Door]
Effect: Prevents animal intrusion.
Note: Yes, it only stops animals.
Next Stage: hideout Security Reinforced Door Level 1
Requirements: 25000 Apocalypse Coins, Reinforced Lock x1, Tape Measure x1
Upgrade Time: 30 minutes
Current resources insufficient for upgrade.
Below the facility descriptions was a list of other constructible facilities: Ventilation, Storage, Water Collector, Kitchen¡ All grayed out, unavailable due to lack of resources. The importance of resource gathering was becoming increasingly clear.
Still, his hideout was established. And it was far superior to what most other players likely had at this stage. His gaze drifted to the monitoring station desk, where the room''s few remaining items lay.
He approached the desk. Three computer monitors sat dark and lifeless. A subway security uniform was draped over a chair. He picked it up, searching the pockets. His fingers brushed against something hard. He froze, then his eyes widened in disbelief. He pulled out a pistol and holster.
The item''s information appeared:
[Glock 17 Pistol
Type: Pistol
Size: 2x1
Effective Range: 50m
Firing Mode: Semi-automatic
Caliber: 9x19mm
Magazine Capacity: 17 rounds]
Ch. 2: Looting the Station, Discovering Refugees
Drawing on the brief training he''d received before entering the Apocalypse Game, Thomas clumsily checked the pistol, ejecting the magazine and inspecting the rounds.
"Full mag. Seventeen rounds. Not bad," he muttered, a wave of relief washing over him. The Glock was his only reliable weapon for now. Weapons were paramount in this game of survival, especially in the urban zones, where refugees and rebels posed the greatest initial threat. Eliminating a lone straggler would provide valuable loot ¨C weapons, gear, armor ¨C the necessary tools to carve out a foothold in this brutal world.
He holstered the Glock and continued his search. From the security uniform''s pockets, he retrieved a small bundle of keys. A grin spread across his face.
[Keys. Excellent.]
Apartment 15 Main Door Key
Effect: Unlocks the main door of Apartment 15.
---
[Apartment 15 - Room 807 Key]
Effect: Unlocks Room 807 in Apartment 15.
---
[Locker 45 (Men''s) Key
Effect: Unlocks Locker 45 in the station''s men''s locker room.]
A good start, he thought. Keys were vital in the urban zones. They granted access to locked rooms and the precious resources within. Sure, he could break windows or bash down doors, but the noise would attract unwanted attention, especially from the roaming refugees. Suicide in the early game.
He stashed the keys in his inventory. Further searching yielded a flashlight and a chocolate bar. He''d cleaned out the security room.
His current inventory: Glock 17, 3 keys, flashlight, chocolate bar, water bottle. hideout, food, water, and a weapon. Day one was going surprisingly well.
He sat on the cot in the rest area, consuming the chocolate and some water, replenishing his hunger and thirst meters. He opened the Zone Chat, curious about the progress of other players.
Someone at the shopping mall, help! Rebels are after me!
Guys, five or six refugees near the district hotel. Be careful!
Where''s a good place to set up a hideout? Nowhere feels safe.
Trading a key for a weapon. There''s a lone refugee I want to take down.
I''ll trade! I have a spare knife.
Holy crap, you won''t believe this. Rebels in an APC patrolling the city. Stay low!
The chat scrolled with frantic messages. The survivor count in the top right corner had dropped from 1000 to 983. Thomas felt a chill. Seventeen deaths in less than an hour. The urgency of survival tightened its grip.
No time to rest, he thought, pushing himself off the cot. Need to improve my odds.
He finished the chocolate, stowing the remaining water. Checking the Glock''s safety, he left the security room, venturing deeper into the station. His mental map confirmed the station was clear, but he remained cautious, pistol gripped tightly, the silence amplifying every creak and groan of the deserted station.
According to the map, the most promising loot locations were the staff lounge, locker room, and station control room. The other areas ¨C electrical rooms, communication hubs ¨C were likely barren. He headed for the staff lounge, the locker room located within.
He tried the lounge door handle. It opened. He breathed a sigh of relief. A public area, thankfully unlocked. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
The lounge was a mess. Chairs and tables were overturned, shards of glass littered the floor. Dried bloodstains painted a grim picture of past violence. Unsure if his mental map could detect enemies in real-time, he swept the room with his pistol, clearing each corner before holstering the weapon and beginning his search.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
He started with the locker room. He used the key to open locker 45. Inside, he found a backpack. He opened it, revealing its contents:
[Marlboro cigarettes x1
Encrypted USB drive x1
Energy drink x1
The backpack itself could be equipped.
Simple Backpack
Capacity: 4x5 grid (20 slots)
Movement Speed Penalty: -3%
Turning Speed Penalty: -1%]
He slung the backpack on, his inventory expanding from 5 to 25 slots. He also discovered that looted items now automatically went into the backpack. Much more convenient.
With increased carrying capacity, his looting efficiency soared. He cleared the remaining lockers, then moved back to the lounge. His haul was modest: a box of matches, a screwdriver, a tape measure, two towels, and a discarded blanket. Not much, but he felt a surge of excitement. He now had the materials to upgrade his hideout''s rest area! And the tape measure was one of the components needed for the door upgrade. He just needed a reinforced lock.
Now all I need are Apocalypse Coins, he thought.
He was about to head for the station control room when his face paled. He whipped out his Glock, flicking off the safety and chambering a round. He pressed himself against the wall beside the door, holding his breath.
Two red dots had appeared on his mental map at the station entrance, moving inwards.
Refugees were the most numerous faction in the Apocalypse Game, a motley crew of scavengers, criminals, thugs, and¡cultists. The cultists, while rare, were the most dangerous, performing ritual sacrifices to appease their dark gods and gain power. Their fanaticism and aggression made them a nightmare for new players. Encounters rarely ended well for the victims.
Thomas''s breath hitched. His heart pounded against his ribs. He glanced at the Glock in his hand, a daring plan forming in his mind.
High risk, high reward, he thought. Cultists were dangerous, but the potential loot¡ According to the pre-game briefing, eliminating cultists could yield rare items and powerful weapons, significantly boosting a new player''s chances of surviving the first Apocalypse Event.
The voices of the approaching refugees grew louder. Thomas focused on his mental map, the two red dots closing in on his position. He confirmed there were no other enemies in the station.
Footsteps echoed outside the lounge door, less than two meters away.
"Let''s rest here for a bit," one voice said. "We still have that¡event to attend tonight."
The door swung open, and a refugee stepped inside. He froze, spotting Thomas in the shadows. He opened his mouth to shout¡ª
Bang. Bang. Bang.
The Glock roared, spitting lead. Thomas saw the flashes of gunfire reflecting off something on the refugee''s chest. Body armor! He adjusted his aim, targeting the head. He emptied the magazine, the slide locking back with a metallic click. He gasped, his heart hammering.
The refugee crumpled to the floor, dead. His companion, who had started to raise his own weapon, fell beside him, a bullet hole in his forehead.
Adrenaline surging, Thomas dragged the bodies inside the lounge, slamming the door shut. He snatched up their dropped weapons, his eyes glued to the mental map. After two tense minutes, confirming no new hostiles, he turned to the bodies, a wide grin spreading across his face.
On closer inspection, they weren''t cultists. No telltale sigils on their necks. Just regular refugees. But their gear¡
Holy crap. I hit the jackpot.
He stripped the bodies, piling their equipment on the floor:
[PM submachine gun x1 (with 1 magazine, 30 rounds of 9x18mm ammo)
PM 30-round magazines x2 (60 rounds of 9x18mm ammo)
AKS-74U short assault rifle x1 (with 1 magazine, 30 rounds of 5.45x39mm ammo)
AK-74 compatible magazine x1 (30 rounds of 5.45x39mm ammo)
PL-15 pistols x2 (with 1 magazine each, 16 rounds of 9x19mm ammo per magazine)
F-1 defensive fragmentation grenades x5
Damascus steel knife x1
6H5 bayonet x1
Terrorist balaclava x1
Half-face mask x1
PACA soft body armor (Level 2) x2
MK1 chest rig x1
SOE micro chest rig x1
Sterile bandages x6
Golden Star Balm x1
Beef sausage x2
Bottled beer x1
Apocalypse Coins x30,000]
He stared at the loot, slightly dazed. This is insane.
He crammed everything he could into his backpack, realizing the chest rigs also provided additional inventory space. He equipped the larger one, a 16-slot MK1, boosting his capacity to 41. He quickly tidied the scene, slinging the rifles over his shoulders and grabbing the body armor. Then he sprinted back to his hideout.
His heart sang with the thrill of his first big score. The greater the risk, the greater the reward. Ancient wisdom holds true.
Back in the safety of his hideout, he slammed the door shut and collapsed onto the floor, breathing heavily. Carrying all that gear had been a workout. But the grin plastered on his face wouldn''t fade. This was his first real step towards security.
Half an hour later, he''d organized his loot. He examined the Apocalypse Coins, 30,000 worth of 1000-denomination bills.
I have everything I need to upgrade the rest area now, he thought. Thirty minutes to a better night''s sleep.
He grabbed the matches, blanket, and 5000 Apocalypse Coins, approaching the cot. The upgrade prompt had changed:
[Rest Area]
Effect: Restores 80% Stamina during sleep. Consumes 40% Hunger, 30% Thirst.
Note: Trust us, it''s better than sleeping on the floor.
Next Stage: Rest Area Level 1
Requirements: 5000 Apocalypse Coins, Blanket x1, Matches x1
Upgrade Time: 30 minutes
Upgrade available. Proceed with upgrade?
He didn''t hesitate.
"Yes!"
The cot, along with the placed items and coins, shimmered, enveloped in a soft, warm light.
Ch. 3: Hidden Information, The Crimson Cabaret
While the rest area upgraded, Thomas opened the Zone Chat. I have an extra pistol and vest. Might as well see if I can trade them for something useful.
The chat buzzed with activity. The survivor count had dwindled further, down to 968. Desperate pleas for weapons and armor filled the channel.
5 instant ramen for any weapon! Melee preferred! DM me!
Trading a firearm for two keys. DM if interested.
Anyone have medical supplies? Bleeding out! Please help!
Crowbar [image] for abandoned factory key. DM me.
Need food and water! Starving and dehydrated! HP dropping! Help!
Thomas''s eyes landed on a particular message. He initiated a private conversation.
Thomas: What keys do you have?
Ben Walker: You have a firearm? I have keys to Apartment 15 and the Crimson Cabaret. Unused! [image]
Thomas''s heart leaped. An Apartment 15 key! He already had two for that building. What a coincidence.
Thomas: I have a pistol. [image] But two keys aren''t enough.
Ben Walker: Whoa, you''re a god! How''d you get a pistol with a full mag already? [shocked emoji]
Ben Walker: Okay, two keys might not be enough. I only have some food and water left. How about I throw in some valuable information?
Thomas: What kind of information? You''re not scamming me, are you?
Ben Walker: No way! It''s classified info. Only a few people in the real world knew about it. I found out by chance. Deal?
Thomas: ??? If it''s so valuable, why trade it so easily?
Ben Walker: Come on, a gun is worth more than anything right now. Besides, everyone will know this after the first Apocalypse Event. Telling you now doesn''t hurt me. But at least for now, very few people know.
Thomas frowned. Classified information? He doesn''t seem to be lying.
Thomas: Fine. Two keys and the information. Don''t screw me over.
Ben Walker: Haha, no worries! You won''t regret it.
Thomas traded the pistol and a magazine for the two keys. Ben Walker''s message arrived:
Ben Walker: Try to collect as many graphics cards as you can. After the first Apocalypse Event, our game version will merge with the veteran players'' version. Graphics cards will be crucial for obtaining Calamity Coins, the rare currency of the Apocalypse World.
Graphics cards? Calamity Coins? Two new terms. What were they for? The merger with the veteran players'' version caught his attention.
Thomas: You mean our zone is only for new players?
Ben Walker: Exactly! Until the first event, it''s just us newbies. The difficulty is set to easy mode. After the first event, we merge with the veteran players and the other races. The difficulty ramps up significantly.
Thomas understood. They were in the newbie zone. The veterans were in the main game. After the first event, the servers would merge. He could only imagine how much harder survival would become, facing not only harsher environments but also experienced players and otherworldly foes.
He glanced at the monitoring station. He needed every advantage he could get. He was glad he''d made the trade. This information was invaluable.
Acting on the tip, he went to the monitoring station and began dismantling the computers. They were mostly wrecked, yielding only a few salvaged components:
[CPU fan x1This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
RAM stick x1
Power supply unit x1
Power cable x1]
Not much, but he collected them anyway. Electronic components might be useful later.
He looked at his hideout door, then posted two messages in Zone Chat:
Damascus steel knife [image] for reinforced lock + any key. DM me!
Level 2 body armor [image] for hideout upgrade materials. DM me!
The chat exploded.
Another knife for trade! So many people with weapons! Is he trying to upgrade his door already?
He''s trading a Level 2 vest too! Did he kill refugees already?
This guy''s a pro! Any tips on getting weapons? Please share!
Refugees were considered near-invincible at this stage. Most of the afternoon''s deaths were at their hands. No wonder everyone was shocked.
Please carry me,Pro! Need a sidekick?
I don''t have a lock, but I have 3 instant ramen. Trade?
Thomas''s private messages blew up with trade offers, mostly food or other basic resources for the weapons. He ignored them. Some offers were tempting, but he needed that reinforced lock.
Then, a message caught his eye:
I can trade a reinforced lock and a tactical sight [image] for the knife.
A tactical sight! Thomas sat up straight, opening the image.
[DP Reflex Compact Sight
Effect: Increases aiming accuracy. +25% accuracy for long-range shots.
Magnification: 1x
Compatible with: Submachine guns, assault rifles]
Perfect! It would work on both his firearms. Thomas quickly finalized the trade, exchanging the knife for the lock and the sight.
He grabbed the lock and tape measure, heading to his hideout door.
[Hideout Security Door
Effect: Prevents animal intrusion.
Note: Yes, it only stops animals.
Next Stage: Hideout Security Reinforced Door Level 1
Requirements: 25000 Apocalypse Coins, Reinforced Lock x1, Tape Measure x1
Upgrade Time: 30 minutes]
[Upgrade available. Proceed with upgrade?]
"Yes!"
The door began upgrading, consuming his remaining Apocalypse Coins. Just then, the rest area finished its upgrade. The flimsy cot had transformed, now sporting a thick blanket and a wooden frame.
[Rest Area (Level 1)
Effect: 6 hours of sleep restores 80% Stamina, consumes 30% Hunger, 20% Thirst. Provides warmth. 10% chance to negate negative status effects.
Note: Not bad. Actually sleepable.
Next Stage: Cozy Rest Area (Level 2)
Requirements: Ventilation Level 1, Bathroom Level 1, 20,000 Apocalypse Coins, Energy-Saving Lightbulb x1, Energy Cell x1
Upgrade Time: 1 hour
Current resources insufficient for upgrade.]
He noticed a new "Crafting" button below the rest area description. He opened it, revealing a list of craftable items:
[Blanket (Single): Requires Wool x10, Twine x2
Quilt (Single): Requires Cotton x15, Needle and Thread x1
Mattress (Single): Requires Palm Fiber x3, Rubber x1
Pillow: Requires Cotton x2, Polyester x2]
A full set of bedding. Too bad he didn''t have the resources or the time to craft them right now.
He collapsed onto the upgraded cot, exhaustion claiming him. Day one had been eventful, to say the least.
He woke the next morning, bladder full. After relieving himself, he was fully awake, his mind turning to the day''s plan. He opened the Super Monopoly plugin.
The map appeared, his daily dice roll replenished.
Roll the die?
He rubbed his hands together. Fingers crossed.
"Yes!"
The die tumbled, landing on:
[4]
His miniature self hopped across the map, stopping on a square bathed in red light.
Purchase Crimson Cabaret for 150 points?
Crimson Cabaret? The name sounded familiar. He checked his inventory, his eyes landing on the keys. He had five: Apartment 15 (main door, room 715, room 807), Subway Locker 45, and¡Crimson Cabaret.
No way.
Thomas pulled out the Crimson Cabaret key, comparing it to the icon on the Super Monopoly screen. It was a match.
"Yes!"
A new 3D map materialized in his mind ¨C the Crimson Cabaret. He grinned. His luck was turning. A key he''d acquired as a throw-in during a trade was now his ticket to a new location.
His destination was set. But first, a few things to check. He frowned at his point total: 153. That didn''t add up. He''d started with 500, spent 250 on the station, and 150 on the cabaret. He should have 100 left. Where did the extra 53 come from?
He checked the system log. He''d forgotten about investment returns! A message had appeared at 5 AM while he was asleep:
Day 2 Apocalypse Game Super Monopoly Investment Summary: Subway Garden Station generated 53 points.
He looked at the Crimson Cabaret icon. So, each property generated daily income. With two properties, his income would double tomorrow! A pleasant surprise.
He checked the hideout door. The upgrade was complete.
[Hideout Reinforced Door (Level 1)
Effect: Thick steel and a reinforced lock protect against most intrusions.
Note: A reinforced door. Your first step towards true security.
Next Stage: Hideout Alloy Door (Level 2)
Requirements: Ventilation Level 1, Bathroom Level 1, 50,000 Apocalypse Coins, Alloy Steel x2, Glass x1, Expanding Foam x1
Upgrade Time: 1 hour
Current resources insufficient for upgrade.]
Good. No need to worry about the door for now. A key to the reinforced door appeared in his inventory.
Thomas''d also received numerous trade offers for the Level 2 vest. He chose the best one, exchanging the vest for 2 energy cells and a can of expanding foam ¨C all useful hideout upgrade materials.
With his hideout affairs in order, he ate and drank, replenishing his energy. Then he geared up for his expedition to the Crimson Cabaret. His loadout was impressive:
[Primary Weapon: PM submachine gun (3 magazines, 90 rounds, with tactical sight)
Secondary Weapon: PL-15 pistol (16 rounds)
Melee Weapon: 6H5 bayonet
Throwable Weapon: F-1 fragmentation grenades x5
Armor: Level 2 body armor
Backpack: 20-slot backpack, 16-slot chest rig
Medical Supplies: Sterile bandages x6, Golden Star Balm x1]
He surveyed his gear with satisfaction. Lack of skill? Compensate with superior firepower. As long as he was careful, he could reach the cabaret undetected. And once there, his mental map would give him the ultimate advantage. He''d show them what a true ambush looked like.
Ch. 4: Street Corner Firefight, and the F-1 Defensive Grenade
Thomas navigated the darkened subway tunnel, flashlight beam cutting through the gloom, heading towards the Crimson Cabaret. It wasn''t far from the Garden Station, only five or six hundred meters, but the surface streets, teeming with refugees and rebels, were too dangerous. The tunnel, despite the extra time it took due to the weight of his gear, was the safer option.
Fifteen minutes later, he reached the Good Hope Station, the closest stop to the cabaret. He was beyond the range of his purchased station, so his mental map was offline. He switched off his flashlight, melting into the shadows. After two minutes of silence, he climbed onto the platform and cautiously approached the station entrance.
Subway stations weren''t prime real estate for refugees, so his ascent was uneventful. He emerged onto the street, spotting the Crimson Cabaret diagonally across the road. As he prepared to cross, a burst of gunfire erupted from a nearby building, followed by two screams.
Thomas''s stomach dropped. He checked the Zone Chat. Two fewer survivors. Players caught by refugees, no doubt. The burst of gunfire had contained at least three distinct shots, meaning at least three hostiles. Bad odds.
Can''t stay here. Sitting duck, he thought. Gotta get to the cabaret. It''s my best chance.
He was so close. Turning back now would severely hamper his progress. Reaching the cabaret, with its active mental map, was his only path to survival.
He checked the street, then darted across, his heart pounding. "Don''t see me, don''t see me," he muttered under his breath. The thirty meters felt like an eternity.
He reached the other side, scrambling into the alley leading to the cabaret, gasping for breath. He''d made it. The cabaret was less than twenty meters away. He allowed himself a moment of relief, then¡ª
Rat-a-tat-tat!
Crack!
Bullets slammed into the wall beside him. Damn it! Spotted. He didn''t hesitate, sprinting towards the cabaret''s entrance. He could hear the pounding footsteps of his pursuers.
"Get him! Another survivor! Don''t kill him this time! Let''s have some fun!"
"Yeah! Maybe we can sell him to Ghostface. He''s looking for live ones."
"Careful! He''s got a gun!"
Thomas reached the cabaret''s ornate brass doors. He fumbled for the key, inserting it into the lock and twisting. The door swung open. As he stepped inside, his pursuers rounded the corner.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
They fired blindly, bullets ricocheting off the brass. Thomas slammed the door shut, bolting deeper into the cabaret. He consulted his mental map, confirming the interior was clear. He holed up in a back room on the first floor, chambering a round in his PM and bracing himself.
He took a few deep breaths, calming his racing heart. He could hear the refugees outside, trying to force the door.
Bang! Bang!
The doors burst open. Four red dots appeared on his mental map.
The cabaret''s interior was dimly lit, the only illumination coming from red neon strips, casting long, distorted shadows. He listened to the refugees ransacking the front rooms, waiting for his moment. He wasn''t confident in a direct firefight. Close-quarters combat was his only chance.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
The refugees, clearly experienced, split into two teams of two, covering each other as they advanced. They were cautious, despite their earlier bravado.
One team swept the first floor, the other headed upstairs. Thomas''s eyes narrowed. They were splitting up. An opportunity.
He was in a private room at the back of the first floor, the darkness concealing him perfectly. The first team was approaching the hallway leading to his room. He reached into his chest rig, pulling out an oval-shaped object.
[F-1 Defensive Grenade
Type: Throwable Weapon
Size: 1x1
Detonation Delay: 3.5 seconds
Blast Radius: 3-7 meters
Concussion Radius: 12 meters
Shrapnel Count: 90x F-1 fragments]
Defensive grenades, unlike offensive ones, relied on shrapnel for their devastating effect. Their purpose was singular: total annihilation.
He pulled the pin, counted to one, flung the grenade around the corner, and slammed the door shut. Fire in the hole!
BOOM!
The two refugees, rounding the corner, saw the grenade rolling towards their feet. A split second of recognition, then a desperate dive for cover.
"Grenade!"
Too late. The F-1 detonated, a storm of shrapnel ripping through them. The blast threw them back against the wall, mangled and lifeless.
The force of the explosion rocked Thomas''s room. The wall cracked, exposing the plasterboard beneath. A hole was blown between his room and the next. He was thrown to the floor, covered in dust and debris.
"Cough¡cough¡" He pushed himself up, spitting out grit. He shook his head, ears ringing. Damn, this place is a death trap.
He scrambled to his feet, sprinting down the hallway in the opposite direction. His mental map showed the other two refugees, alerted by the explosion, racing down from the third floor.
He passed the mangled remains of the first team, resisting the urge to loot them. He couldn''t afford the delay. The first-floor hallway was T-shaped. One branch led to his previous hiding spot, the other to the kitchen. He reached the kitchen, slamming the fire door shut.
Rat-a-tat-tat!
The remaining refugees, spooked by the explosion, fired blindly down the hallway, shouting for their companions. Silence met their calls. They realized they weren''t dealing with an ordinary survivor. This was a seasoned hunter.
They reached the corner, seeing the carnage. They barely glanced at the bodies. Death was a commonplace occurrence in their world. One of them quickly cleared the nearby rooms, finding nothing. Their attention turned to the kitchen fire door.
They advanced cautiously, hugging the walls, weapons trained on the two small circular windows in the door. Anyone peeking through would be met with instant death. Reaching the door, they exchanged hand signals. One kicked it open while the other lobbed two grenades inside.
Boom! Boom!
They rushed in, firing at anything that resembled cover. They cleared the entire kitchen, finding nothing. Just as they were about to give up¡ª
Clang!
A muffled sound came from the walk-in freezer. They exchanged grins. The survivor was hiding in the freezer. How clever.
They approached the freezer door, one holding two more grenades. The other reached for the handle. They envisioned the survivor''s demise, the grenades turning the freezer into a metal coffin.
They didn''t notice the freezer door behind them, slightly ajar. A dark muzzle pointed at their backs.
As the freezer door swung open and the grenades left their hands¡ª
BRRRT!
The PM roared, spitting a stream of bullets. In three seconds, the 30-round magazine was empty. The refugees collapsed, riddled with holes, expressions of disbelief frozen on their faces.
Boom! Boom!
The delayed grenades detonated inside the now-open freezer.
Thomas squeezed out of the other freezer, where he''d been hiding, swapped magazines, and put two bullets into each refugee''s head. He exhaled slowly. The cabaret was clear, but the gunfire and explosions were sure to attract unwanted attention. He had to loot and leave, fast.
He stripped the bodies, stuffing grenades and smaller items into his backpack. He stashed the larger weapons and armor in a freezer, then did the same with the bodies in the hallway. Thirty minutes passed. He kept a close eye on his mental map, but no new enemies appeared. He was relieved, but remained vigilant. He wasn''t the only one who knew how to ambush. At least three other players had firearms now. In this world, betrayal was as common as breathing.
He grinned, excitement bubbling up. Four sets of gear! A massive haul. With the first floor mostly wrecked, he headed upstairs.
The Crimson Cabaret was a three-story building, clearly a high-end establishment before the apocalypse. He''d barely searched two rooms on the second floor when he''d already found 15,000 Apocalypse Coins and two valuable items: guitar picks.
He was in looting heaven.
Gold necklace? Mine!
Doll? A valuable? Mine!
Ibuprofen? Sweet! Mine!
Energy-saving lightbulb? Jackpot! Mine!
He swept through the rooms, leaving nothing of value behind. As he exited the last room on the second floor, he heard it ¨C a faint footstep from downstairs.
He froze, every muscle tensing.
Ch. 5: Slaying a Cultist, High-Tier Loot
A faint scuff... scuff echoed. Thomas was certain now. Someone was moving stealthily below his second-story window, their careful steps suggesting they knew his location. If he hadn''t been perched near the window''s edge, he wouldn''t have caught it.
Thomas froze, every sense on high alert. The presence outside felt¡wrong. A silent game of cat and mouse had begun.
Time stretched thin. Finally, a crimson blot, so dark it was almost black, materialized on the virtual map of the Crimson Cabaret''s entrance. Thomas''s eyes widened.
"What¡ what is that?" he muttered. He''d never seen a blip that color. Red signified an enemy, but this¡this was something else. Infinite hostility? Pure evil?
He didn''t have time to ponder. The figure was approaching the second-floor corner. Thomas trained his gun on the spot, ready to unleash a hail of bullets the moment they appeared.
But just before rounding the corner, the figure stopped. Silence descended upon the Crimson Cabaret''s second floor.
"What''s the play?" Thomas wondered. "Do they know I''m aiming down the sights?"
No answer came. He couldn''t wait forever. With a calculated move, he nudged a pre-placed grenade with his boot. The clatter of the pin echoed, creating the illusion he was about to throw it.
The figure in the hallway reacted instantly. A tactical roll, then up in a flash, weapon trained on Thomas''s position.
BRRRT!
A storm of bullets ripped through the air, chewing up the floor and punching holes in the wall. The sickening thud of rounds tearing through flesh punctuated the barrage.
The gunfire ceased. Thomas stood, a smirk playing on his lips. He casually re-clipped the grenade to his vest.
"Knew you''d jump the gun," he quipped, approaching the riddled corpse. He switched on his flashlight. A quick tug at the figure''s collar revealed a strange symbol tattooed on their neck.
"A tattoo¡" Thomas''s expression turned grim. This wasn''t one of the refugees from last night. This was a genuine cultist.
But the grimness quickly morphed into excitement. He eyed the body like a treasure chest. Cultists were known to carry high-level loot ¨C a fact drilled into them during pre-apocalypse training.
He began to search, his eyes growing wider with each discovery.
"Holy crap, jackpot!"
[AS VAL Special Assault Rifle]
Type: Assault Rifle
Inventory Size: 5x2
Effective Range: 400m
Firing Modes: Single, Full-Auto
Rate of Fire: 900 rpm
Sighting Range: 420m
Caliber: 9x39mm
Magazine: 30-round VSS Magazine
Extras: 2 spare magazines, 90 rounds of Level 3 AP
Description: A suppressed beauty. The AS VAL whispers death, spitting out subsonic 9x39mm rounds with deadly precision. Perfect for close-quarters combat and stealth operations. The included armor-piercing rounds are a bonus, turning even moderately armored foes into Swiss cheese.
[Level 3 Armor-Piercing Rounds]
Type: 9x39mm Ammunition
Ricochet Chance: 40%
Fragmentation Chance: 20%
Bleeding Chance: 10%
Severe Bleeding Chance: 20%
Heat Generation: +45%
Misfeed Chance: Medium
Failure to Fire Chance: Very Low
Effect: Penetrates Level 3 armor, 50% chance to penetrate Level 4 armor, +7% recoil.
Description: These aren''t your average bullets. Designed to defeat body armor, these rounds pack a serious punch. The increased heat and recoil are a small price to pay for the ability to punch through even tough Level 4 plates. Just be prepared for the occasional jam.
[Fragmented Mask]
Type: FacewearIf you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Inventory Size: 2x2
Protection: Eyes, Jaw
Ricochet Chance: High
Description: A battered and scarred mask, offering rudimentary protection for the eyes and jaw. More for intimidation than actual defense, but hey, every little bit helps. The high ricochet chance might even save your life¡ or just deflect a bullet into your shoulder. It''s a gamble.
[6B13 Assault Armor]
Type: Light Ballistic Vest
Weight: 2.8kg
Inventory Size: 3x4
Material: Aramid Fiber
Armor Level: 2 (Level 4 plates)
Protection Zones: Chest, Stomach, Back, Sides, Throat, Groin
Plate Slots: Front, Back
Plate Level: 4
Movement Speed Penalty: -1%
Turning Speed Penalty: 0%
Description: Lightweight but surprisingly effective thanks to the included Level 4 plates. This vest offers decent coverage, protecting vital areas from incoming fire. The slight movement penalty is a small price to pay for the added survivability. Just don''t expect it to stop a tank.
[Military Backpack]
Capacity: 4x2 (8 slots)
Description: A standard-issue military backpack. Not the biggest, but reliable and sturdy. Enough space for the essentials, but you''ll need to prioritize.
[Reinforced Military Boots]
Type: Rare Footgear
Material: Cowhide, Wool, Steel Plate
Puncture Resistance: 2
Warmth: Excellent
Movement Speed Bonus: +10%
Stealth Bonus: +15%
Description: These boots were made for walking¡ and sneaking. Reinforced with steel plates for puncture resistance and lined with wool for warmth, they''re perfect for traversing the treacherous post-apocalyptic landscape. The added movement and stealth bonuses are just icing on the cake.
[Fireplace Blueprint]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect 1: Constructs a fireplace in your hideout''s rest area, increasing indoor temperature by 10¡ãC to 50¡ãC.
Effect 2: When lit, has a 60% chance to remove one negative status effect from the survivor every 2 hours.
Requirements: Level 1 Ventilation Duct, 30,000 Apocalypse Coins, 30 Stone, 10 Bolts, 10 Nuts
Construction Time: 1 hour
Description: Stay warm and cozy during the apocalypse with your very own fireplace! Not only does it provide much-needed heat, but it also has a chance to purge those pesky negative status effects. Just make sure you have proper ventilation¡ wouldn''t want to succumb to carbon monoxide poisoning.
Thomas grinned like a Cheshire cat. An assault rifle, armor with level 4 plates, a face mask, a backpack, rare boots, and a rare blueprint! Each item was a game-changer.
The boots and the fireplace blueprint were especially crucial for surviving the impending polar vortex in six days. The fireplace wasn''t a standard hideout feature, but the blueprint provided a workaround.
This was the value of a cultist. With the fireplace, his chances of surviving the first disaster had jumped to 40%.
He quickly stowed the loot, equipping the boots, armor, and rifle. He donned the mask. His entire loadout had been upgraded. The armor-piercing rounds transformed his offensive capabilities, rendering lower-level armor useless.
A shiver ran down his spine. He''d survived thanks to his gamer instincts and knowledge of cheesy tactics. One hit from the cultist''s weapon would have likely pierced his level 2 armor and ended him.
The encounter reinforced his caution. He was about to head to the third floor when his gaze snagged on something lying near the stairwell.
A notebook.
"What''s this?"
Thomas picked up the notebook. A large eye dominated the cover, surrounded by unfamiliar symbols.
[Cultist''s Notebook]
Description: A notebook containing important information for cultists. Requires specific knowledge or a decryption device to access the contents.
Another unexpected bonus. The notebook likely held valuable intel, but he couldn''t decipher it yet. He tucked it away, hoping to crack it later.
Having already cleared the second floor, he ascended to the third. The search was uneventful. Rooms were ransacked, some containing abandoned luggage, but nothing of real value.
In the last room, however, he found two interesting items.
[Commemorative Coin]
Type: Valuable Item
Description: A coin commemorating the 80th anniversary of Sparrow City''s victory in the City War. Rumored to be collector''s items.
[Keycard Wallet]
Container Size: 4x4 (16 slots)
Description: A container designed to hold keys or loose change.
So, he was in Sparrow City. The keycard wallet was a godsend. Keys took up precious inventory space. He transferred his five keys, freeing up several slots. He tossed the commemorative coin in as well.
Back in the first-floor kitchen, two hours having passed, Thomas reorganized his inventory. He consolidated grenades and smaller items into spare pouches and backpacks, maximizing space efficiency. He was left with two level 2 vests, two submachine guns, and four combat knives he couldn''t carry.
He opened the regional chat.
[Thomas: High-tier loot for sale, limited quantity, first come, first served!]
[Thomas: ?Image of Submachine Gun? x2, Two submachine guns, each with a magazine and 30 rounds. Trading for rare materials or blueprints.]
[Thomas: ?Image of Level 2 Vest? x2, Two ballistic vests. Increase your survival odds! Prioritizing hideout upgrade materials. Best offer wins.]
[Thomas: ?Image of Combat Knife? x4, Four combat knives. Don''t miss out! Prioritizing cotton, stone, wood. Best offer wins.]
The chat, previously a flurry of messages, went momentarily silent. Then, it exploded.
[Holy crap, what?! Did someone raid an armory?!]
[Insane! I''m still playing hide-and-seek with refugees, and this guy''s running a gun show!]
[I heard gunfire and explosions earlier¡was that you, Legend? Did you wipe out a whole refugee group?!]
[Why do I almost get killed by refugees, and this guy has all the gear?!]
[The gap between people is insane. I''m starving and afraid to go outside, and this guy''s selling weapons!]
[Wait, wasn''t this the guy selling stuff last night? He restocked already? The apocalypse''s arms dealer?!]
[Thomas, I sent you a private message. Let''s trade!]
[¡.]
Disbelief, shock, envy, resentment ¨C it was all there. Thomas, overwhelmed by the flood of messages and pinging notifications, muted the alerts and started sifting through private offers. He kept a watchful eye on his virtual map.
Most offers for the submachine guns were jokes or lowball attempts. He blocked the worst offenders. Among the remaining messages, however, were some intriguing items.
[Camouflage Coating Sticker]
Type: Rare Item
Effect: Applies a camouflage coating to your hideout door, automatically adapting to the surrounding environment. Reduces detection chance by 60%.
[Ventilation Duct Modification Blueprint - Safety Type]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect 1: Modifies the Ventilation Duct, increasing ventilation by 40% and exhaust rate of harmful gases by 30%.
Construction Requirements: Level 1 Ventilation Duct, 10,000 Apocalypse Coins, 1 Heat-Resistant Coating, 1 Exhaust Fan
Construction Time: 2 hours.
Thomas settled on these two. The camouflage sticker was a must-have for his subway station hideout. The ventilation blueprint was perfect for mitigating the risks of the fireplace.
He contacted the sellers and quickly finalized the trades. One of them was Ben Walker, the man who''d traded for the pistol yesterday. Thomas made a mental note to keep an eye on him. Clearly, Ben was resourceful.
With the trades complete, Thomas turned his attention back to the remaining offers, but he quickly noticed a problem¡
Ch. 6: More Trades, and a Graphics Card Windfall
Thomas noticed a pattern in the trade offers. Survivors were offering building materials, electronic components, food, and water. But none of the resources he desperately needed ¨C stone, wood, cotton ¨C were being offered. He frowned. Did these resources not spawn in the city?
Then he remembered the training manual. Each zone had its own unique resources. Stone was found in mountainous or desert regions. Wood in forests. Cotton in grasslands. Cities provided manufactured goods, food, and water, making basic survival easier than in other zones. But the trade-off was the constant threat of refugees and rebels.
He opened the World Chat, which was much less active than the Zone Chat. He typed out a message:
City - Thomas: [Image of knives] x4. Essential for self-defense and hunting. Trading for cotton, stone, wood, wool. Limited quantities. DM me your offers!
The message sparked a flurry of activity. Around 100,000 survivors had entered the game. Even with casualties, there were still over 90,000 left. The World Chat exploded, even more frantically than the Zone Chat earlier.
Mountains - Lewis Thornton: Thank god! A wolf''s been stalking my hideout. Trade request sent!
Grasslands - Marcus Kingston: Damn, four knives! You''re a legend!
Forest -Wendy Zhang: Can I borrow a knife? I''ll give it back, promise!
West Coast - Jin Zark: Will you trade for seafood?
His private messages blew up, quickly reaching 999+. He applied keyword filters, deleting messages without offers and sorting the rest by resource type. He prioritized cotton, stone, and wood.
With the blizzard approaching, cotton and wood were more valuable than stone, so offers for those were scarce. But Thomas was patient. He was holding the valuable cards. The survivors were the desperate ones.
As expected, the later offers were significantly better. He traded the four knives for 30 units of cotton, 80 units of wood, 150 units of stone, and 20 units of wool. Since he was still at the cabaret and his backpack was full, he left the resources in the in-game mail system, to be retrieved later.
He traded the two Level 2 vests for the best offers he received. His business at the cabaret was concluded. Time to head back to the hideout.
He double-checked his gear and loot, then headed for the subway station. The return trip was uneventful, but his overloaded backpack slowed him down. The journey took an hour.
Back at the hideout, he sorted his loot:
[Apocalypse Coins: 110,000
Valuables: Guitar picks x2, Dolls x2, Gold necklace x1, Golden Rooster statue x1, Golden Egg x1, Commemorative Coin x1
Medical Supplies: Ibuprofen x1, Sterile gauze x1, Vitamin pills x1
Tools: Pliers x1, Screwdriver x1, Needle-nose pliers x1
Electronics: Energy-saving lightbulb x1, Damaged phones x2, Walkie-talkie x1
Food and Drink: Canned mackerel x1, Condensed milk x1, Milk x1, Whole wheat bread x2, Vodka x1, Apple juice x1]
From the eliminated refugees and the cultist:Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site.
[PP-9 submachine guns x2 (4 magazines)
MP-443 pistols x2 (2 magazines)
9x19mm submachine gun ammo x120
9x19mm pistol ammo x56
M67 grenades x4
Level 2 body armor x3
8-slot chest rigs x3
16-slot chest rig x1
8-slot military pouch x1
Commemorative Coin x1]
This didn''t include the rare boots, the AS VAL, the Level 4 armor, the two blueprints, and the camouflage coating he''d equipped.
He stared at the mountain of loot, then opened the hideout construction menu. Time to build a storage room.
[Storage Room (Level 1)
Effect: Adds a 5x8 (40-slot) storage room to the hideout.
Requirements: 10,000 Apocalypse Coins, Backpack (6+ slots)
Construction Time: 30 minutes]
He selected a spot near the entrance and used the 8-slot military pouch to initiate construction. The pouch vanished, and 10,000 coins were deducted. Construction began.
He took the camouflage coating sticker and applied it to the outside of his hideout door. The sticker disappeared, and the door shimmered, its surface becoming smooth and reflective. Then, it began to blend seamlessly with the surrounding wall. The door vanished, replaced by a blank wall.
Thomas''s jaw dropped. He examined the wall from every angle, finding no trace of the door. This is incredible! Black tech or something?
He reached for the door handle, guided by his mental map. With a click, the door reappeared, revealing the hideout interior. He shook his head in amazement. When he closed the door, it vanished again.
Thirty minutes later, the storage room was complete. He transferred most of his loot inside, but kept some items aside for trading. He still had a surplus of gear:
[Submachine guns x3
AK rifle x1
8-slot chest rigs x4
16-slot chest rig x1
Level 2 body armor x3
Pistols x4]
He couldn''t use all of this himself. He decided to keep one submachine gun, the 16-slot rig, and the AK, trading the rest. This would allow him to acquire more valuable resources and blueprints, while also empowering other survivors to venture into more dangerous areas, increasing the flow of goods in the long run.
Since he''d used his World Chat message for the day, he posted in Zone Chat:
Thomas: [Image of submachine gun] x1 with magazine and 30 rounds. Get rich quick! Trading for rare materials, blueprints, or equipment. DM me your offers. No time wasters.
Thomas: [Image of Level 2 vest] x3. Stay safe! Trading for bolts, nuts, alloy steel, DVD drives, toilet paper, waterproof sealant, soap, basins, etc. DM me your offers.
Thomas: [Image of pistols] x2. Perfect for self-defense. Comes with a full magazine (16 rounds). DM me your offers.
Thomas: [Image of 8-slot rig] x2. Extra inventory space! DM me your offers.
He''d save the remaining weapons for the World Chat tomorrow. He''d already saturated the local market.
Two hours after his last trade spree, the Zone Chat reacted with less surprise this time.
See? I told you he raided an armory! Back in business!
Only Thomas would be selling this much gear.
Those weapons are insane! Sent you an offer for the pistol, Pro!
This guy''s loaded, and I''m getting my ass kicked by refugees!
Thomas, munching on beef sausage and sipping apple juice, reviewed the offers. The local market was drying up. Mostly common items. But he was patient. He held the leverage.
Then, a message stopped him in his tracks. A trade offer for a pistol. But the offered items¡
[Graphics Card
Description: Like fans, GPUs, and integrated circuits, graphics cards are a good source of electronic components.]
A graphics card! He remembered the intel he''d received. Graphics cards would be extremely valuable after the first event, crucial for obtaining Calamity Coins. What a stroke of luck!
And there was more. The offer also included heat-resistant coating and an exhaust fan ¨C the exact materials he needed for the ventilation blueprint! This isn''t a trade offer, it''s a gift from the gods!
He instantly accepted the trade. The items materialized in his hands. The joy of a good bargain! The other survivor clearly didn''t know the true value of these items, treating them as common components. They were ecstatic to trade them for a pistol, having narrowly escaped death at the hands of refugees the previous day. They immediately became Thomas''s biggest fan, singing his praises in Zone Chat, much to the envy of the others. This, in turn, prompted more trade offers. Everyone wanted to be the next lucky one.
Thomas continued reviewing the offers, but no other high-value items appeared. He couldn''t complain. It was only day two. He''d already amassed a fortune. He accepted the best offers for the remaining gear, receiving grateful messages in return.
Thomas: All items except the submachine gun are sold. Still looking for rare blueprints, items, or equipment.
The chat filled with groans of disappointment. Thomas, now stocked with hideout upgrade materials, began a construction spree.
Ch. 7: Hideout Upgrades and an Uninvited Guest
[Ventilation Duct] Level 1
Type: Hideout Facility
Effect: +30% air circulation in the hideout, fulfilling basic survival needs.
Requirements: Level 1 Hideout Security, 1 Screwdriver, 1 Duct Tape, 20,000 Apocalypse Coins
Construction Time: 30 minutes
[Bathroom] Level 1
Type: Hideout Facility
Effect: +20% wound healing speed, -20% chance of contracting diseases.
Requirements: 1 Waterproof Coating, 1 Toilet Paper, 1 Soap, 1 Basin, 30,000 Apocalypse Coins
Construction Time: 1 hour
With the necessary materials gathered, Thomas initiated construction. The Ventilation Duct was the priority; both of his rare blueprints required it.
[Fireplace]
Type: Rare Hideout Facility
Effect 1: Increases hideout temperature by 10¡ãC to 50¡ãC.
Effect 2: 60% chance to remove one negative status effect every 2 hours.
Requirements: Level 1 Ventilation Duct, Level 1 Rest Area, 30,000 Apocalypse Coins, 30 Stone, 10 Bolts, 10 Nuts
Construction Time: 1 hour
[Ventilation Duct Modification Blueprint - Safety Type]
Type: Rare Hideout Facility Upgrade
Effect: Modifies the Ventilation Duct, increasing ventilation by 40% and exhaust rate of harmful gases by 30%.
Requirements: Level 1 Ventilation Duct, 10,000 Apocalypse Coins, 1 Heat-Resistant Coating, 1 Exhaust Fan
Construction Time: 2 hours
Thirty minutes later, the Ventilation Duct was complete. A 30x30cm vent appeared near the rest area, emitting a faint breeze. Thomas immediately started building the fireplace and the ventilation upgrade, his Apocalypse Coin balance dwindling by 40,000.
It was now 1 PM. Exhausted, Thomas decided to rest.
He woke up around 4 PM, fully refreshed. The bathroom, fireplace, and ventilation upgrade were finished. The bathroom was a small, self-contained room with a toilet and sink. The fireplace was a rugged structure venting directly through the roof. The ventilation duct now sported a slowly rotating exhaust fan.
After checking his gear and weapons, Thomas prepared to return to the subway station. He''d only looted the break room and locker room due to the refugee encounter. He hoped to find a graphics card in the control room computers.
But as he fastened his vest, he froze. Two faint red blips had appeared on his mental map of the station, entering through the tunnel he''d used to reach the Crimson Cabaret.
"Someone''s tailing me?" he thought, his hand instinctively reaching for his rifle. The red blips meant trouble.
He quickly geared up and left the hideout, his reinforced boots silent on the concrete.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"You sure this is where he went, boss?" a skinny man, clutching a knife, whispered to the larger man beside him.
The larger man scoffed. "Of course, I''m sure. I saw him climb onto the platform with my own two eyes. Are you in or out?"
"I''m in, boss! But he had a gun¡ how are we supposed to¡ª"
The larger man grinned, pulling a pistol from his inventory.
"Where''d you get that?!"
"Bought it, dumbass. From that idiot Thomas. Traded him some junk for it."
"Whoa, the pistol from Legend Smyth?!"
"Legend my ass. He just got lucky. Now I have a gun. Let''s go make some real loot."
They continued down the tunnel, their voices fading.
Hidden in the shadows near the tracks, Thomas listened, a smirk playing on his lips. "Interesting¡"
The two men reached the control room. The skinny one spotted a discarded phone and pocketed it while his companion wasn''t looking.
"What are you doing?" the larger man growled.
"Nothing, boss! Just following you!"
"Split up and search! Every little bit helps."
They began rummaging through the room.
"Jackpot, boss! Food!" the skinny man exclaimed, tearing into a bag of instant noodles.
The larger man ignored him, heading straight for the computer towers. He glanced back at his scavenging companion with a sneer, then started dismantling the machines, collecting components.
"Damn it, four towers and no graphics card!" he muttered. He''d heard on the black market that graphics cards would be valuable after the first disaster. He''d scavenged over twenty computers with no luck.
He approached the last tower, hope dwindling. But as he opened the case, his eyes widened.
"Holy shit! Yes!"
The next instant, he heard a whoosh of air behind him.
The larger man reacted instantly, twisting and rolling, but the knife still grazed his shoulder, spraying blood. The skinny man lunged again, a feral grin on his face.
But the larger man had his pistol out. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bullets ricocheted off the walls and ceiling. The skinny man dove behind a console.
"You little shit!" the larger man roared, applying a bandage to his bleeding shoulder. He was losing blood fast.
The skinny man knew his advantage. He tried to rush twice, but was driven back by gunfire. The larger man, his bleeding stemmed, focused on his treacherous companion.
Outside, Thomas listened to the gunfire, tracking their positions on his mental map. "Humanity at its finest," he thought dryly. He wasn''t worried. The control room had only one exit.
But his plan changed. Four new red blips appeared on his map, entering the station. Refugees.
"Hurry! It''s gotta be survivors. This is our territory today," one voice urged.
"Sounds like where Lukov and the other guy got killed yesterday. Useless idiots."
"Take them alive. Ghostface is paying top dollar for ten survivors for his ritual."
Their voices hushed as they approached the control room.
Thomas watched from the shadows. The gunfire inside resumed, giving away their position. The refugees surrounded the control room.
After a quick exchange of glances, one of them pulled out a throwable. As another kicked open the door, he lobbed it inside.
A flash and a bang. Two screams of pain, followed by groans.
"A flashbang?" Thomas thought, surprised. These weren''t ordinary refugees.
The refugees stormed in, subduing the two incapacitated survivors.
"Two of ''em! We''ll get a good price for these," one chuckled.
"Let''s go. Cash in and get out."
As they turned to leave, a grenade rolled through the open doorway and landed at their feet.
"Grenade!"
They scrambled for cover.
BOOM!
Shrapnel ripped through the control room, shattering glass.
"Shit! Ambush! Watch out for grenades! This guy''s good!" the masked refugee shouted.
"Damn it! The survivors are dead! My money!"
"Fuck! I''m gonna kill him!"
"Grenades out! We need to break out!"
Two grenades flew out, one landing near the doorway, the other further down the hallway. The close grenade was strategically placed to flush out anyone hiding near the entrance without harming the refugees inside.
Thomas, crouched behind a pillar thirty meters away, watched through his scope. His virtual map showed the refugees huddled behind cover.
BOOM! BOOM!
"Go! Go! Go!" the masked refugee yelled.
Four figures burst from the control room, hoping to capitalize on the presumed grenade cover.
Thomas smirked. BRRRT! A stream of bullets tore into the refugees. Two went down instantly. The others, shielded by their fallen comrades, retreated back inside.
"Mommy! Mommy! It hurts!" one of the wounded cried.
Thomas finished him with a three-round burst. One down, two to go. He had fifteen rounds left.
He lobbed another grenade towards the control room entrance, then sprinted down the platform, using the explosion as cover.
He slid behind another pillar, reloaded, and aimed at the doorway. He could see inside now. The remaining refugees were pinned down, panicked.
"What do we do? We''re trapped!" one cried, looking at the bodies by the door.
The masked refugee narrowed his eyes. "How many grenades left?"
"Two."
"Okay. He''s behind the pillar, thirty meters out, on the left. Throw the grenades there. He''ll have to move."
"It''s our only chance."
Ch. 8: Another Graphics Card, Mad Dog, and Ghostface
Thomas anticipated the refugees'' plan. As they emerged from cover, grenades in hand, aiming for his previous position¡ª
Crack! Crack! Crack!
A three-round burst dropped one instantly. The other, the balaclava-clad refugee, now knew Thomas''s location. He sprayed a hail of bullets at the pillar, chipping concrete and drawing blood.
Thomas hissed, clutching his shoulder. Damn it! A stray round! He lobbed a grenade towards the control room entrance, then quickly bandaged his wound.
[Sterile Bandage]
Type: Trauma Treatment
Size: 1x1
Uses: 1/1
Effect: Removes "Bleeding" status, applies "Fresh Wound" status.
The bandage stopped the bleeding, but the pain was intense, blurring his vision. Three debuffs appeared in his health tab:
[Bullet Wound]
Type: Negative Status Effect
Effect: Prevents wound from fully healing. -10% movement speed. Bullet must be removed for complete healing.
[Pain]
Type: Negative Status Effect
Effect: Blurry vision.
[Fresh Wound]
Type: Temporary Status Effect
Effect: Recently bandaged wound. Strenuous activity or running may reopen the wound and cause bleeding. Expires in 5 minutes.
He peeked at the control room. The remaining refugee, likely spooked by his companions'' deaths, had closed the metal door before the grenade detonated. The explosion had scarred the door, but hadn''t breached it. The refugee was clearly planning to hunker down, hoping for reinforcements.
Thomas swallowed an ibuprofen pill. The "Pain" debuff vanished, replaced by a three-minute "Pain Relief" buff. He refocused on the remaining refugee. The balaclava-clad man was surprisingly tactical. He''d avoided two of Thomas''s attacks and even managed to injure him. Every move calculated. Thomas suspected he''d intentionally used his companions as bait.
But this ends now.
He lay prone, focusing on the red dot on his mental map, his breathing slow and steady. He lined up the shot through his scope.
Behind the metal door, the refugee listened intently. He was trapped, but if he could hold out until nightfall, other refugees would notice his team''s absence and come searching. He just had to fire his weapon to signal his location. A flicker of hope appeared in his eyes.
Then¡ª
Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack! Crack!
Two five-round bursts ripped through the metal door, blossoming into crimson flowers on the inside. The refugee stared in disbelief, the cold touch of death spreading through him.
Impossible¡
AP 3 Ammunition
That was Thomas''s secret weapon. Against armor-piercing rounds, the metal door was no better than paper.
The red dot on his mental map vanished. Thomas exhaled slowly.
[Congratulations! You have eliminated 10 refugees and earned the achievement "Refugee Hunter" Level 1.]
[You have earned the title "Refugee''s Bane" (Common) and +1 Local Legend score.]
Refugee Hunter? Refugee''s Bane? Local Legend? Three new terms. He checked the details.
[Refugee Hunter] (Level 1)This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.
Requirement: Eliminate 10 refugees solo.
Effect: +10% loot quality from eliminated refugees.
---
[Refugee''s Bane] (Common)
Requirement: First survivor to earn the "Refugee Hunter" achievement in the newbie version.
Effect 1: +5% damage against refugees.
Effect 2: "Refugee" faction reputation becomes Friendly. "Refugees" faction reputation becomes Hostile.
---
[Local Legend]
Requirement: Earn special achievements or complete special events in the zone.
Current Score: 1
Description: Rumors of a ruthless refugee hunter are spreading among the factions of Sparrow City.
Effect: None (yet).
He was starting to understand the deeper mechanics of the Apocalypse Game.
A message appeared on the interface of every survivor in the zone:
[A survivor has earned Local Legend. The Local Legend feature is now active in Sparrow City.]
A new display appeared on their interfaces: [Local Legend: 0]
The Zone Chat went wild.
Who the hell did that?! A new game feature?!
What happened? Anyone know?
What does Local Legend do?
How do you get it?
Has to be Thomas, right?
Yeah, it''s gotta be him! Someone ask him!
Thomas, still studying the Local Legend feature, was bombarded with private messages. Everyone was asking about it. He opened a message from Ben Walker, hoping for some insight.
Ben Walker: Pro, was that you? Did you get the Local Legend score?
Thomas hesitated. He didn''t know what Local Legend did yet. But it must be important if the game made such a big announcement. He didn''t want to reveal his hand.
Thomas: Nope. Not me. Wondering who it was myself. You usually know everything. Any ideas how to get it?
Ben Walker: Too bad it wasn''t you! It would have been perfect! I don''t know how to get it, just that it''s really hard.
Thomas: So it''s important?
Ben Walker: I don''t know the specifics, but I heard it gives you some kind of advantage after the first event, when we merge with the veteran players.
The merger again, Thomas thought, staring at his Local Legend score.
Two intense battles in one day had taken their toll. But he couldn''t rest yet. It was almost 6 PM. He needed to clean up the battlefield and, more importantly, remove the bullet from his shoulder. He had bandages, but no proper medical supplies for gunshot wounds. He hoped the refugees had something useful.
A few minutes later, the "Fresh Wound" debuff expired. He took another ibuprofen and started looting. He went to the workstation first, curious about what had caused the infighting. Could it really have been a graphics card?
He opened the case.
Holy shit! A graphics card!
He stared at it, then at the remains of the larger refugee. This guy was lucky.
Rest in peace, friend. Your graphics card is in good hands.
Two graphics cards now. Excellent. He turned his attention to the refugees, especially the balaclava-clad leader. His gear was clearly superior to the others''.
[MP5 submachine gun x1 (3 magazines)
9x19mm AP 3 ammo x69
PL-15 pistol x1 (2 magazines, 32 rounds)
Damascus steel knife x1
Level 3 body armor x1
12-slot chest rig x1
Grenade x1
Flashbang x1
Small First Aid Kit x1
Military bandages x3
Gold necklace x1]
The first aid kit caught his eye.
[Small First Aid Kit]
Type: Trauma Treatment
Description: A small kit containing surgical instruments for treating gunshot wounds and other serious injuries.
Size: 2x1
Uses: 5/5
Effect: Treats and removes one "Bullet Wound" status or other injury.
Note: Removes the "Bullet Wound" status but does not fully heal the wound. Further treatment required. Cannot be used on head or chest wounds.
He opened the kit. Inside were scissors, surgical forceps, a skin stapler, and a bottle of disinfectant spray. He cut away his shirt, disinfected the wound, used the forceps to extract the bullet, and stapled the wound shut. A quick and dirty surgery. The "Bullet Wound" debuff vanished. He bandaged the wound. It was completely healed.
He marveled at the game''s healing mechanics. A wound that would normally take weeks to heal was gone in minutes. He finished looting the other refugees, another grin spreading across his face.
This mental map is like a cheat code.
He''d acquired two more submachine guns, an AK, three Level 2 vests, three 8-slot rigs, four pistols, three Damascus knives, a 6H5 bayonet, a grenade, and three bandages. Plus the leader''s gear. Another massive haul. The extra pistol and knife likely belonged to the two men he''d overheard earlier. The 69 rounds of AP 3 ammo were a welcome bonus.
It took two trips to carry everything back to his hideout. He left the bodies in the control room. The bodies from yesterday were gone, only bloodstains remaining. The game must refresh them every night. Good. He didn''t want to deal with rotting corpses and potential diseases.
Back at the hideout, it was 7 PM. He sorted his loot, deciding to keep the MP5 and the AP 3 ammo as a backup weapon. He''d trade the rest tomorrow.
His inventory for tomorrow''s trades:
[Submachine guns x3
AK rifles x2
Pistols x7
Melee weapons x5
Level 2 body armor x3
Level 3 body armor x1
8-slot chest rigs x5]
A veritable arsenal.
He ate a quick meal, cleaned up, and lay down, replaying the day''s battles in his mind. He needed to get stronger. He''d won both fights, but only because of his mental map advantage. It was like having a cheat code. But what would happen when he didn''t have that advantage?
He drifted off to sleep.
Later that night, in a refugee-occupied building across the city, a fat man with a scarred face slammed his fist on a table, his rage boiling over. He''d just received a report. Four more of his men were missing.
"Fuck! Who the hell is messing with me?!"
Ten men lost in two days. His authority was being challenged. Mad Dog, one of the few refugee gang leaders in Sparrow City, was known for his ruthlessness. But these losses were weakening his grip on power.
A figure materialized in the shadows of the room. Mad Dog, lost in his rage, didn''t notice, still ranting about his enemies. Then he saw the terrified expressions of his men. He turned slowly, his eyes widening in fear as he saw the dark figure. A bead of sweat trickled down his forehead.
"G-Ghostface?"
Ch. 9: A Special Event – Apocalypse Knife Runner
"I hear you''ve lost ten men in the past two days," the cloaked figure known as Ghostface said, his voice a low growl.
"Your information network is impressive, Ghostface," Mad Dog replied, his voice laced with barely concealed anger. "Ten men, gone without a trace. We''re fighting a turf war with the rebels, and I can''t even tell where they''re getting killed!"
"Four of them were eliminated at the Crimson Cabaret this morning," Ghostface said.
"The Crimson Cabaret? How do you know?"
Ghostface paused, then said, "Because one of the God''s chosen was also eliminated there."
Mad Dog''s eyes widened in shock. "W-what?! A chosen one is dead?"
This news hit him harder than the loss of his own men. As a gang leader, he knew more about Ghostface and the cultists than most. He knew the chosen ones possessed strange and dangerous powers.
Ghostface studied Mad Dog''s reaction, the fear in his eyes confirming his suspicions. The chosen one''s death wasn''t Mad Dog''s doing. But it made Ghostface even more curious about the person responsible. The chosen one, though newly ascended, was still powerful. Mad Dog''s men wouldn''t have stood a chance.
"Mad Dog," Ghostface said, his voice cold and sharp, "I want you to find the one who desecrated the God''s chosen. Find them, and bring them to me."
"Understood, Ghostface."
Ghostface melted back into the shadows, disappearing without a trace. Mad Dog shuddered. Ghostface is getting stronger.
He turned to his trembling subordinate. "Spread the word. I want every man patrolling the Garden Street and Crimson Cabaret area. Find that rat. Whoever brings them to me gets 200,000 Apocalypse Coins."
Unaware of the impending danger, Thomas woke up feeling refreshed and energized. Day three. Four days until the blizzard. He could feel the temperature dropping in his hideout.
Need more hideout upgrades, warm clothing, and food supplies, he thought. A fireplace might not be enough for a blizzard. Hopefully, the World Chat will have something useful.
He ate a quick meal, then opened the Super Monopoly interface. He''d earned 128 points overnight, bringing his total to 281. He grinned. His investments were paying off. He had one dice roll available. He looked at a property two spaces ahead on the map.
"Come on, dice gods," he muttered, blowing on his hands. "Give me a two."
He rolled the die.
[5]
Damn it. His miniature self landed on a square with a question mark.
[Special Event Triggered: Apocalypse Knife Runner]
[Apocalypse Knife Runner]
[Objective: Eliminate 3 enemies using only melee weapons (knives, daggers, bayonets, machetes, axes) before midnight.]
[Reward: Rare Skill [Stealth Movement], Rare Head Armor [Hooded Cloak of Night]]
Thomas stared at the objective, his face falling. Are you kidding me? Melee kills? Three of them? He couldn''t even soften them up with gunfire first. This was insane. He''d be swiss cheese before he even got close.
Well, that''s a bust, he thought, sighing. He wasn''t a melee fighter. He was a strategist, a looter, a¡well, a coward. He''d stick to his strengths.
He opened the World Chat and posted his trade offers:
City - Thomas: [Images of weapons and gear] Submachine guns x3, AK rifles x2, pistols x7, melee weapons x5, Level 2 armor x3, Level 3 armor x1, 8-slot rigs x5. Trading for rare or cold-weather items, blueprints, or equipment. Limited quantities. Best offers only.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
The World Chat went ballistic.
Forest - Sophia Williams: ????????
Plains - Ashley Carter: Holy shit! Is that the same guy from yesterday? More gear?!
City - Lucas Flynn: The legend returns! Bow down!
West Coast - Cole Quinn: Trade offer sent, Pro!
City - Ethan Grant: I''m getting chased by refugees, and this guy''s swimming in gear!
Desert - Riley Quinn: Rare items are worth more than that junk. He''s dreaming.
Plateau - Hope Newell: Don''t be salty. Your rare items won''t save you from a refugee with a knife.
Over 5,000 survivors had died in the past two days, leaving less than 95,000. Some had gotten lucky with their starting gear, but no one had amassed the kind of arsenal Thomas possessed. He was quickly becoming a legend among the newbies.
As the World Chat buzzed with excitement, Thomas sifted through the flood of private messages, his inbox overflowing. It was a bittersweet problem.
Back in the Zone Chat, news of Thomas''s World Chat post spread like wildfire.
Check the World Chat! Thomas is selling a ton of gear! It''s a feeding frenzy!
He''s not human! Where''s he getting all this stuff? Is he a dev?
I saw it! Woke me right up! Why isn''t he selling in Zone Chat? We need gear too!
Because we don''t have anything he wants! Remember the submachine gun yesterday? No one could afford it.
He should just give us the gear! Help us out! No class!
Shut up, idiot! He doesn''t owe you anything!
Stop complaining. He said to DM him with rare items. Go find some!
Ben Walker, having traded with Thomas twice already, saw the World Chat post. He thought for a moment, then sent Thomas a private message.
Ben Walker: Pro, you interested in this? [Image of Paralyzing Toxin] x1
Thomas opened the image.
[Paralyzing Toxin]
Type: Rare Liquid Poison
Uses: 5/5
Description: Can be applied to melee weapons or cloths. Causes paralysis on contact with blood or through inhalation.
Effect: Melee weapon application: Target paralyzed for 300 seconds upon being hit. Cloth application: Target paralyzed for 300 seconds upon inhalation.
Note: Highly volatile. Use within 3 minutes of application.
Thomas''s eyes widened. Holy crap! That''s powerful!
Thomas: What do you want for it? Why aren''t you keeping it for yourself?
Ben Walker: [Embarrassed emoji] Not a melee fighter, Pro. I''d rather trade it for the Level 3 armor, 2 submachine gun magazines, and 60 rounds.
Thomas understood. Most survivors avoided close combat. The toxin was a niche item. But Thomas, remembering the Apocalypse Knife Runner event, had an idea.
Thomas: Deal.
Firearms and armor were the most valuable items right now. Walker had traded for a submachine gun yesterday, so his request for more ammo and a better vest made sense. But two rare items in two days? This Walker guy was definitely hiding something. Thomas didn''t care. As long as Walker kept providing valuable resources, their partnership would continue.
The trade went through. Walker happily examined his new armor and ammo. Time to check out that car dealership, he thought.
Thomas, holding the vial of glowing green liquid, smiled. A good start.
Two hours later, he''d finally found a few more items he liked:
[Hideout Security Upgrade Blueprint ¨C Silent Alloy Door]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect 1: Eliminates all noise when opening and closing the hideout door.
Effect 2: Completely seals the hideout, providing +40% soundproofing and preventing water leakage.
Requirements: hideout Security Level 1, Sealing Strips x2, Soundproofing Material x2, Alloy Steel x2, Latex x1, 30,000 Apocalypse Coins
Upgrade Time: 1 hour
---
[Hideout Wall Upgrade Blueprint ¨C Insulated Model]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect: Reduces heat loss by 60%, increases soundproofing by 40%.
Requirements: Ventilation Level 1, Insulation Panels x5, Expanding Foam x1, Sealing Strips x2, 40,000 Apocalypse Coins
Upgrade Time: 1 hour
---
[07A Tactical Gloves]
Type: Rare Hand Armor
Material: Leather, D3O Shock Absorption Plastic
Warmth: Good
Dexterity Bonus: +10%
Grip Bonus: +15%
---
[Dark Mask]
Type: Rare Face Armor
Material: Wool, Cotton
Warmth: Good
Breathability: Good
Ambient Hearing Penalty: -5%
Special Effect: A realistic black man face mask. Provides +20% concealment and +20% disguise in dark or dimly lit environments.
---
[Rabbit Brand Sheepskin Coat]
Type: Special Equipment
Material: Sheepskin, Cotton, Fleece
Warmth: Excellent
Breathability: Very Poor
Movement Penalty: -15%
These five items were exactly what he needed. He traded the three submachine guns and two AKs for them. The sellers were all from other city zones. He contacted them and finalized the trades.
Thinking about the materials needed for the blueprints, he contacted Ben Walker.
Thomas: Post this in World Chat for me: "Thomas is looking for sealing strips, soundproofing material, insulation panels, alloy steel, etc. DM him if you have any."
He posted the same message in Zone Chat.
Within half an hour, thanks to the lure of his remaining weapons, he had all the materials he needed. He used the blueprints.
[Hideout Security Upgrade ¨C Silent Alloy Door: Upgrading¡]
[Hideout Wall Upgrade ¨C Insulated Model: Upgrading¡]
Ch. 10: Citywide Search, The Subway Station Compromised
Thomas had only two pistols, a Level 2 vest, a melee weapon, and an 8-slot rig left to trade. After another half hour of haggling, he''d traded everything, acquiring a substantial amount of building materials and 100,000 Apocalypse Coins. He needed the coins after spending so much on the blueprints.
[Rest Area] (Level 1)
Effect: 6 hours of sleep restores 80% Stamina, consumes 30% Hunger, 20% Thirst. Provides warmth. 10% chance to negate negative status effects.
Note: Not bad. Actually sleepable.
Next Stage: Cozy Rest Area (Level 2)
Requirements: Ventilation Level 1, Bathroom Level 1, 20,000 Apocalypse Coins, Energy-Saving Lightbulb x1, Energy Cell x1
Upgrade Time: 1 hour
[Upgrade available. Proceed with upgrade?]
"Yes!"
Finally, after two days, he could upgrade the rest area again. His next targets were the kitchen and the generator. The kitchen required a Level 1 generator, so he needed to build that first, even though his hideout currently had power.
[Generator]
Effect: Powers the hideout using fuel.
Requirements: hideout Security Level 1, 50,000 Apocalypse Coins, Cylinder Block x1, Crankcase x1, Spark Plug x1, Piston Set x1
Construction Time: 2 hours
[Construction requirements met. Proceed with construction?]
"Yes!"
With the generator under construction, Thomas finally relaxed. Two hours until he could build the kitchen, another crucial step towards surviving the blizzard.
He lay down, opening the Zone Chat, hoping for clues about the Apocalypse Knife Runner event. He saw several messages from worried survivors.
What the hell is going on? Refugees everywhere! They''re searching for something. I''m hiding in my hideout, terrified!
Same here! They''ve been pacing back and forth above my hideout all morning! My heart''s about to explode!
Above your hideout? Where are you hiding?
The sewers! Smelly, but safe!
Damn! Hardcore!
They found my hideout! Help! Hel¡ª
Dude, you still alive? ]
Thomas frowned. What''s going on? Why the sudden search?
Several red dots appeared on his mental map at the station entrance. Refugees. They were moving quickly towards the main hall, systematically searching each room. A sense of dread washed over him. He quickly equipped his gear: boots, gloves, vest, mask¡
The refugees reached the control room, noticing the bloodstains, bullet holes, and blast marks.
"Weapons ready!"
They fanned out, weapons raised. The lead refugee entered the control room, his face hardening as he spotted the spent shell casings.If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.
Ten minutes later, Thomas was fully equipped, his face grim. His mental map showed over twenty refugees swarming the station, closing in on his position.
Here we go, he thought. He''d anticipated this, but not so soon. He''d expected a day or two more, hence the rush to trade for better gear. But something had accelerated their search. Fortunately, he''d converted his loot into power.
The refugees reached the staff lounge, the scene of his first double kill. Black Dog, the gang leader, examined the dried bloodstains, picking up a half-smoked cigarette.
"I''ll find you, you bastard!" he growled. These were his men, sent out on his orders. Now they were dead.
"Search everywhere! He''s still here! Five thousand coins to whoever finds him!"
The refugees spread out, searching in pairs or groups of three, wary of the unknown enemy. Thomas watched their movements on his mental map, trying to anticipate their next move.
In the Zone Chat, the survivors noticed a change.
Guys, the refugees are gone! Haven''t seen one in half an hour!
Same here! They all ran off in the same direction!
I haven''t seen a single refugee all day! What''s going on?
Thomas realized they were searching for him. They''d found the bodies in the station. His hideout was compromised.
Thank god for the camouflage coating, he thought. That''s why he was still relatively calm. He trusted the rare item''s effectiveness.
As the search continued, the upgrades to his hideout door and walls were completed.
[Hideout Reinforced Silent Alloy Door] (Level 2)
Effect 1: Silent operation.
Effect 2: Completely seals the hideout, providing +40% soundproofing and preventing water leakage.
---
[Hideout Insulated Walls] (Level 1)
Effect: Reduces heat loss by 60%, increases soundproofing by 40%.
Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. Just in time. A two-man refugee team was approaching his hideout.
"Who the hell is this guy? Six of our guys dead?"
"Be careful. Black Dog said he might still be here."
"Damn it. I was gonna grab that girl I spotted yesterday. Tonight was gonna be fun."
"Got a smoke?"
They were initially cautious, but after searching for so long without finding anyone, they''d relaxed. They figured the killer had already left. Besides, with so many refugees swarming the station, anyone hiding there would have bolted by now. Their inherent laziness and lack of discipline took over. They leaned against the wall near Thomas''s hidden hideout, smoking cigarettes, eager to finish the search and get back to their¡activities.
Thomas studied their movements on his mental map. They were leaning against the wall right next to his hideout. Just around the corner. But thanks to the camouflage coating, the door was invisible. Just a blank wall.
His eyes landed on the Apocalypse Knife Runner event.
Maybe¡just maybe¡
Silent alloy door. Insulated walls. Paralyzing toxin. Silent boots. Camouflage coating. It was a long shot, but¡
A rare skill and a rare equipment piece. The rewards were tempting. It was incredibly risky. One gunshot, and he was done. But the potential payoff¡
He made his decision. He''d do it. He''d earned his current position through risk-taking. High risk, high reward.
He stowed his assault rifle and other bulky items, then approached the hideout door, watching the refugees on his mental map. He pulled out a towel. The toxin could be applied to a weapon or a cloth. A weapon attack took three seconds to paralyze. A cloth, only one. He chose the cloth.
Now, he just needed to wait for the right moment.
Outside, the refugees finished their cigarettes. One of them yawned and headed towards the corner.
"Where are you going?"
"Taking a piss."
"Don''t go far. Yell if you need anything."
The refugee found a spot near a pillar a few meters away from the wall. He lit another cigarette, unzipped his pants, and began to urinate, humming a tune.
He didn''t notice the door appearing in the wall behind him. Nor did he notice the figure emerging silently, approaching from behind.
As he finished, a shiver running down his spine, a towel was suddenly pressed over his mouth and nose.
His eyes widened in shock. He struggled, reaching for the pistol holstered on his thigh. But his hand was still fumbling with his zipper. Too late.
Thomas felt the refugee''s struggles weaken. The toxin was working. He quickly dragged the paralyzed man into his hideout, making sure the other refugee hadn''t noticed.
The refugee''s eyes, wide with terror and disbelief, locked onto Thomas''s. As the hideout door closed, his expression turned to despair.
Thomas plunged a knife into the refugee''s heart. The event counter ticked over: 1/3. He exhaled slowly. It worked.
He left the knife in the body to minimize bleeding, then grabbed another knife and returned to the door, waiting.
Outside, the remaining refugee tossed his cigarette butt, looking towards his companion''s last known location.
"Damn, what''s taking him so long? Did he fall in?" he muttered, then shouted, "Hey, 3cm! Hurry up!"
Silence. Five seconds. Ten. A sense of unease crept over him. He raised his pistol, chambering a round.
"3cm! Don''t mess with me! Come out!"
Still nothing. He was getting nervous. He hadn''t heard a single sound.
Damn it. Did he run into something¡unnatural?
He cautiously approached the corner.
Ch. 11: The Silent Ghost Hunter
The refugee scanned the corner, his weapon following his gaze. Seeing nothing but a concrete pillar and a blank wall, he breathed a sigh of relief. Damn, that was close.
"Where''d 3cm go?" he muttered, glancing around. No sign of his companion, nor anything suspicious. He relaxed slightly. Did he go take a piss or something?
He searched the area, but found no trace of 3cm. Panic began to set in. He needed to report back to Boss Black Dog.
He started back, weapon raised, scanning his surroundings. As he passed the pillar, a pungent smell of urine wafted up. He looked down. A dark stain on the marble floor. Definitely urine. He hadn''t noticed it before.
So, 3cm had been here. A sense of foreboding washed over him. He turned¡ª
A damp cloth covered his mouth and nose. He barely had time to¡ª
Rat-a-tat!
The sharp burst of gunfire echoed through the deserted station.
"Gunfire! Contact!" Black Dog roared, leaping to his feet in the control room. He rushed out into the main hall, where several refugees looked at him expectantly.
"Boss, it came from the left!"
"Go! Everyone!"
Thomas, back in his hideout, tossed the spent casings onto the floor, his face grim. He''d almost executed the perfect ambush, but the refugee had managed to get a shot off. Thankfully, he''d reacted quickly, dragging the body into his hideout, collecting the casings, and using a blanket to soak up the urine stain by the pillar. The entire process took less than thirty seconds.
Seconds after he returned to his hideout, refugees appeared near the pillar. Black Dog arrived shortly after.
"Who fired that shot?" he demanded.
The refugees looked at each other, confused.
"Was it you?"
"No, boss! We just got here."
"Not us either. We were with you."
Black Dog frowned. "It wasn''t one of ours," a subordinate whispered.
"Check the numbers. Is everyone here?"
The refugees quickly counted heads. "Boss, 3cm and Doggy are missing. I saw them searching this area earlier."
"Me too!"
"Quiet!"
The realization dawned on them. Their two companions were likely dead. The gunshot must have been their last stand.
"That rat''s still here. Find him! Search everywhere!"
The refugees fanned out, firing blindly into any shadowed corner.
Inside his hideout, Thomas, fully armed, crouched behind the fireplace, his assault rifle trained on the entrance. In the past three minutes, six refugees had passed by his hidden door, fooled by the camouflage. But despite the effectiveness of the disguise, beads of sweat trickled down his forehead. His mental map showed two dozen red dots swarming around his hideout. The pressure was immense.
Black Dog was equally stressed. "Still nothing?" he growled after fifteen minutes of fruitless searching. They''d arrived less than a minute after the gunshot. There hadn''t been enough time for the attacker to dispose of the bodies, let alone escape. Yet, there was no trace of the missing refugees, no bodies, no signs of a struggle.
"Did you pinpoint the location of the shot?"This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.
His subordinate shook his head. "No casings, boss. We could have tracked footprints, but too many of us came through here already. The trail''s cold."
"Damn it! He''s a ghost or something."
Just then¡ª
Rat-a-tat-tat-tat!
A fierce firefight erupted from the tunnel on the other side of the station.
"Boss! We found him! He''s in the tunnel! Engaging!"
Black Dog''s face lit up. "Finally! Everyone, reinforce!" He sprinted towards the tunnel, the other refugees following close behind, eager for the chance to earn a reward.
The last refugee in the group, his mind already on the potential spoils, was fantasizing about Black Dog''s generosity when¡ª
A cloth covered his mouth and nose. Paralysis gripped him. He couldn''t move. A figure wearing a fragmented mask appeared, dragging him towards a blank section of wall. He watched in horror as a dark door opened, and he was pulled inside.
He finally understood. The hunter they''d been searching for had been right under their noses, a silent ghost, hidden behind a wall they''d all passed countless times. He wouldn''t live to share his discovery. He saw two bodies on the floor, both familiar faces. 3cm and Doggy. The ones they''d been looking for. Their faces were frozen in terror.
He understood his fate. A cold blade pierced his heart. Darkness.
[Survivor has completed the special event: Knife Runner.]
[Reward: Rare Skill [Stealth Movement], Rare Back Armor [Night Cloak - Hooded] ]
[Stealth Movement]
Type: Rare Passive Skill
Description: Makes your movements quieter and reduces the range of sound propagation.
Effects:
¡¤ Increases movement speed while stealthed.
¡¤ Reduces footstep noise on common surfaces.
¡¤ Reduces sound propagation range.
¡¤ Reduces noise from weapons and equipment.
¡¤ (Max Level): Silent movement on all surfaces.
Proficiency: 0/10000
Proficiency Gain: Gained while moving stealthily.
---
[Night Cloak - Hooded]
Type: Special Back Armor
Material: Black camouflage coating, cotton, specialized polyester fiber.
Special Effect 1: +30% stealth in darkness or shadows, +30% chance to be overlooked.
Special Effect 2: -30% noise from footsteps, weapons, and equipment, -30% sound propagation range.
Thomas stared at the rewards, his eyes wide. Holy shit! This is insane! With these, he could have easily taken out the refugees without all the elaborate setups. The skill and the cloak were a deadly combination.
He retrieved the dark mask he''d traded for earlier.
[Dark Mask]
Type: Rare Face Armor
Material: Wool, cotton
Warmth: Good
Breathability: Good
Ambient Hearing: -5%
Special Effect: Realistic black face print. +20% stealth and +20% disguise in darkness or shadows.
A perfect match for the cloak. Combined, they provided a 50% stealth bonus in darkness or shadows, plus the increased chance of being overlooked and the disguise bonus. He was practically invisible.
He imagined the possibilities. These items weren''t suited for direct combat, but for stealth and assassination¡ Nighttime operations would be much safer and more effective.
He checked his mental map. Two dozen red dots were surrounding a yellow dot in the tunnel. The yellow dot was retreating, clearly outnumbered.
You helped me out earlier. Consider this a return favor.
He equipped the cloak, mask, and his other gear. With the hood up, he was a shadow assassin.
He left the hideout, dropping onto the tracks and sprinting towards the tunnel. He immediately felt the difference. His footsteps and the rustling of his gear were significantly quieter. He felt at home in the shadows, instinctively knowing how to blend into the darkness.
He approached the firefight. The refugees had the yellow dot pinned down. The dot was barely holding on, relying on the darkness for cover. It was almost outside the range of his mental map.
His private messages chimed.
Ben Walker: Pro! Help! Need more SMG ammo! Desperate!
Thomas frowned. No way¡
Thomas: Are you the one being attacked in the tunnel?
Ben Walker: ??? How did you know? Are you nearby? Help!
So, it was Ben. That explained how he''d survived this long against so many refugees. He''d used up all the ammo Thomas had traded him earlier.
Thomas: Hold them off. I''ll create a diversion.
He traded Ben 60 rounds and a grenade.
Ben Walker: Thank you, Pro!
The gunfire in the tunnel intensified. The yellow dot on his map turned light green. So, that''s how the colors worked:
[Red: Hostile]
[Yellow: Neutral]
[Green: Friendly]
He felt more confident about rescuing Walker now. He entered the tunnel, melting into the darkness. Muzzle flashes flickered in the distance.
He targeted the last refugee in the group, hearing their shouts as they pressed their attack. He slowed his pace, drawing his knife, his body low, moving silently through the shadows.
[Stealth Movement]
His footsteps became even quieter. He heard Black Dog''s voice echoing through the tunnel.
"Conserve ammo! I want him alive! He''s gonna pay for killing our men!"
So, Ben had taken the blame for his kills. Good guy Ben.
The refugees, grinning savagely, advanced slowly, encouraged by Black Dog''s words. The last refugee in the line fired a burst at Walker''s position. The weapon clicked empty. He ducked behind the wall to reload.
Thomas was two meters behind him, a silent predator in the darkness.
Thomas (to Ben): Attack! Draw their fire!
Ben Walker: Roger that!
Gunfire erupted from Walker''s position. The refugees took cover and returned fire. The reloading refugee, hearing the renewed intensity of the fight, aimed his weapon at Ben''s position.
Just as he pulled the trigger¡ª
A cold sensation on his neck. Warm liquid gurgling. A sharp blade.
Shhhck¡ Gah¡
Gurgle¡ gurgle¡
Ch. 12: Sabotaging the Power and Upgrading the Hideout
Thomas carefully lowered the refugee''s body to the ground, wiping his knife clean. He moved on to his next target. The refugees hadn''t noticed the dwindling numbers in their ranks. Black Dog''s attention was focused on the survivor they were encircling. He noticed the survivor''s rate of fire decreasing.
"He''s running out of ammo!" Black Dog shouted. "Get him!"
The refugees split into two groups. One group provided covering fire, suppressing the survivor. The other moved in for the capture. Black Dog waited, anticipating an easy victory.
Ben Walker, hidden in an alcove, was reloading when he received a message from Thomas.
Thomas: Hold your fire. Take out your grenade. Pull the pin. Wait for my signal. Throw it five meters behind you. They''re closing in.
Ben''s heart pounded. He followed the instructions, holding the live grenade.
Ben: Ready!
Thomas silently eliminated another refugee, then equipped his assault rifle, pulling out a grenade of his own. He''d wanted to continue picking them off one by one, but Ben was in danger. He moved into position ten meters behind the refugees providing covering fire, waiting for the right moment.
He saw on his mental map that the capture team was within seven meters of Ben.
Thomas: Now! Five meters behind you! Throw! After the explosion, fire towards the left wall, twenty meters.
He threw his own grenade towards the covering fire team. It landed unnoticed at their feet. Their attention was on Ben. Then Ben''s grenade landed among the capture team.
"Grenade! Run!"
But Ben had timed it perfectly.
BOOM! BOOM!
Screams filled the tunnel. Both teams were decimated. Black Dog, stunned by the double explosion and the cries of his men, finally saw Thomas, his weapon spitting fire.
"We''re flanked! Attack!"
The refugees returned fire, but Ben, following Thomas''s instructions, popped out from cover and unleashed a volley of bullets. Thomas, using the cloak and mask to his advantage, fired short bursts, rolling and relocating between shots. He was a fleeting target, almost impossible to hit. Ben, keeping his head down, fired blindly in the direction Thomas had indicated.
Thomas threw another grenade.
BOOM!
More screams. The tunnel was a cacophony of pain and chaos. Ben emptied his submachine gun, then his pistol. The refugees were almost all dead, only a few wounded survivors moaning on the floor. A few more shots rang out, silencing them. The tunnel fell silent.
Thomas, clutching his thigh, swallowed a painkiller. He quickly bandaged his wound, keeping a close eye on Ben''s dot on his mental map. It was a deeper green now, but he couldn''t be too careful.
Ben''s messages flooded in.
Ben: Pro, I''m out of ammo! Are there any more of them?
Ben: Pro, it''s quiet now. Are they all dead?
Ben: Pro¡Pro¡are you okay? Don''t scare me.
Ben: Pro, you saved me¡I¡This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Thomas: I''m not dead yet! Relax¡
Ben: Pro¡you''re alive! Thank god!
Thomas, his wound healed, stood up, weapon raised.
Thomas: They''re all dead. Come out.
He lowered his hood, revealing his face, and shone his flashlight towards Ben''s position. "Come out!"
Ben emerged, grinning. "Pro! Finally! Whoa¡" He stared at Thomas, his face contorting in shock.
Thomas realized he was still wearing the black face mask. "It''s just a mask," he said.
Ben relaxed. Thomas had been watching Ben''s dot on his map. It had turned an even deeper green, almost glowing. He casually lowered his weapon.
"Did you have a girlfriend, Ben?" he asked.
"Uh¡yeah. We broke up. That''s why I volunteered for the game."
"Right," Thomas said, noticing Ben was just a teenager. "You''re younger than I expected."
Ben blushed. "Just turned eighteen."
Thomas smiled, gesturing towards the bodies. "Go ahead and loot them. Take what you can carry." He didn''t mind sharing the spoils. Ben had earned it.
"Really, Pro?" Ben''s eyes widened.
"Yeah. Just be quick. This place isn''t safe."
Ben didn''t hesitate, rushing towards the bodies. Thomas turned his attention to Black Dog''s location, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Time to collect my prize.
Thomas and Ben worked quickly. There wasn''t time to sort through the loot carefully. Ben filled his backpack and slung two submachine guns over his shoulders.
"Thanks, Pro! I''ll message you later!"
"Be careful out there," Thomas said, watching Ben disappear into the tunnel.
He made several trips, carrying the remaining loot back to his hideout. He moved the three bodies from his hideout into the tunnel, staging the scene to look like the refugees had been ambushed and the attacker had fled deeper into the tunnel. He carefully erased any trace of his presence near his hideout, then finally relaxed.
It had been a close call. But his constant preparation ¨C upgrading his gear, his skills, and his hideout ¨C had paid off. Luck had also been on his side. If Ben hadn''t traded him the paralytic toxin, he wouldn''t have completed the Knife Runner event and received the stealth skill and cloak. And if Ben hadn''t shown up and drawn the refugees'' attention, he wouldn''t have had the opportunity to ambush them.
Ben''s my lucky charm, he thought, amused.
Meanwhile, Ben, struggling under the weight of his loot, finally reached his hideout. He''d taken Thomas''s words to heart, loading himself down with as much as he could carry. He was both exhilarated and terrified. This haul would change everything. Four rifles, four pistols, several grenades, and mountains of ammo. Plus a stash of medical supplies he''d specifically targeted. He grinned, then remembered something, quickly opening his messages.
Ben: Pro, I''m back safe.
Thomas: Good.
Thomas traded him four Level 2 vests.
Thomas: Your share.
These were from the refugees Ben had taken down. Thomas didn''t need them.
Ben: Pro, you¡
Thomas: Don''t mention it. Busy now.
Ben: Okay, Pro!
Thomas turned his attention to potential vulnerabilities in his hideout. He knew this was just the beginning. Next time, it might be dozens, or even hundreds of enemies. He needed to be prepared.
With the cloak and mask, darkness was his ally. He decided to embrace it. He equipped his gear and headed for the station''s electrical room.
Two grenades later, the room was a mangled mess of sparking wires. The station plunged into darkness. He double-checked the damage, ensuring the systems were beyond repair, then returned to his hideout. He finally felt safe. He now understood why the hideout required a generator, even though the city still had power. The game designers had planned for this.
His hideout was also dark now. He hadn''t bothered with lighting before, relying on the station''s power. Time to fix that.
[Lighting] (Level 1)
Effect: Provides basic lighting using candles.
Requirements: 10,000 Apocalypse Coins, Candle x1, Lighter x1
Construction Time: 5 minutes
He initiated construction.
Five minutes later, the Lighting Level 1 was complete. He immediately started the upgrade to Level 2.
[Lighting] (Level 2)
Effect: Provides electric lighting.
Requirements: Generator Level 1, Lighting Level 1, Lightbulbs x10, Wires x10, Switch x1, 20,000 Apocalypse Coins
Upgrade Time: 1 hour
He needed a lot of lightbulbs and wires. He traded a knife and a vest for them in Zone Chat, then started the upgrade. He took another nap while he waited.
He woke up at night. The lighting upgrade was complete. He filled the generator with two canisters of fuel he''d looted earlier. The generator sputtered to life, a low hum filling the hideout. He flipped the switch. Light flooded the room.
Nice. Another piece of black tech. Quiet and efficient. And the exhaust vents directly into the ventilation system.
With only the lights drawing power, he set the generator to its lowest setting. The two canisters should last a while.
He went outside, checking for any signs of light, sound, or vibration emanating from his hideout. Nothing. He was satisfied. He was glad he''d traded for the soundproofed door and insulated walls.
Back inside, he started building the kitchen, then finally turned his attention to the spoils of his latest victory. The haul was immense. He looked at the piles of equipment with a sense of accomplishment.
Ch. 13: Undercurrents, Day Four
Night had fallen. Back at the refugee camp, Mad Dog asked again, "Is Black Dog back yet?"
"No, boss. He sent word at midday, saying he''d found where our guys were ambushed ¨C the Garden Station. He took twenty-odd men to hunt down whoever did it."
"With that many men, he should be back by now," Mad Dog grumbled, a knot of unease tightening in his gut. Logically, Black Dog and his crew should be more than a match for anyone, but the lengthening silence was unsettling.
"Send another group. Find out what''s going on."
A dozen men set off for the Garden Station.
Meanwhile, Thomas studied a map with a serious expression.
[Sparrow City White Tower District Map]
Type: Intel Item
Inventory Size: 2x1
Description: A detailed map of Sparrow City''s White Tower District.
For the first time, Thomas had a clear picture of the area. He located the subway station ¨C midway between the district''s center and its edge. Not ideal, but not terrible. He also found the Crimson Cabaret, just one stop away, and Apartment 15, situated between the Cabaret and the next station. The map indicated it was a middle-class residential area, with a large supermarket, a luxury car dealership, and a bank nearby. A building labeled "Trading Center" was circled in red, with the words "HQ" scrawled beside it.
"So that''s their nest," Thomas muttered, tucking the map away. It was a valuable piece of intel.
He then pulled out a key.
[Pinewood Hotel Room 903 Key]
Effect: Unlocks room 903 at the Pinewood Hotel.
Both items were from the refugee leader he''d killed. The key likely belonged to a private stash. The thought made him eager to investigate.
He now had two potential targets: Apartment 15, for which he had three keys, and the Pinewood Hotel room. Conveniently, the hotel was right next to the apartment building, separated only by the bank.
He''d decide his next move based on the Super Monopoly event tomorrow. Exhausted from the day''s events, he dumped his loot in a corner of his hideout and fell asleep.
Fifteen minutes later, the group sent by Mad Dog arrived at the Garden Station.
"Why''s it so dark?" one whispered.
"Quiet. Lights on. Stay alert," the leader ordered, a sense of foreboding settling over him. This didn''t look good.
They spread out, searching the station. They found the bloodstains and signs of a struggle in the control room. As they neared the tunnel, one of them shone his light down the passage.
"Boss, there''s something down there."
"Let''s take a look."
They moved cautiously into the tunnel. A wave of shock washed over them.Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
"That''s¡3cm!" one exclaimed, recognizing a body.
"And there''s more¡"
"That looks like Doggy!"
They shone their lights further down the tunnel. One, two, three¡ twenty-seven bodies. Five killed with knives, the rest riddled with bullets and shrapnel wounds. The leader stared at Black Dog''s lifeless, bloodshot eyes, terror gripping his heart.
Black Dog and his entire crew, wiped out. This was a planned ambush. If the attackers were still around, his group didn''t stand a chance.
The other refugees were equally terrified. Many had shared drinks with the dead just the night before.
"Everyone! Retreat! Now!" the leader yelled, snapping a few pictures of the carnage.
They fled back to the camp, the dark maw of the subway tunnel seeming to swallow the light behind them.
"What?! Black Dog and his men¡ all dead in the tunnel?!" Mad Dog roared.
"Boss, here are the pictures. Their gear and weapons are gone. Just bodies left behind."
"This was a planned hit, boss."
Mad Dog examined the photos, his face a mask of fury. "Who the hell is behind this? Caban? The Butcher?"
He studied the city map. "Caban''s at the car dealership. The Butcher''s at the theater. The tunnel leads in their direction. And the Crimson Cabaret is right at the edge of our territories¡"
"Damn it. Are they trying to play me?"
He couldn''t be sure, but he had to react. He couldn''t appear weak.
"Get The Bayonet," he ordered.
Ten minutes later, a figure clad in black, a skull mask covering their face, stood before Mad Dog.
"Bayonet, you heard what happened. Black Dog and his men are dead. That''s nearly forty men in the last few days."
"Only Caban and The Butcher have the muscle to pull this off. I want you to send a message. Make them pay. And be discreet."
The Bayonet nodded and vanished into the night.
Mad Dog took a long drag of his cigar, his eyes narrowed. "Caban, Butcher¡ even if it wasn''t you, don''t blame me for what comes next."
News of Black Dog''s demise spread like wildfire. Nearly forty of Mad Dog''s men were dead. Even rival gang leaders were surprised. Mad Dog wasn''t well-liked, but his crew was formidable. Whoever orchestrated this was a serious threat.
After confirming their own men weren''t involved, the other leaders watched with a mixture of amusement and caution. Forty armed men, wiped out without a trace. They all wondered if their own crews could handle such an attack.
"Mad Dog must have stepped on some serious toes," was the general consensus. Orders went out to their respective gangs: "Stay low. Avoid the subway. Don''t make any waves."
They waited, eager to see Mad Dog''s next move, and more importantly, to see if any opportunity arose to seize his territory. Refugees were like hyenas, always looking for weakness.
Six hours after the bodies were discovered, a new visitor arrived at the Garden Station. A pitch-black blip appeared on the virtual map, moving silently through the tunnels. Insects and rodents dropped dead in its wake. A phantom of death, unseen, unheard, and utterly lethal.
Black Dog''s crew was gone, leaving only bloodstains, bullet holes, and the faint scent of gunpowder. The figure examined everything meticulously ¨C the blood, the bullet trajectories, the grenade craters. Satisfied, it vanished as silently as it had arrived.
"What?! Only two people? Impossible!" Mad Dog roared.
"Are you questioning me?" a voice hissed from the shadows.
"N-no, Ghostface, sir. It''s just¡ unbelievable. Twenty armed men¡"
Ghostface, his masked face invisible in the darkness, sneered. "Mad Dog, don''t forget who put you in this position."
Mad Dog broke out in a cold sweat. "Of course, Ghostface, sir. I wouldn''t be here without you."
"Good. Now you know. Find these two."
Day four of the apocalypse. Three days until the polar vortex.
Thomas shivered, pulling his blanket tighter. "Damn, it''s getting cold." The pre-disaster effects were already noticeable.
He stumbled out of bed, started the generator, and flipped on the lights. The kitchen was finished ¨C a simple hot plate on a counter.
"This apocalypse game is something else," he muttered, heating up some milk and eating breakfast with a can of luncheon meat. It was the first hot meal he''d had in days.
He opened the regional chat. It was surprisingly quiet, a stark contrast to the chaos of the previous days. A few desperate pleas for food and water were met with indifference. It was day four. Anyone still starving in the city wasn''t trying hard enough.
Finished with breakfast, Thomas opened the Super Monopoly screen, anticipation bubbling in his chest. "Hopefully, it''s real estate today. Those special event missions are brutal."
He''d received another 128 wealth points, bringing his total to 409.
"Over four hundred!" he thought with satisfaction. "Yesterday''s special mission was because of the wrong invocation. Let''s try this."
"Lord Guan, God of War and Wealth, bless me with real estate today!"
The dice rolled. Thomas watched intently. It landed on six. His eyes darted to the space six squares ahead.
His jaw dropped. "Holy¡"
Ch. 14: Unexpected Windfall and Another Trade Spree
Thomas groaned, staring at the Super Monopoly screen. The square his piece had landed on was still marked with a "?".
Seriously? Again? He flopped back onto the cot, burying his face in the blanket.
[Survivor has triggered a random event: Windfall. +200 points. ]
He sat up, eyes wide. Well, that''s something. He wasn''t complaining. Guess praying to Lord Guan does work. Even a random event gives me money.
His point total was now a healthy 609. He closed the screen, his mood considerably brighter, and began planning his day. It was day four. The temperature was dropping noticeably. Surviving the blizzard was still his top priority. His hideout was well ahead of the curve, but this wasn''t a competition against other survivors. It was a fight against the elements.
He still saw room for improvement. He had a fireplace for warmth, a kitchen for cooking, and insulated walls, but he wasn''t sure how severe the blizzard would be. Polar blizzard implied temperatures of -50¡ãC or lower. Even with the fireplace''s 50¡ãC boost, that was still barely above freezing. And what if it got even colder? The blizzard was supposed to last three days. He needed more heating options.
He also needed more fuel for the generator, bedding for the rest area, and medical supplies. He''d been too busy to craft bedding since upgrading the rest area. He''d trade for the materials today. He''d already felt the chill this morning, despite the insulated walls. He didn''t want to risk getting sick. Food and a storage upgrade were also on his to-do list.
He decided to stay in the hideout today, focusing on upgrades, trading, and crafting. No new properties to explore anyway. He had a mountain of loot to process.
He checked the storage upgrade requirements.
[Storage Room] (Level 1)
Effect: Adds a 5x8 (40-slot) storage room to the hideout.
Requirements: 10,000 Apocalypse Coins, Backpack (6+ slots)
Construction Time: 30 minutes
Next Stage: Expanded Storage Room (Level 2)
Requirements: Storage Room Level 1, Ventilation Level 1, 50,000 Apocalypse Coins, 12+ slot containers x3, Wood x2, Nails x1, Waterproof Sealant x1
Upgrade Time: 1 hour
The requirements were steeper this time, but he had a few 12-slot chest rigs from yesterday''s haul. He could trade for the rest.
He checked the new crafting recipes for the rest area:
[Comforter: Requires Cotton x25, Needle and Thread x1
Comfortable Bed Sheet: Requires Fleece Fabric x2, Polyester x1, Needle and Thread x1
Buckwheat Pillow: Requires Buckwheat x3, Pillow x1, Needle and Thread x1]
He wasn''t impressed. Trading is the better option.
He opened the World Chat and composed his trade message.
City - Thomas: [Images of weapons and armor] Submachine guns x13, AK rifles x7, Shotguns x3, Pistols x23, Knives x23, Level 2 vests x20, Level 3 vests x4. Trading for blueprints, items, equipment, and materials. Prioritizing rare items, warmth, and heating. Limited quantities. DM me your offers.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.
He posted the same message in Zone Chat. Both chats went silent for a few seconds, then exploded. His private messages flooded in.
He''s not even trying to hide it anymore! He''s emptying his armory!
Isn''t he worried about inflation?
This is awesome! More people will have a chance to survive! Just wish the prices were lower.
Don''t complain about the prices! He risked his life fighting twenty refugees for this stuff!
Whoa! Inside info! Is that true?
Thomas ignored the chat, focusing on the trade offers. A long day ahead.
The price of warm clothing and bedding had skyrocketed. Yesterday, he could trade a rifle for a rare item. Today, the price was double or triple. The sudden temperature drop had made it clear that the blizzard was coming sooner than expected.
Thomas wasn''t surprised. He''d anticipated this. He was glad he''d stocked up on essential supplies before the price hike. He was generous with his trades, accepting most reasonable offers. He prioritized hideout upgrade materials.
After a morning of trading, he''d cleared out his excess weapons and armor. Besides a mountain of upgrade materials, food, and Apocalypse Coins, he''d acquired several valuable items and blueprints, including a hideout upgrade blueprint that had cost him a tenth of his traded goods. Worth every penny.
[Hideout Upgrade Blueprint ¨C Underground Bunker]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect: Upgrades and modifies the survivor''s hideout.
Requirements: hideout, Stone x300, Concrete x20, Waterproof Sealant x5, Expanding Foam x5, Alloy Steel x20, 100,000 Apocalypse Coins
Upgrade Time: 5 seconds
He was standing outside his hideout. He initiated the upgrade.
"Yes!"
The hideout shimmered, sinking deeper into the ground. Five seconds later, he opened the door. The interior had transformed.
The short staircase had become a longer, steeper descent. He walked down three meters before reaching the hideout floor. The layout was still L-shaped, but the area had doubled. A three-meter security corridor now connected the entrance to the main living area. The flat ceiling had been replaced by a vaulted, bunker-like ceiling. The existing facilities ¨C rest area, kitchen, ventilation, generator ¨C were in their original locations, but with more space between them, presumably for future upgrades. The facilities themselves had also been subtly rescaled to fit the larger space.
The most significant change was the ventilation system. The single small vent had been replaced by three larger vents along the longer wall of the L-shaped room. The air was fresh, despite being underground.
His mental map showed the hideout was now thirty meters below ground level. This should be sufficient for now.
He began constructing new facilities.
[Rest Area Modification Blueprint ¨C Heated Floor]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect 1: Replaces the cot with a heated floor, increasing the rest area temperature by 10-40¡ãC.
Effect 2: -30% chance of catching a cold or frostbite, +40% water consumption.
Requirements: Rest Area Level 1, Ventilation Level 1, Firebricks x50, Heat-Resistant Mat x1
Modification Time: 1 hour
---
[Water Collector Modification Blueprint ¨C Purifier Model]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect 1: Produces 500ml of purified water per hour. 5L storage capacity. Requires 2 filter replacements per week.
Effect 2: Filters 2L of wastewater per hour. Requires 2 filter replacements every three days.
Requirements: Kitchen Level 1, Water Collector Level 1, Generator Level 1, Filters x2, Duct Tape x1, Corrugated Hose x1, 20,000 Apocalypse Coins
Modification Time: 1 hour
---
[Kitchen Modification Blueprint ¨C Water Heater]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect 1: Adds a water heater to the kitchen, providing 24/7 hot water. -12% kitchen energy efficiency.
Effect 2: -10% chance of digestive illness or catching a cold.
Requirements: Kitchen Level 1, Water Collector Level 1, Generator Level 1 or Fireplace Level 1, 25,000 Apocalypse Coins, Faucet x1, Metal Parts x1
Modification Time: 1 hour
He started the heated floor modification immediately. He then built the Water Collector, the required materials readily available. He hadn''t planned on building it so soon, as he had plenty of bottled water and other drinks, but the purifier and water heater upgrades were too good to pass up. And they were cheap, only costing him a rifle each. The sellers, both city survivors, clearly didn''t value them as much as he did. They were happy to trade them for a weapon, a much more valuable commodity in the current market.
Thirty minutes later, the Water Collector was complete. He applied the purifier and water heater blueprints. The storage upgrade had also finished, expanding his inventory to 200 slots. He organized his loot, storing food, water, and medical supplies in the storage room. He stacked the twenty canisters of generator fuel he''d traded for in a corner. A week''s supply per canister. He''d traded for them with a survivor who''d spawned in a gas station. Apparently, the guy was making a killing selling fuel. Resourceful, Thomas thought, impressed.
He piled the wood and charcoal for the heated floor in another corner. It was 2 PM. The upgrades were complete.
Ch. 15: Hideout Complete, Exploring the Pinewood Hotel
The rest area was unrecognizable. The cot was gone, replaced by a large, heated floor, its flue connecting to the fireplace. The rest area now resembled a small living room, just missing a sofa and a TV.
Thomas spread out the bedding he''d traded for: a thick wool blanket, a down comforter, a fluffy pillow, and warm wool pajamas and socks. His hideout was finally blizzard-ready. He felt a sense of accomplishment. Exhausted, he collapsed onto the heated floor, the wool blanket soft and warm against his skin, and fell asleep.
Unbeknownst to him, a series of swift, brutal attacks on refugees were occurring throughout the White Tower District. Each attack lasted only seconds, like a well-planned ambush. Fear spread through the refugee camps. The storm Thomas had unleashed was starting to ripple outwards.
He woke up at 9 PM, stretched, and got out of bed. That wool blanket was worth every penny. He hadn''t felt a chill all night.
He cooked some sausage, bread, and milk in the kitchen, enjoying the simple meal. The hideout felt warmer than this morning, perhaps due to being underground. I need to get a thermometer.
He checked his status:
[Name: Thomas Smyth]
[Hideout Type: Underground Bunker
Hideout Area: 201 sq m
Hideout Facilities: Soundproof Alloy Door Level 2, Heated Floor Level 2, Kitchen Level 1, Water Purifier Level 2, Generator Level 1, Storage Room Level 2, Insulated Walls Level 1, Safety Ventilation Level 2
Additional Facilities/Items: Fireplace (Rest Area), Water Heater (Kitchen), Camouflage Coating (Door)
HP: 508
Stamina: 100
Status: Energetic]
---
[Energetic]
Effect: -50% stamina consumption for 1 hour.
Perfect timing. He equipped his gear. He''d been wanting to loot Apartment 15 and the Pinewood Hotel. He''d avoided going out during the day, but with the cloak and mask, nighttime was his domain. He also didn''t want to wait until the temperature dropped further. This was his window of opportunity.
He chose the MP5 as his primary weapon. Its compact size allowed him to carry more loot.
He stepped out of the hideout, shivering. Probably around 15¡ãC. He pulled up his hood, disappearing into the darkness, and sprinted towards the Crimson Cabaret station.
Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the station. The street was deserted. He headed towards the Pinewood Hotel. Thick clouds obscured the moon, perfect for a stealth operation. He moved like a phantom, a fleeting shadow in the darkness.
The Pinewood Hotel was five hundred meters from the station, next to the Sparrow City Bank, which was adjacent to Apartment 15. He saw the hotel''s sign, half-destroyed by an explosion. The street was littered with craters and overturned cars.
Fifty meters from the hotel, he slowed his pace, crouching low. Stealth Movement activated. His footsteps were barely audible. He scanned his surroundings, vigilant. If Black Dog had a key to the hotel room, others might too.Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
He reached the ninth floor without incident. Room 903¡
He switched off his flashlight. He was standing in front of the right door. He inserted the key, twisted, and slipped inside.
The room was dark. A suite with two bedrooms and a living room. He cleared each room, then breathed a sigh of relief. He closed the curtains, switched on his flashlight, and surveyed the living room.
His jaw dropped. This guy was just a lieutenant?
Three gun cases, two mannequins displaying tactical vests, a massive backpack, and several red duffel bags filled the living room. The mannequins also sported a helmet and a set of tactical goggles and headphones. Jackpot!
He opened the duffel bags. Bundles of Apocalypse Coins. A small fortune. And that was just the living room. He turned his attention to the bedrooms.
The first bedroom contained a pantry stocked with canned food and energy drinks: vegetable puree, peas, herring, salmon, beef stew¡ His mouth watered. Drawers below the pantry held chocolate, candy, and energy bars. A treasure trove of rare and valuable food. He also found a case of liquor ¨C vodka, wine, and beer ¨C and a cabinet filled with medical supplies: antibiotics, bandages, first aid kits, surgical kits¡ He even found a small injector case, a 4x4 container filled with syringes and various injectables.
He couldn''t believe his luck. This food alone would fetch a king''s ransom in trades, especially from survivors in less fortunate zones.
He moved on to the main bedroom. Three suitcases sat under the bed. He grinned. The real prize.
He placed the suitcases on the bed and opened them one by one. The first contained two blueprints.
[Intelligence Center Blueprint]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect: Allows construction of the Intelligence Center facility in the hideout.
Requirements: hideout Security Level 2, Generator Level 2, Ventilation Level 2, 500,000 Apocalypse Coins, Laptop x1, Classified Intel x1, Terrain Map x1, Encrypted USB Drive x1
Construction Time: 24 hours
---
[Refugee Loot Box Blueprint]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect: Allows construction of the Refugee Loot Box facility in the hideout.
Requirements: Intelligence Center Level 2, 2,300,000 Apocalypse Coins, Golden Rooster x1, Rolex Gold Watches x4, Gold Necklaces x8, Gold Skull Rings x6, Bronze Lion Statues x3
Construction Time: 36 hours
Thomas stared at the blueprints, his heart pounding. These were no ordinary blueprints. The requirements were insane. Almost three million Apocalypse Coins, plus a list of rare and valuable items. Even with the blueprints, he wasn''t sure he''d ever be able to gather all the necessary materials. And the construction times¡twenty-four hours for the Intelligence Center, thirty-six for the Loot Box.
These blueprints were far beyond what a low-ranking refugee lieutenant should possess. Even the cultist he''d killed hadn''t dropped anything this valuable. He was even more curious about the lieutenant now.
He put the blueprints away. He wasn''t letting these go. He almost hoped the lieutenant had gathered all the necessary materials, saving him the trouble.
He opened the second suitcase.
Holy¡
It was filled with gold: a golden rooster, two Rolex gold watches, four gold necklaces, two gold skull rings, and a bronze lion statue. A third of the materials for the Refugee Loot Box. This is getting ridiculous.
He looked at the third suitcase, swallowing hard. Don''t tell me this one has the Intelligence Center materials.
He opened it. His jaw dropped. The suitcase contained a single item: a nearly new laptop.
[Laptop]
Size: 3x4
Description: A rare item in the apocalypse. Only a few possess them. Can be traded for Calamity Coins with a Collector.
Calamity Coins. He''d heard that term before. This laptop was even more valuable than he''d thought. A wave of euphoria washed over him.
He practically gift-wrapped this for me!
He noticed the suitcases were also inventory containers.
[Aluminum Suitcase]
Type: Container
Size: 4x4
Capacity: 8x8 (64 slots)
Sixty-four slots! Incredible! He wasn''t leaving these behind.
He returned to the living room, swapped his 20-slot backpack for the massive "coffin" backpack he''d seen earlier.
["Camel" Travel Backpack]
Type: Backpack
Size: 5x7
Capacity: 5x7 (35 slots)
Movement Speed Penalty: -7%
Turning Speed Penalty: -4%
He went back to the bedroom, packed the gold-filled suitcase and the laptop into the travel backpack. They took up 29 slots, plus 2 for the blueprints, leaving him with 4 slots left. He was at his carrying limit. His chest rig was already full of ammo and grenades.
Still, he couldn''t resist searching the bedroom one last time. He found a hidden compartment behind a painting, containing a notebook and a small ring box. He pocketed them. Too well-hidden to be unimportant. His backpack was now completely full.
He looked at the remaining loot. "I''ll be back for you, my preciouses," he whispered, locking the door and melting back into the shadows.
Ch. 16: Cleaning House and a Late-Night Visitor
Tonight had been a resounding success. Thomas, despite his exhaustion, had made four trips to Room 903, stripping it bare. His second and third trips focused on the tactical vests and the contents of the gun cases, each vest now bulging with scavenged food. He was maximizing every available cubic centimeter.
The biggest surprise was the grenade case, which turned out to be another inventory container.
[Grenade Case]
Type: Container
Size: 3x3
Capacity: 64 slots
Note: Can only store grenades, shells, and fuses.
An invaluable asset, especially given the case''s current contents: a full complement of various grenades. He wouldn''t have to worry about explosives for a while. This windfall had necessitated the extra trip.
By his fourth visit, the living room was empty, save for some remaining food in the second bedroom. He packed it all into a suitcase, then into his backpack. Room 903 was officially cleared out. He did one last sweep, then stepped out, a satisfied grin on his face.
Tonight''s haul was historic, rivaling even yesterday''s massive loot in terms of sheer value. The inventory containers alone were a game-changer, alleviating his storage woes. And the blueprints¡ the possibilities they represented were staggering.
It was 3 AM. He''d been at it for six hours. Despite regular food and water breaks, he was running on fumes. He downed an energy drink, then melted back into the shadows, heading for the hotel exit.
At the street corner, he glanced back at Apartment 15. He''d planned to explore it tonight, but exhaustion had won. He was about to turn away when he noticed a faint, flickering light in one of the windows. Small, but unmistakable in the pre-dawn darkness.
Someone''s there. He doubted it was a survivor. They wouldn''t be so careless. He memorized the window''s location and continued on, filing Apartment 15 away for future exploration.
An hour later, he was back at the Garden Station. He stumbled into his hideout, unloaded his loot, and collapsed onto the heated floor, the warm wool blanket a welcome embrace. I''ll sort it out tomorrow, he thought, drifting off to sleep.
But tonight was a night for interruptions. He jolted awake, all traces of sleepiness gone, replaced by a cold dread. A pitch-black dot had appeared on his mental map, entering the station. It moved silently through the corridors, past the control room and staff lounge, then into the tunnel where he''d staged the refugee ambush.
What the¡ He''d never seen a completely black dot before. Even the cultist had only registered as a dark red. Wait¡cultist¡dark red¡black dot¡
Another cultist? He knew the color coding on the map. Red meant hostile. But this¡this was pure, unadulterated malice. What could this person possibly have against him? But he''d never met them. Everyone who''d seen his face was dead. Was this¡pure, unmitigated evil?
He cycled through several theories, but none fit. One thing was certain: if this person was connected to the cultists, he couldn''t afford a confrontation. A regular cultist had been dangerous enough. This¡this was a whole different level of threat.
He was suddenly very grateful he''d returned from the hotel early. He''d used that tunnel multiple times tonight. A chance encounter with this¡entity¡didn''t bear thinking about. He wasn''t confident he could win.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
The black dot moved erratically through the tunnel, searching. What are they looking for? He mentally retraced his steps, certain he''d left no trace. Then a chilling thought occurred to him.
What if they were here last night too?
The possibility was unsettling. He watched, helpless, as the black dot continued its search. Thirty minutes later, it left the station. He exhaled slowly, the tension easing. Exhaustion returned, and he finally fell asleep.
Elsewhere, Ghostface, fresh from a ritual sacrifice, hurried to the site of Black Dog''s death. He searched the tunnel, finding nothing. Frustration gnawed at him.
"Damn it, Black Dog! Where did you put it, you imbecile? You had all those men, and you still managed to get yourself killed!"
He was in a bind. His master was away, unaware of his nephew''s death. He dreaded his master''s reaction when he discovered the valuable items entrusted to Black Dog were missing. He''d hoped to find a key, a clue, anything. But the tunnel was bare.
"Even in death, you''re a thorn in my side!" he snarled, glaring at the darkened entrance to the Garden Station.
Day five. Thomas was jolted awake by a flurry of messages from Ben Walker.
Ben: Pro! Emergency! It''s pouring outside! A deluge!
Ben: Pro, the temperature is plummeting!
Ben: Pro, the event is going to hit early!
Ben: Pro¡
It was 11 AM. Ben had been messaging him since 7 AM. He''s definitely a chatterbox. He was concerned about the rain and the temperature drop, though. He climbed out of bed, a noticeable chill in the air. The hideout, nestled deep underground and insulated, was still relatively warm, around 17-18¡ãC. He dressed quickly, skipping his gear ¨C the station was deserted ¨C and went to check the entrance.
He opened the soundproofed door and winced. The station floor was submerged under several inches of icy water, flowing towards the tracks. Water seeped into the hideout. The door''s tight seals had prevented a full-blown flood, but he quickly slammed it shut. Water had already reached the corridor. He grabbed a blanket and mopped it up.
Twenty minutes later, despite the relative warmth of the hideout, he was shivering. The outside temperature must be close to 10¡ãC. The sudden downpour was a clear harbinger of the blizzard. He remembered the ominous clouds from last night.
Good thing I salvaged all that loot from Room 903, he thought.
Worried about getting sick, he lit the fireplace, adding only a small amount of wood. The hideout quickly warmed up. He sent a brief reply to Ben, then opened the Zone Chat.
The sudden storm had thrown the other survivors into a panic. They hadn''t expected such a drastic change on day five. Many, especially those with low-lying hideouts, were flooded out. The survivor he''d traded fuel with, the one with the sewer hideout, was among them. He was now holed up in an abandoned building, loudly lamenting his misfortune in the chat. But Thomas knew he''d traded for plenty of supplies and weapons. He wasn''t as desperate as he claimed.
Most survivors, however, had enough resources to weather the storm. Thomas had seen a fair amount of valuable items and blueprints being traded. Some were likely out of desperation, but many were simply survivors offloading excess resources.
He ignored the panicked chatter and opened the World Chat. The storm was global. The price of wood, heating supplies, and warm clothing had skyrocketed. Even food prices were inflated, some items costing more than basic warm clothing. A single winter coat was now worth a submachine gun and a knife.
He checked his wood supply: 158 units. At this rate, it might not be enough. He contacted Howie Wang, the survivor he''d traded with before.
City - Thomas: You still alive? Still have wood?
Ten minutes later, a reply arrived.
Forest - Howie Wang: Alive. Was busy. You need wood, Pro? Price went up. High demand. Gotta go out in the rain to chop it¡
City - Thomas: I understand. I''ll pay the current price. 200 units.
Forest - Howie Wang: Deal. But it''ll take half an hour. Gotta chop it fresh. Food only for trades. High-energy or something with broth preferred. 40 units for that. 80 units for dry stuff like bread or crackers.
City - Thomas: What about canned food? [Images of beef, salmon, and herring cans]
Forest - Howie Wang: Whoa! Meat! Two units of broth per can. So, 20 cans for the wood.
City - Thomas: Deal.
Howie Wang stared at the message, stunned. Meat¡in cans¡ Even in the city, canned food was a rare luxury. And for someone in the forest¡
Canned food was the king of apocalypse cuisine. Long shelf life, high in protein and fat, and crucial salt content. Plus, the broth could be used to make other food more palatable. And the empty cans could be used for cooking.
He put on his dripping wet poncho, grabbed his axe, and headed back into the rain. This deal is mine.
Ch. 17: Calamity Coins and the Lieutenants Diary
Thomas, content to stay indoors in this weather, finalized the trade with Howie Wang. He then used the World Chat to acquire some much-needed comfort items:
¡¤ Small kettle x1
¡¤ Mugs x4
¡¤ Black tea x1
¡¤ Armchair x1
¡¤ Small coffee table x1
¡¤ Rug (3x4m) x1
These were surprisingly cheap, especially considering he was trading canned meat. The entire haul cost him only four cans. He placed the rug between the fireplace and the kitchen, positioned the armchair facing the heated floor with a view of the fireplace, and set the coffee table between the armchair and the fireplace. A cozy little living room, just in time for the blizzard.
He filled the kettle with hot water from the new water heater, made himself a cup of tea, and set the kettle back on the heater to keep warm. He then started preparing his breakfast-lunch.
Thirty minutes later, after cleaning up, he received a trade request from Howie Wang. They completed the transaction, twenty cans of meat for 200 units of wood. Amusingly, Howie had specifically requested a can of herring, having never tried it before. Thomas obliged, a smile playing on his lips. He''d love to see Howie''s face when he opened that can.
He retrieved the wood from his inbox, still damp from the rain, and stacked it neatly in a corner. His wood supply was now secure. He turned his attention to the loot from Room 903. Time to sort through it.
He started with the Apocalypse Coins. Two million. He stared at the stacks of bills, stunned. I won''t have to worry about money for a while. Easy come, easy go, I guess.
He then organized the food and medical supplies, clearing out the storage room and arranging the items neatly. He categorized the food: canned meat, canned vegetables, ready-to-eat meals, high-energy snacks, bottled water, energy drinks, and juices. He had around 150 units of food, 70% of which was canned meat. He then sorted the medical supplies: wound care, first aid kits, pills, and injectables.
He examined the injector case.
[Injector Case]
Type: Container
Size: 1x1
Capacity: 9 slots
Description: A container for syringes, stimulants, and other injectables.
Nine slots in a 1x1 container. Impressive, even if it only held injectables. He looked at the contents:
[Adrenaline Syringe] x5
Type: Injectable
Description: A single-use syringe containing a dose of adrenaline. Prepares the body for intense muscular activity, temporarily increasing strength, endurance, and pain tolerance.
Size: 1x1
Uses: 1/1
Positive Effects:
¡¤ Removes: Contusion, Pain (65 seconds)
¡¤ Adds: Invigorated (65 seconds)
¡¤ +10 Endurance (60 seconds, 1-second delay)
¡¤ +10 Strength (60 seconds, 1-second delay)
¡¤ +10 Recoil Control (60 seconds, 1-second delay)
¡¤ +4 HP regeneration/sec (15 seconds, 1-second delay)
Negative Effects:
¡¤ -10 Stress Resistance (60 seconds, 1-second delay)
¡¤ -1 Water regeneration/sec (30 seconds, 50-second delay)
¡¤ -0.8 Stamina regeneration/sec (30 seconds, 50-second delay)
Note: Cannot be used until after the first Apocalypse Event.
Powerful stuff. Too bad he couldn''t use it yet. Clearly not meant for newbies. This was definitely out of his current league. It made him even more curious about the refugee lieutenant.
He now understood the two new status effects:
[Contusion]
Type: Debuff
Effect: -33% Ambient Hearing (60 seconds)
[Invigorated]
Type: Ignores Fracture, Gunshot Wound, and Pain status effects.]
Definitely keeping these, he thought, stashing the syringes away.
He then examined the two tactical vests. One had Level 4 plates, similar to his current vest. The other was even better.
[Tactec Plate Carrier]
Type: Light body armor
Weight: 2.35kgYou could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
Size: 4x4
Material: Aramid
Armor Level: 2
Protection Zones: Front plate, back plate
Plate Level: 5
Durability: 100
Movement Speed Penalty: -1%
Capacity: 18 slots
Level 5 plates! Impervious to most standard ammunition, including his own AP 3 rounds. And it had 18 inventory slots, while being lightweight. The magazine pouches were located on the front, providing additional protection. This would be his new go-to armor.
He then turned to the weapons, the items he''d been most eager to examine.
[Colt M4A1 Assault Rifle]
Type: Assault Rifle
Weight: 2.935kg
Size: 5x2
Recoil: Vertical 84, Horizontal 243
Effective Range: 500m
Firing Mode: Single, Full-Auto
Rate of Fire: 800
Accuracy: 1.82
Caliber: 5.56x45mm
Default Magazine: 30-round Colt 5.56x45mm magazine
---
[Mosin-Nagant Bolt-Action Sniper Rifle]
Type: Sniper Rifle
Weight: 4.88kg
Size: 6x1
Recoil: Vertical 176, Horizontal 595
Effective Range: 1000m
Firing Mode: Single
Rate of Fire: 30
Accuracy: 1.31
Caliber: 7.62x54mmR LPS
Default Magazine: 4-round Mosin-Nagant internal magazine
He was intimately familiar with these weapons, thanks to countless hours spent playing shooter games. The M4A1 was a classic, a staple of the genre. The gun case also contained two spare magazines, 90 rounds of standard ammunition, and 60 rounds of AP 3.
The Mosin-Nagant was a WWII relic, known for its reliability and accuracy. While the standard magazine held only four rounds, he knew it could be modified to hold five. He hadn''t expected to find such a vintage weapon, especially a sniper variant. He was intrigued.
Along with the Mosin-Nagant, he''d found two tactical attachments: a scope mount and a 4x optical scope. There were also 20 rounds of AP 3 ammunition and 5 rounds of AP 4 for the rifle.
He was ecstatic. He finally had a proper replacement for his AS VAL. The sniper rifle, however, would require some practice. He wasn''t a trained marksman. But he had plenty of time to learn.
The last three items were the headgear from the mannequins:
[Bastion Ballistic Helmet]
Type: Heavy helmet
Weight: 0.9kg
Size: 2x2
Material: Composite
Armor Level: 4
Protection Zones: Head, back of neck
Ricochet Chance: High (50%)]
---
[Shooting Glasses]
Type: Eyewear
Size: 2x1
Material: Glass
Protection Zones: Eyes
Armor Level: 1
Ricochet Chance: 25%
Blinding Protection: 10%
Helmet Compatible: Yes
Mask Compatible: No
Face Mask Compatible: No
Description: Durable shooting glasses with anti-glare lenses.]
---
[Digital Headset]
Type: Headset
Size: 2x2
Helmet Compatible: No
Mask Compatible: Yes
Face Mask Compatible: Yes
Performance: +0.25 Distortion, +25 Footstep Detection, +15 Equipment Noise Detection, +10 Hearing Range, -15 Ambient White Noise
Description: Designed to protect your hearing while enhancing tactical awareness.
The headgear offered various benefits, but some items were incompatible with others. It opened up new tactical possibilities.
After all these days, his curiosity about the Apocalypse Game itself had only grown. What kind of entity could create such a realistic and complex world? Perhaps he''d find some answers after the first event.
For now, he had a more immediate opportunity to learn more about his current situation. He retrieved the two items he''d found in the hidden compartment: a worn leather-bound notebook and a small wooden box.
He set the notebook aside and examined the box. It was made of rosewood, plain and unadorned. He opened it. He stared at the contents, stunned, then a thrill of excitement shot through him.
A single, pristine black coin, about the size of a ping-pong ball, lay inside. Both sides were embossed with a stylized "Z" surrounded by a circle of cryptic symbols.
[Calamity Coin]
Type: Rare Currency
Description: The physical equivalent of the digital cryptocurrency, Calamity Coin. An extremely rare and valuable currency in the apocalypse, sought after by all. Its value is enough to make men betray their beliefs. Can be traded for anything, provided you have enough.]
Holy shit¡ He''d been thinking about Calamity Coins ever since Ben had mentioned them, but he''d never imagined acquiring one like this. It was even more valuable than he''d thought. He was still slightly lightheaded, barely believing his eyes.
So this is it¡a Calamity Coin. The physical equivalent of a digital cryptocurrency. Digital cryptocurrency¡graphics cards¡
It''s apocalypse Bitcoin! He finally understood the connection. You needed graphics cards to mine Calamity Coins. The mystique surrounding Calamity Coins suddenly vanished. They were just another form of cryptocurrency. But that didn''t diminish their value in this world.
He carefully put the coin away and turned to the notebook, his curiosity about the refugee lieutenant reaching fever pitch. This level of wealth and resources was far beyond what a low-ranking refugee should possess. He opened the notebook, learning the lieutenant''s name: Black Dog. The name sounded familiar.
Let''s see what secrets you''re hiding.
[January 6th: Seriously, why does my uncle insist I work for that fat pig, Mad Dog? Everyone in Sparrow City knows that moron betrayed his own boss to get where he is. He''s a snake.]
[February 16th: This flood is insane. Watching those survivors get swept away is oddly satisfying. When will my uncle finally let me leave this place? I''m sick of Meat Dog and his idiocy.]
[April 23rd: Ghostface is getting bolder. If my uncle didn''t need him, I''d¡never mind. He''s too creepy. I can''t take him in a fight. Why won''t my uncle let me take the transformation potion? I want powers too.]
[April 29th: Ghostface performs a ritual sacrifice every time he creates a new follower. There must be a connection between the potion and the rituals.]
[May 5th: Refugees are such trash. Useless idiots. They can''t even find a few survivors. No wonder we never win against the rebels, raiders, or rovers. Morons.]
[May 12th: Ghostface did it again. Another new follower. But his success rate is abysmal. Five attempts for one success. Such a waste of materials.]
[June 18th: Did I just hear my uncle mention the transformation potion and a laboratory? Is the potion lab-made? I''ve never heard of any labs around here.]
[July 3rd: My uncle is leaving for a while. He wants me to hold onto some items for him. Someone pre-ordered them. Seems important. I swear it''s not just because of the Calamity Coin he gave me.]
[July 6th: Haha! Managed to get some supplies from my uncle. He has all those canned goods, but he expects me to eat the same slop as the rest of these idiots? No way. Those two guns are sweet. Too bad he wouldn''t give me the MK-18 DMR. I really wanted that one.]
[July 29th: What''s with Ghostface? He''s been subtly asking about the items my uncle gave me. What''s he up to?]
[August 1st: Damn it! Two of my guys didn''t come back from the survivor hunt. If I find out who did this, they''re dead.]
[August 2nd: Eight more missing! What the hell is going on? And Ghostface''s followers are getting killed too? Useless! And he keeps nagging me for more survivors. Get them yourself, you creep.]
[August 3rd: Here we go. Hopefully, I''ll catch that killer today.]
Ch. 18: Buying the Hospital and a Recipe for Mutton Stew
Thomas reread the notebook several times. The last entry was dated August 3rd. So, I arrived on August 1st. Today is August 5th.
The refugees he''d killed had been working for someone named Mad Dog, likely the leader of the refugee camp marked on the map. But the most intriguing figure was Black Dog''s uncle. He seemed to be the true power behind the scenes, even controlling who became a camp leader. And Ghostface¡he remembered hearing that name from the first two refugees he''d killed. Ghostface was in charge of the cultists, performing the transformation rituals. He also answered to Black Dog''s uncle, but seemed interested in the items the uncle had entrusted to Black Dog.
So, the black dot last night¡was that Ghostface?
The mention of transformation potions and a laboratory also piqued his interest. A laboratory¡that sounded promising.
He was grateful for Black Dog''s meticulous record-keeping. He now had a clearer picture of the power dynamics in the city. Three main players: Mad Dog, Ghostface, and the mysterious uncle. They were far beyond his current capabilities, but he had the advantage of anonymity. The uncle, according to Black Dog''s diary, was out of town, unaware of his nephew''s death and the missing items. This gave Thomas time to prepare. With the Super Monopoly plugin, he could¡ª
Wait a minute¡Super Monopoly¡
I forgot to roll the die!
He leaped up, tossing the notebook onto the cot, and opened the Super Monopoly screen. Damn it! It''s all Ben''s fault for waking me up so early.
He went through his pre-roll ritual: washing his hands, applying Golden Star Balm, and offering a prayer to Lord Guan.
"Lord Guan, God of War and Wealth, grant me a lucky roll today."
He rolled the die.
[5]
He looked at the fifth square. A hospital.
[Purchase District Hospital for 450 points?]
He didn''t hesitate.
"Yes!"
[450 points deducted. District Hospital purchased.]
A new map materialized in his mind, twice the size of the station map. Three buildings: an emergency room, a clinic, and a main hospital building. The emergency room and clinic were three stories tall, connected by a glass walkway. The main building was twelve stories, nine above ground, three below. He saw seven or eight red dots on the upper floors of the main building. Refugees sheltering from the rain, he surmised.
He located the hospital on the district map. It was in the opposite direction of the Crimson Cabaret, almost a kilometer away.
No way I''m going there today. Or probably for the next few days. The weather was deteriorating rapidly. He didn''t want to risk getting caught outside.
But my income will be even higher tomorrow! He''d already received his daily income. Even after deducting the 450 points for the hospital, he still had 287 points. The Super Monopoly plugin was working as intended. The more assets he acquired, the more points he earned. A snowball effect.
He received a message from Ben Walker.
Ben: Pro, you interested in this? [Image of Nourishing Mutton Stew Recipe]The author''s narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
[Nourishing Mutton Stew Recipe]
Type: Rare Recipe
Effect: Teaches the survivor how to make Nourishing Mutton Stew.
Requirements: Water Collector Level 1, Kitchen Level 2
Thomas: ??? What do you want for it?
Ben: Found it in a kitchen apron while I was hideouting from the rain. No use for it. How about three¡no, two grenades?
Thomas chuckled. He was craving some comfort food. And a recipe that warranted its own item description must be special.
Thomas: Deal.
They completed the trade. His Water Collector was Level 2, but his kitchen was still Level 1.
[Kitchen] (Level 1)
Effect: +10 Stamina regeneration/hour.
Next Stage: Kitchen Level 2
Requirements: Kitchen Level 1, Water Collector Level 1, Generator Level 1, Bathroom Level 2, Phase Control Relay x1, Corrugated Hose x1, Wrench x1, Stainless Steel Pots x2
Current resources insufficient for upgrade.
He was confused. What did the bathroom have to do with the kitchen upgrade? Was there some arcane principle of interconnected plumbing at play? He didn''t understand, but he clearly needed to upgrade the bathroom first.
[Bathroom] (Level 1)
Type: hideout Facility
Effect: +20% wound healing speed, -20% chance of infection.
Requirements: Waterproof Sealant x1, Toilet Paper x1, Soap x1, Basin x1, 30,000 Apocalypse Coins
Construction Time: 1 hour
Next Stage: Bathroom with Shower (Level 2)
Requirements: Generator Level 1, Water Collector Level 1, Ventilation Level 1, Heating Pipes x2, Corrugated Hoses x3, Electric Drill x1, Showerhead x1, Toilet x1
Upgrade Time: 2 hours
Current resources insufficient for upgrade.
He was about to post a request for the upgrade materials in World Chat when he had an idea.
Why not include the materials for the blueprints too? Might get lucky.
He retrieved the Intelligence Center and Refugee Loot Box blueprints, checking their requirements. He needed to upgrade his generator to Level 2. He compiled a list of all the necessary materials.
[World Chat]
City - Thomas: Looking for Classified Intel, Rolex Gold Watches, Gold Necklaces, Gold Skull Rings, Bronze Lion Statues, Corrugated Hoses, Motors, etc. Will trade food [images of canned goods and energy bars] or weapons [images of assault rifle and grenades].
He''d already acquired two of the items for the Intelligence Center: the encrypted USB drive he''d found in the locker room on day one, and the district map, which apparently qualified as a Terrain Map.
His message caught the attention of other survivors.
Plains - Tanner Young: Isn''t that the arms dealer? Now he''s branching out into groceries?
City - Leo Charlton: Haha! The arms dealer! Now selling grenades too!
Forest - Howie Wang: Trade with him! He has good stuff! Just got some beef and rye bread from him. [Image of meal]
Wasteland - Cecilia: Beef! I''m so jealous!
City - Miles Yates: Pro, we''re freezing out here! Can''t even get back to our hideout. Got anything warm to eat?
The chat wasn''t as frantic as before, but his message had generated interest. He still had the AS VAL and the MP5, now relegated to backup weapons. He was willing to trade them, but not the armor-piercing ammunition. That was a strategic resource. Good bullets were more valuable than guns, in his opinion.
He refilled his cup with hot water, enjoying the warmth of the fireplace, and began sifting through the private messages. There were a surprising number of resourceful survivors out there, despite the dangers and challenges of the apocalypse. He received numerous offers within minutes. The storm and the plunging temperatures had spurred everyone into action.
Most of the offers were ridiculously overpriced. They were trying to take advantage of his apparent desperation. He countered with his own prices, willing to negotiate, but not to be taken advantage of. Food and warmth were the most valuable commodities right now. He was in the driver''s seat. He could afford to wait.
Some survivors, recognizing the reality of the situation, accepted his offers. Others, still clinging to their inflated prices, were ignored. One survivor had the Classified Intel he needed, but was demanding fifty cans of meat. That was absurd. He countered with three cans. Take it or leave it.
After several hours, he''d acquired most of the materials he needed for the bathroom and kitchen upgrades, mostly from local survivors offering reasonable prices. He started the bathroom upgrade. Once that was done, he could upgrade the kitchen.
He spent the afternoon reviewing messages and waiting. At 8 PM, the bathroom upgrade was complete. Both the bathroom and kitchen had undergone significant transformations.
[Bathroom with Shower] (Level 2)
Type: Hideout Facility
Effect 1: +40% wound healing speed, -40% chance of infection, +15 Stress Resistance, +10 Immunity
Effect 2: -15% Radiation Exposure
---
[Kitchen] (Level 2)
Type: Hideout Facility
Effect 1: +15 Stamina regeneration/hour, +10 Stress Resistance, +10 Immunity, +15 Metabolism
Effect 2: 10% chance to gain the Energetic status effect when consuming food prepared in the kitchen; +10% effect of recipe-based food.
Ch. 19: A New Opportunity
The upgraded kitchen and bathroom were impressive. The bathroom, true to its name, now boasted a separate shower stall, a toilet, and a sink. With the addition of a washing machine, it would be practically identical to his pre-apocalypse apartment.
The kitchen had also undergone a significant expansion. The cramped countertop was now a spacious two-meter workstation, complete with a stockpot, a frying pan, and the ever-reliable hot plate. The water heater remained conveniently located nearby. Both facilities had not only received performance boosts but also offered new status effects:
[Stress Resistance]
Description: Increases the survivor''s ability to cope with the pressures of the apocalypse.
Effects:
¡¤ Reduces the chance of shock from pain.
¡¤ Lessens tremors and shaking caused by pain.
¡¤ Mitigates fear and despair caused by stressful situations.]
---
[Immunity]
Description: Affects susceptibility to diseases and treatment effectiveness.
Effects:
¡¤ Reduces the chance of infection and illness.
¡¤ Lessens the negative effects of stimulants, food, and drinks.
¡¤ Reduces the effects of toxins.
¡¤ Increases the duration of painkillers.
---
[Metabolism]
Description: A healthy metabolism improves the effects of food and drink.
Effects:
¡¤ Enhances the positive effects of food and drink.
¡¤ Reduces stamina and water consumption.
These new effects were a welcome addition. Sickness and injury were constant threats in the apocalypse. A simple cold could be a death sentence without proper medication. And the psychological toll of survival, especially in the city, was immense. While wilderness survivors only had to worry about the elements, city survivors faced the constant threat of refugee attacks.
He noticed a new "Crafting" button below the kitchen and bathroom descriptions. He clicked on the kitchen button. A new menu appeared:
[Emergency Water] x2
Requires: Silicone Tube, 500ml Water, Duct Tape x1
Crafting Time: 5 minutes
---
[Kvass] x2
Requires: Bottled Water x2, Rye Bread x4
Crafting Time: 10 minutes
¡
Several other food and drink options were listed. So, this is where I craft food and drinks. He now understood why he needed a Level 2 kitchen to use the Mutton Stew recipe.
He checked the bathroom crafting menu. It was even more impressive, a veritable mini-factory. He could craft soap from lye, salt, and sausage, toilet paper from paper, and sterile bandages from regular bandages and vodka. There were also recipes for splints, hoses, backpacks, body armor, aramid cloth, ripstop fabric¡ The list went on.
He realized the crafting system allowed him to convert low-value items into more useful resources. A thought struck him. He could use the blizzard as an opportunity to collect cheap materials and craft them into valuable items, selling them for a profit. He doubted many other survivors had unlocked the crafting system yet. This could be his niche. A sustainable source of income, unlike his one-time weapon and food trades. As long as no one else had a higher-level crafting facility, he could corner the market.The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
He quickly tempered his excitement. He didn''t have enough materials for mass production. His current supplies were enough for personal use, but not for large-scale trading.
I might have to risk another scavenging run. He hadn''t planned on leaving the hideout, but this opportunity was too good to pass up.
I''ll worry about that later. Time to check out that recipe.
He retrieved the Nourishing Mutton Stew recipe. It was now active. He used it. A new recipe appeared in the kitchen crafting menu.
[Nourishing Mutton Stew] x2
Type: Recipe
Effects:
¡¤ Removes: Cold (120 minutes, 25% chance of permanent removal)
¡¤ Adds: Invigorated (30 minutes)
¡¤ +10 Immunity (60 minutes)
¡¤ +70 Hunger
¡¤ +60 Thirst
Requires: Lamb 500g, Water 1000g, Goji Berries x1, Red Dates x1, Pepper x1, Salt x1
Optional Ingredients (choose one for additional effects): Ginseng x1, Angelica x1, Astragalus x1, Codonopsis x1
Crafting Time: 15 minutes]
This is going to be huge!
[Cold]
Type: Debuff
Description: A common cold caused by exposure to cold temperatures.
Effect 1: -50% Carrying Capacity, -60% Stamina, +60% Water Consumption, -40% Movement Speed
Effect 2: Blurred vision due to pain, +80% chance of shivering and tremors, 20% chance of developing Fever.]
---
[Invigorated]
Type: Buff
Description: A feeling of warmth and energy.
Effect 1: Provides immunity to cold in cold environments.
Effect 2: -30% Stamina consumption in warm environments; Converts to Heatstroke in hot environments.
This is it! Thomas was ecstatic. This soup was a lifesaver, literally. He had to capitalize on this.
He contacted Sandy, the survivor he''d traded with for wool and blankets.
City - Thomas: Hello! You still there?
Plains - Sandy: ??? You want more wool blankets?
City - Thomas: Not this time. You have lamb, right? What''s the price?
Sandy, gnawing on a lamb rib in her underground hideout, frowned. He''s from the city. Shouldn''t he have plenty of food? What does he need lamb for?
She replied. She had plenty of lamb to spare.
Plains - Sandy: Got lamb. Two units of lamb for a pistol or 50 rounds of ammo, or equivalent.
City - Thomas: [Frowning emoji] That expensive now?
Plains - Sandy: Blizzard''s coming. Everyone knows lamb keeps you warm. And it''s food!
City - Thomas: Discount for bulk orders?
Plains - Sandy: Uh¡how much are we talking? If you have medicine, I might be able to lower the price.
Thomas assessed his storage situation. The storage room was full of food. The three suitcases held valuables and equipment. The fuel and wood were stacked in a corner. The only remaining space was the floor in the central area. It was cold enough now that the meat wouldn''t spoil quickly. And once the temperature dropped further, he could store it outside, under the watchful eye of his mental map.
I need more storage containers.
City - Thomas: 500 units of lamb. How much medicine? Or I can trade food. [Images of 35 food items] [Images of 20 medical items]
Sandy, sipping goat''s milk, choked when she saw the images. She stared at the screen, incredulous.
Plains - Sandy: You have all of this?
City - Thomas: Yes. Food or medicine. But keep in mind, your lamb is raw. My food and medicine are ready to use, with special effects. So, be reasonable with your price. If it''s too high, I''ll find another supplier.
Sandy knew he was right. Plenty of survivors had lamb, but no one else was offering this variety of food and medicine. Especially those canned meats and fish. And¡vegetable cans! She''d been living on lamb and goat''s milk for days. The thought of vegetables made her mouth water.
She sent him a list of her desired items, mostly canned vegetables and fruits, canned fish, crackers, bread, and drinks. For medicine, she wanted antibiotics, painkillers, bandages, and wound care supplies. The trade would deplete half of Thomas''s food supply and a third of his medicine.
But the payoff was substantial. Eleven butchered lambs now lay on the floor of his hideout. Each lamb weighed around 45 pounds. After removing the bones, he''d have around 30 pounds of meat per lamb, totaling 330 pounds. Each pound of lamb yielded two servings of soup. That was 660 servings.
He''d traded less than 80 units of food and medicine for this. This is insane profit.
I need more lamb! He was confident that more than half of the remaining 90,000 survivors wouldn''t survive the blizzard. That was a market of 45,000 potential customers. And he could corner the market.
His kitchen''s production capacity was a bottleneck, though. Two servings every fifteen minutes. Eight servings per hour. 192 servings per day. With five days until the blizzard, he could only make 960 servings.
I need five more lambs to reach that target.
He contacted Sandy again, but she only had one more lamb available. She''d have more tomorrow. He downplayed his need for so much lamb, then contacted other survivors, trading for the remaining ingredients: red dates, goji berries, pepper, ginseng, and angelica. These were cheap, thankfully. A few cans of food netted him a large supply.
Time to make some soup. He placed the ingredients in the kitchen and opened the crafting menu, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.
Craft Nourishing Mutton Stew!
Ch. 20: Exploring the Hospital and a Dose of Morphine
Fifteen minutes later, Thomas stared at the steaming bowl of Mutton Stew, his stomach rumbling. The aroma of lamb, spices, and ginseng was intoxicating. He''d added ginseng to his own bowl for an extra boost.
[Nourishing Mutton Stew]
Type: Food
Effects:
¡¤ Removes: Cold (120 minutes, 25% chance of permanent removal)
¡¤ Adds: Invigorated (30 minutes)
¡¤ +10 Immunity (60 minutes)
¡¤ +70 Hunger
¡¤ +60 Thirst
¡¤ Special Effect: +15 Immunity, +10 HP regeneration/min, Adds Energetic status (60 minutes)
The effects were potent, amplified by the ginseng and the Level 2 kitchen''s bonus. He devoured the soup, the warmth spreading through his body. The hideout was a comfortable temperature, but the soup added an extra layer of warmth, a pleasant, invigorating heat.
He finished the bowl, letting out a satisfied belch. Two new icons appeared in his status bar: Invigorated and Energetic. He felt a surge of energy.
Damn, it''s nighttime. Too late to sleep now. The rain had stopped two hours ago. He opened the hideout door, testing the air. The Mutton Stew had negated the chill. The air felt cool and refreshing. The station floor was damp, but the water had mostly receded.
He decided to take advantage of the Invigorated buff and explore the hospital. He equipped his usual gear, swapping his Level 4 armor for the Level 5 Tactec plate carrier. He chose the MP5 with AP 3 ammunition to save space, along with his knife and three grenades. He equipped the 35-slot Camel backpack, bringing his total carrying capacity to 58. He donned the black face mask, digital headset, and night cloak, pulling up the hood.
He stepped out of the hideout. The tunnel was still flooded, so he opted for the surface streets. Thankfully, the moon was still hidden behind clouds. The city was cloaked in darkness.
He moved silently through the deserted streets, avoiding puddles and debris. The air was colder than he''d expected, but the Invigorated buff kept him warm. He heard occasional gunshots in the distance.
Twenty minutes later, he reached the hospital. The building was dark, except for a few lights on the top floor of the main building. His mental map showed three refugees resting up there. He ignored them, heading for the emergency room.
Inside, four or five stainless steel gurneys lay scattered across the floor, amidst a jumble of medical equipment and paperwork. He pocketed a stray sterile bandage. His mental map highlighted the remaining loot. He moved methodically through the rooms, collecting what he could.
The hospital had already been thoroughly looted. Only scraps remained. He found a few useful items: bandages (both sterile and regular), a portable defibrillator, a CAT tourniquet, hemostatic agents, splints, sutures, surgical tools, disinfectant, alcohol, gauze, cotton balls¡ He also found a thermometer and, to his delight, a few syringes. He''d only found five adrenaline syringes in Black Dog''s stash. Here, in a discarded medical tray, he found two morphine syringes and another adrenaline syringe.
[Morphine Syringe]Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website.
Type: Injectable
Description: A single-use syringe filled with a large dose of morphine. Used to treat acute and chronic severe pain.
Size: 1x1
Uses: 1/1
Positive Effects:
¡¤ Removes: Contusion, Pain (305 seconds)
¡¤ Adds: Invigorated (305 seconds)
Negative Effects:
¡¤ -10 Stamina
¡¤ -10 Thirst
Note: Cannot be used until after the first Apocalypse Event.
The morphine syringe focused on pain relief, with a longer duration than the adrenaline syringe, but without the performance-enhancing effects. And the side effects were less severe.
He''d finished clearing out the emergency room. A decent haul, especially the syringes. He crossed the glass walkway to the clinic, heading straight for the pharmacy. His mental map showed several loot markers there.
The pharmacy was a mess. Shelves lay overturned, medicine boxes and prescription slips scattered across the floor. He followed the markers on his map, retrieving pills from under shelves, behind cabinets, and in dark corners: ibuprofen, dipyrone, amoxicillin, and a bottle labeled simply "Assorted Pills." He collected them all. The dipyrone, with its pain-relieving and fever-reducing properties, would be invaluable during the blizzard. He found three bottles, fifty pills each, a total of 150.
He pocketed the pills, a valuable addition to his medical supplies, then continued his search, room by room, dismantling any computer workstations he found, hoping for graphics cards.
He was on the second floor when he stopped. Two red dots had appeared on his map on the first floor. Refugees? He wasn''t sure. Their movements were too deliberate, too cautious. They were searching for something, or someone.
He pressed himself against the wall, his cloak and stealth skill muffling any sound he made. He crept towards a large potted plant near the stairwell, crouching behind its broad leaves, and peered down at the first floor.
He could just make out two figures moving slowly through the darkness. Their footsteps were almost silent, like the cultist he''d encountered. They were clearly experienced in stealth movement. If not for his mental map, they would have spotted him already.
They finished searching the first floor, then ascended the stairs on opposite sides, meeting at the landing near the potted plant.
"No refugees here. Should we just grab the item and go?"
"No. The client said opening that hidden door makes a lot of noise. If there are any refugees on these floors, we''ll be trapped."
"Fine. You take the left, I''ll take the right. Shout if you find anything."
"Okay."
They split up. Thomas, hidden barely a meter away, exhaled slowly. That was too close. He was practically a potted plant ninja. If not for the plant''s cover and his gear, they would have spotted him for sure. He hadn''t even dared to breathe too loudly.
He''d overheard their conversation, though. A hidden door¡an item¡a client¡ This sounded promising.
He opened his mental map, locating a large office on the third floor, labeled "Director''s Office." He zoomed in, finding a small, square-shaped room, marked as a hidden compartment. Several loot markers were inside. The compartment door was incredibly thick, at least thirty centimeters. Impossible to open conventionally. The key, or whatever method was needed to open it, was likely on those two men.
The mention of a client suggested they were mercenaries or something similar. And their stealth skills were far superior to any refugee he''d encountered. They were clearly trained professionals.
This is getting interesting. He watched their movements on the map, a plan forming.
He slipped away from the potted plant, following them at a distance. While they were searching a row of examination rooms, he took the stairs to the third floor. The most dangerous part was over.
He reached the Director''s Office. He tried the door handle. Unlocked. He slipped inside, closing the door behind him. The office was a mess, papers scattered everywhere, overturned furniture, discarded lab coats. Food and drinks lay on the coffee table. He ignored them. His mental map showed the two men approaching the third floor.
He scanned the room, his eyes landing on a large potted plant in the corner, its broad leaves providing ample cover. Potted plant ninja 2.0.
He slipped behind the plant, the cloak and mask rendering him practically invisible in the shadows. He became one with the darkness.
A click. The door opened.
Ch. 21: Medical Station Blueprints and a Key to Secrets
Thomas Smyth watched, concealed. The two figures, their flashlights cutting through the room''s darkness, swept over him. The dense foliage of the Paradise Palm provided perfect cover. They were focused, intent on their objective.
"Find the hidden room yet?" one hissed.
"Yeah, the client said the switch is by the desk, on the side."
The first man reached the desk, his fingers finding the inconspicuous button with practiced ease. Under their watchful gazes, the button clicked. A section of the bookcase whirred, grinding against the floor as it rotated, revealing a small, square room. Barely a meter wide.
"Got it!" The flashlight beam pierced the darkness, illuminating a gleaming safe within. Thomas felt a pang of both annoyance and relief. "Annoyance at the hospital director''s precautions ¨C a hidden room and a safe?" Relief that he hadn''t attacked prematurely. Finding the switch would have been one thing, cracking that safe another entirely.
One of the men produced a peculiar key, fifteen centimeters long and intricately carved.
"Keep watch. This lock is complicated. Two minutes."
"Got it." The lookout turned towards the corridor, scanning for any sign of trouble.
His partner, a miniature flashlight clenched between his teeth, crouched before the safe. He inserted the ornate key, his other hand meticulously manipulating the dial. Clicks and whirring filled the room, punctuated by the subtle scrape of equipment against clothing.
Thomas, moving silently through the palm''s fronds, reached the wall behind the lookout. He held his breath, waiting.
"Are you done yet? Hurry up!"
"Almost! Almost!"
The lookout started to turn, but a hand clamped over his mouth. A stiletto flashed, a swift, silent cut.
"Got it! What was that noise? Keep it down!" The lockpicker, triumphant, swung around at the sound of a thud. A dark shape lunged at him.
Pfft. Pfft. Pfft. Thud. The muffled gunshots echoed briefly.
Thomas, breathing heavily, swept the safe''s contents into his backpack. He quickly bandaged his leg, stemming the blood flow, and popped an ibuprofen. The pain receded. Finally.
He was pale, sweat plastering his forehead. It hurt.
Working fast, he looted the bodies, stuffing his pack until it bulged. Two rifles, too large for the bag, were slung over his back. He moved towards the ground floor, constantly checking for movement from the three looters upstairs. They remained oblivious.
Reaching the emergency room lobby, he swallowed another painkiller and pulled out his emergency surgical kit. These weren''t your average looters. Even with the element of surprise, the second man had reacted fast. Two bullets in the leg. Lucky it wasn''t the chest or head. Game over.
He extracted the bullets, carefully bandaged the wounds. His precarious health bar slowly began to refill. The Pain, Bruised status effects vanished, replaced by Fresh Wound.
It had been risky, but successful. He had the prize, plus two new sets of gear. His depleted supplies were replenished.
Five minutes later, the Fresh Wound status disappeared. He didn''t linger. Sticking to the shadows, he made his way back to his hideout, hyper-aware of his surroundings.
Near Garden Station, rain began to fall, quickly turning to sleet. The ground became slick with ice. The warming effects of the Nourishing Mutton Stew had long worn off. Despite the exertion, a chilling cold seeped into his bones. He was sweating, losing heat, while the icy air clawed at his pores. The uncomfortable dichotomy of internal heat and external cold made him shiver.Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
Finally, inside the station tunnel¡
"Achoo! Achoo!"
Back in his hideout, unloading his haul, the sneezing continued. No [Chill] status yet, but years of experience told him it was coming. Serves me right, he thought ruefully.
Minutes later, the dreaded [Chill] icon appeared.
Thankfully, he''d made a double batch of stew. He reheated the second bowl, devouring the meat and broth. Warmth spread through him. The shivering stopped. His legs steadied. The ache in his joints eased. Bliss.
The stew hadn''t triggered the perfect [Chill] removal, but it granted him two precious hours of healthy status. He felt a surge of optimism about the stew''s market potential.
1:00 AM. Riding the stew''s warmth, he fell into a deep sleep.
Elsewhere, in a hidden room, someone waited for the promised delivery.
"Trelin, when did those two leave? Why aren''t they back?"
"Sir, perhaps they encountered¡ complications. That''s Mad Dog''s territory. And the hospital¡ I hear they have people stationed there."
Day Six of the Apocalypse.
Thomas Smyth awoke with a throbbing headache, his body a symphony of aches and pains. His joints, in particular, felt like unoiled machinery, protesting with every movement.
A cough ripped through his throat, raw and painful. He shook his head, trying to clear the fog, but his brain felt like sludge, sloshing around in his skull.
He checked his status. [Chill], [Fever], [Bacterial Infection]. Three bright red icons mocked him.
He stumbled to the kitchen, starting another batch of mutton stew. While it simmered, he lit the fireplace, cursing his forgetfulness. The cold night had exacerbated his illness. The radiating heat slowly eased his shivering.
He drank two cups of hot water, then swallowed an ibuprofen and an amoxicillin. The pain subsided. The [Fever] and [Bacterial Infection] icons vanished.
Minutes later, he savored the stew, feeling life flow back into him. A surge of relief washed over him as he noticed the [Chill] icon was gone. He''d hit the 25% chance of perfect removal.
His body was recovering, but the drain on his stamina remained. He needed rest.
"This is rough," he muttered, pulling on the rabbit-fur greatcoat despite the [Invigorated] buff. He took the indoor thermometer outside. After a few minutes, it read 3¡ãC. Close to freezing.
He sighed. Day six, and it was already this cold. Snow tomorrow, probably. The hardest part was just beginning.
He checked the chat channel. The grim news confirmed his fears. Over 3,000 dead overnight, mostly from hypothermia-induced Chill, picked off by looters or wild animals. Desperate pleas for help scrolled past, unanswered. The first wave of the extreme cold had taken its toll.
There were attempts to organize mutual aid, but self-preservation reigned supreme. Nobody was willing to risk their own survival for a stranger. In this apocalyptic game, survival was the only rule. Morality, law, shame ¨C all irrelevant.
Thomas wasn''t about to play the saint. He was just trying to survive, to carve out a comfortable existence in this hellish new world. He respected those who chose selflessness, but he wouldn''t burden himself with others'' problems.
His grim reflections were interrupted by a surge of excitement. He hurried to the kitchen, laying out the ingredients for the [Nourishing Mutton Stew]. Every second counted. This was his chance.
He contacted Sandy about the five sheep he''d pre-ordered. She was just leaving, she said. Two hours.
He used the time to examine the loot from the hospital director''s office. Two blueprints. Jackpot. Blueprints were the fastest way to gain power in this world.
[Medical Workbench Construction Blueprint]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect: Construct a Medical Workbench in your hideout to craft medical items.
Requirements: Level 1 Generator, Level 1 Water Collector, Level 1 Bathroom, 50,000 Apocalypse Coins, Beaker x1, Test Tube x1, Tourniquet x1, Surgical Kit x1, Ibuprofen x1
Construction Time: 30 minutes
---
[Medical Workbench Modification Blueprint ¨C Medical Station]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect: Upgrade the Medical Workbench to the advanced Medical Station.
Requirements: Level 1 Generator, Level 1 Medical Workbench, Level 2 Bathroom, Level 2 Ventilation System, 200,000 Apocalypse Coins, Medical Intelligence Document x1, Assorted Pills x3, Sterile Bandages x5, Tourniquets x4, Surgical Kit x2, Blood Transfusion Kit x1, Portable Defibrillator x1
Construction Time: 120 minutes
The requirements for the Medical Station were daunting. The portable defibrillator, especially. He''d been lucky to find one in the hospital.
But the complexity also hinted at the station''s potential. He had everything he needed. He cleared a space in his hideout and started construction on the Medical Workbench. Thirty minutes, then the upgrade.
The Medical Intelligence Document, also from the safe, was the third item. Another stroke of luck.
The final item was a white keycard, stamped with the letters "CBS."
[CBS Laboratory Access Keycard]
Type: Laboratory Key
Size: 1x1
Use: Grants one-time access to the CBS Laboratory.
The word "laboratory" jolted him. He remembered Black Dog''s diary entries. The laboratory, possibly producing the Transformation Potion used to create the cultists. And Black Dog''s uncle, the shadowy figure pulling the strings of Sparrow City''s looters and cultists, was somehow connected to it. Now, the hospital director had a keycard. The city, the laboratory, the director¡ it was all intertwined.
"And that mysterious client," Thomas mused, his eyes narrowing. There was more to this than met the eye.
Ch. 22: A Stew that Shook the World
Thomas suspected he knew the mysterious client''s identity. The duo''s knowledge of the director''s office, the key, the combination¡ it all pointed to someone intimately familiar with the hospital''s inner workings. The director himself? Ninety percent probability.
He glanced at the CBS keycard. Was this their target? He pondered, but the puzzle remained unsolved. He shrugged it off. The keycard was his now. He''d deal with the consequences later.
First, inventory. The duo''s gear was next. The weapons, fitted with suppressors, were the real prize.
[Stechkin APS Suppressed Automatic Pistol] x2
Type: Pistol
Size: 4x1
Recoil: Vertical: 205, Horizontal: 138
Effective Range: 50 meters
Firing Modes: Semi-Automatic/Full-Automatic
Rate of Fire: 750
Accuracy: 11.11
Ammo: 9x18mm PM
Magazine: APS 9x18mm PM 20-round standard
---
[PP-91-01 Kedr-B Suppressed Submachine Gun] x2
Type: Submachine Gun
Size: 3x2
Recoil: Vertical: 38, Horizontal: 162
Effective Range: 100 meters
Firing Modes: Semi-Automatic/Full-Automatic
Rate of Fire: 900
Accuracy: 6.88
Ammo: 9x18mm PM
Magazine: PP-91 9x18mm PM 30-round standard
---
Tools of stealth and assassination. Perfect for his nocturnal scavenging runs. He''d experienced the suppressed pistol''s effectiveness firsthand. He stowed the weapons carefully, replacing his old sidearm with one of the Stechkins. Thankfully, they all used the same 9x18mm ammo.
The rest of their gear yielded two Level 3 ballistic vests and two 12-slot ammo pouches. Nothing else of note.
Thirty minutes later, the Medical Workbench was complete. He immediately initiated the upgrade to the Medical Station. Then, the daily Super Monopoly roll.
Yesterday''s hospital purchase had earned him 201 Wealth Points, bringing his total to 488. He performed his pre-roll ritual: bathroom break, washing his hands, applying Golden Star Balm, and offering a prayer.
"Lord Guan, God of War and Wealth, grant me luck this day."
He rolled. A three.
[Spend 300 Wealth Points to purchase White Tower Park?]
A park? Intriguing. He confirmed.
His Wealth Points decreased, and the virtual map updated. Parks, unlike stations, cabarets, and hospitals, didn''t directly generate Wealth Points. Instead, they increased the value of his other properties, boosting their daily income. More parks, higher property values, more points.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Excellent.
He checked his messages. The icy rain had taken its toll. Numerous survivors offered trades for food or medicine. He''d churned out several batches of stew ¨C a dozen bowls or so. He considered posting them on the World Channel but decided against it. Sandy''s final sheep delivery was pending. He didn''t want to risk her raising the price. The same logic applied to other potential mutton suppliers. He''d wait.
As he sifted through trade offers, he finally secured the last car battery for the Level 2 Generator upgrade. A can of food and an energy drink sealed the deal. The upgrade began.
A message from Sandy arrived.
Plains - Sandy: Ready to trade. Got ten sheep. You still want five?
City - Thomas: Make it seven.
He depleted his remaining canned goods and snacks, supplementing with some medicine, to complete the trade. His food stocks were low, but the sight of the raw mutton brought a smile to his face.
An hour later, he had twenty-four portions of [Nourishing Mutton Stew] ready. The Medical Station upgrade completed.
[Medical Station] Level 2
Type: Hideout Facility
Effect 1: Restocks random medical items daily at midnight (Current probabilities: Pills 40%, Wound Treatment 30%, First Aid Kit 25%, Injectables 5%).
Effect 2: +25 Immunity, +25 Health, +25 Vitality
Effect 3: 20% chance to craft double the amount of medical items.
---
[Health]: Improves wound healing, reduces fracture chance, lowers stamina and water consumption.
[Vitality]: Reduces bleeding and instant death chance from critical injuries, improves wound healing in combat.
---
"Holy crap, this is amazing!" He''d known the Medical Station, bundled with the lab keycard, was special. But this exceeded his expectations.
The Medical Station, like the Level 2 Bathroom and Kitchen, offered crafting options. Low-value medical items could be combined to create higher-value ones.
Surgical Kit + Car First Aid Kit = Emergency Surgical Kit
Assorted Pills + Sterile Bandages + Tourniquet = IFAK
Tool Kit + Magnet + Wire + Capacitor + Power Bank = Defibrillator
¡and more. The crafting list was extensive. A sustainable source of advanced medical supplies. And with the chance of double output¡ pure profit.
Low-grade medical items had always been undervalued. Surgical Kit, Assorted Pills¡ useless on their own. Now, they were valuable resources. He''d focus on acquiring them. A long-term investment. Plus the daily restock¡
The restock probabilities revealed the item tier system. Pills were the most common, their effects limited and short-lived. His most valuable pills were the ibuprofen, useful for the current cold snap, but their value would plummet after the blizzard.
The real prizes were the injectables and advanced medical kits. His hunch had been correct. Injectables would be highly sought after, their potent effects commanding high prices.
Satisfied, he loaded the station with his low-grade medical supplies, initiating all crafting recipes.
Two hours later, the Generator reached Level 2. Smaller, quieter, more efficient. The battery allowed it to store excess power, shutting down automatically when full and restarting when the charge dropped to 20%. Electricity independence.
But a new problem arose. The only remaining requirement for the Intelligence Center was Classified Intelligence. A rare commodity. Two days, and no one had offered it for trade. He was convinced the Intelligence Center was crucial for his development, but none of the trade requests offered it. Plenty of offers for the Looter Treasure Chest components, though, most at exorbitant prices. He made a few reasonable trades, ignoring the rest.
"Today," he decided. "The Intelligence Center gets built today."
He posted a picture of the Nourishing Mutton Stew on the World Channel. He''d find someone willing to trade.
City - Thomas: [Image of Nourishing Mutton Stew] x1. Conquer the extreme cold! Survive the freeze! Your last hope before the dawn! Removes [Chill] status. Your second chance at life! Limited quantity! First come, first served! Trading for rare items or Classified Intelligence ONLY. DM with offers.
He duplicated the message in the regional chat, then sent two portions to Ben Walker.
Thomas: Two for you, buddy. Just in case.
It wasn''t altruism. He owed Ben. Two grenades for a life-saving recipe. Besides, he had plenty to spare. And he liked Ben. The guy was resourceful. Better to have him as a friend than an enemy.
Ben''s reply was instant.
Ben: Holy crap, dude! Is that the recipe I sold you? It''s that good?!
Thomas: The one and only. Regretting it now? A test.
Ben: Nah, no regrets. You''re the one with a Level 2 Kitchen! This thing''s only valuable for a few days. If the next disaster is a heatwave, it''s worthless. So, no, no regrets.
Ben: Hey, you got more, right? Don''t sell out! Save me a few bowls. I''ll buy more when I''m done with these.
Thomas smiled. He liked Ben''s pragmatism.
Thomas: Consider it done.
Ben: Thanks, man!
As predicted, the World and regional channels exploded. The [Nourishing Mutton Stew] was a bombshell. The chat went into meltdown.
Ch. 23: Channel Chaos and Thomass Disdain
City - Julian Rivers: Holy moly¡ what did I just see?!
Plains - Xander Reynolds: Wow, it''s the Legend Smyth again! That food''s insane! A true cold killer.
Forest - Howie Wang: ??? Legend Smyth, why didn''t you offer this before? I''m so regretful! So dead!
City - Zachary Lexington: What''s going on? What food is that? I''ve never seen it. Have you?
Wasteland - Ethan Gallagher: Legend Smyth, I''m dying! Can you spare some? I''ve got the Chill.
The regional chat mirrored the World Channel''s frenzy. Astonishment at Thomas''s miraculous food. The Chill remover. Since yesterday, everyone had felt the bite of the extreme cold. Many were already afflicted, huddled and shivering in their hideouts. This food was a lifeline.
But few possessed rare items or Classified Intelligence. Desperation bred desperation. The darker side of human nature began to surface. Not just on the World Channel, but in the regional chat too. Snide remarks and accusations flew.
Plains - Sandy: Isn''t that stew made from the sheep I sold you? A private message from Sandy. Unsurprising.
City - Thomas: Yes.
Plains - Sandy: No wonder you wanted so many! You owe me a cut of your profits!
Thomas laughed. Good thing he''d waited. The trade was complete. She wanted a cut now? Delusional.
City - Thomas: You''re dreaming. Did you hit your head while sheep-herding?
Plains - Sandy: You''ll regret this!
Thomas smirked. He ignored her, focusing on the legitimate trade offers.
Minutes later, a message from Ben, with a screenshot attached.
Plains - Sandy: This Thomas guy is a rip-off! He got the mutton from me for next to nothing and now he''s charging a fortune! No conscience! If I had his resources, I''d offer it cheap, or even give it away! Greedy profiteer!
Ben: Dude, she''s bad-mouthing you. Exploiting the one-message-per-day rule.
Thomas checked the World Channel. Sandy had rallied the disgruntled, twisting the narrative. The regional chat followed suit. The tide of public opinion was turning against him.If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
He noticed something. The most vocal accusers had all sent him trade requests. Hypocrites. Trying to sabotage his sales so they could lowball him later.
*Thomas: You used your World Channel message yet?*
*Ben: Nope.*
Thomas sent Ben some items and a pre-written message.
City - Ben: Bunch of hypocrites. Check the trade logs. See who''s really screwing you over. Don''t be played. And Legend Smyth asked me to relay this: everyone spreading those lies is blocked. Permanently. And Sandy, you want to help people? Anyone without food can contact you. You''ve got a massive stockpile, right? [8 screenshots of Thomas and Sandy''s trade logs] [6 screenshots of trade requests to Thomas]
Silence. Then, shock. The sheer volume of the mutton trade ¨C over 100 units of food, mostly canned goods and energy bars, plus 40-50 units of precious medical supplies ¨C stunned everyone. A king''s ransom. Most survivors barely had 20-30 units of anything. Medical supplies were even scarcer.
The screenshots revealed Sandy''s demands and threats. Her greed was exposed. She''d gotten a great deal, then tried to extort more. And now she was playing the victim.
The survivors weren''t fooled. They turned on Sandy, their private messages flooding her inbox. The same fate awaited the other instigators, their identities revealed by their trade requests.
Some still tried to guilt-trip Thomas, but the evidence of his massive expenditure silenced them. He''d earned his profit.
The tide turned completely. Public opinion swung back in his favor.
Thomas barely noticed. He''d just wanted to minimize the hassle. He didn''t care what they thought. The items were his. His rules. Take it or leave it. He could wait. Could they?
With the troublemakers blocked, the remaining trade requests were manageable. A smile spread across his face.
"Finally."
A trade offer. A red folder filled with papers.
[Classified Intelligence]
Type: Intelligence Item
Size: 2x1
Description: A folder containing various documents. May be useful to certain individuals.
---
"Yes!" He accepted the trade, despite the high price: a bowl of stew and a bottle of amoxicillin. The other survivor was clearly ill. He didn''t want to wait. He had plenty of amoxicillin, and the Medical Station could make more.
He held the folder, a wave of relief washing over him. It had been a long time coming.
He gathered the remaining components for the Intelligence Center. He selected a location. Construction began.
The construction screen displayed a 24-hour timer. 1:30 PM. Tomorrow, Day Seven, at 1:30 PM, it would be complete. He was practically vibrating with anticipation, but all he could do was wait. He hadn''t been this excited about anything in a long time.
The morning''s work had left him hungry. He skipped the stew, opting for heated milk and beef jerky. He replenished the fireplace, then stretched out on the heated kang, falling asleep.
The World Channel had moved on from Sandy, back to trading and complaining. The City survivors were struggling, especially those with underground hideouts. Not everyone had upgraded their security doors to Level 2 with waterproofing like Thomas. Their hideouts were flooded, freezing in the sub-zero temperatures.
"They''re not going to last," he thought grimly.
He stored the newly crafted stew. Despite the evidence of his expenses, few were offering rare items. Mostly common supplies. He wasn''t worried. He had time.
He restocked the kitchen with stew ingredients, maximizing the crafting queue. Enough to last until morning. He did the same for the Medical Station, appreciating the auto-stacking feature.
Time passed. 10:00 PM. A red dot appeared on the map, moving from the Crimson Cabaret towards Garden Station through the subway tunnels.
"Huh?" Thomas was instantly alert. Something was wrong.
Ch. 24: Repelling the Invader, The Mosins Debut
"This subway station has become Grand Central for all the crazies lately," Thomas muttered, quickly donning his gear. Two minutes later, he was fully equipped.
He hesitated, then swapped his MP5 for the Mosin-Nagant. He chambered a 7.62x54mm Level 3 armor-piercing round, loaded four more into the internal magazine, and slung the rifle over his shoulder. He pulled the hood of his Shadow Cloak over his head and melted into the darkness.
The red blip on his mental map had just emerged from the tunnel into the station''s main hall. Thomas waited, concealed behind a massive pillar near his hideout entrance.
The crunch of boots on ice grew closer, accompanied by a beam of light and a distinct red laser.
"A laser sight! Fancy," Thomas thought, pressing himself deeper into the shadows. This invader was well-equipped. Tactical accessories were still rare, even for him.
The invader moved quickly, clearly not expecting company. He swept his flashlight across intersections before moving on.
As he passed Thomas''s pillar, heading towards the tunnel on the opposite side, Thomas peeked out. The invader was a seasoned fighter, decked out in high-end gear. His primary weapon, bristling with attachments, was particularly impressive. He wore a light ballistic vest, protecting only his chest and back.
Once the invader was fifty meters out, Thomas crept to the side of the pillar and lay prone on the cold marble floor. He brought the Mosin-Nagant to his shoulder, the icy chill seeping through his clothes. He forced himself to breathe slowly and steadily.
He looked through the 4x scope. The invader, now sixty meters away, filled the view. He adjusted the magnification, centering the crosshairs on the enemy''s chest. He hesitated, then shifted his aim to the head. He couldn''t risk the vest having high-level plates.
He held his breath, compensating for the slight sway of the invader''s head as he walked. He waited for the perfect moment.
The invader took a step, paused for a fraction of a second before the next. BANG!
The Mosin roared, the sound echoing through the station. Through the scope, Thomas saw the flashlight clatter to the floor. He grinned, quickly removing his Digital Earmuffs. The earmuffs had dampened the shot, but his shoulder still throbbed from the recoil.
He checked himself for injuries, then slung the Mosin and headed towards the body. The red blip was gone.
Twenty meters out, he saw a headless corpse illuminated by the fallen flashlight. He hurried forward. The bullet had hit the invader''s neck, severing the head cleanly. It lay a couple of meters away.
The gruesome sight made Thomas gag, but he quickly regained control. He looted the body and hurried back to his hideout. He returned to meticulously erase any trace of his presence, then retreated back inside.
He ignored the looted gear for now, focusing on the invader''s backpack and pouches. He hoped to find a clue as to why they were there.
Inside a pouch, he found a map.
[Sparrow City White Tower District Hospital Floor Plan]Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
Type: Intel Item
Inventory Size: 2x1
Description: A detailed floor plan of the City Hospital. Might be of interest to certain individuals.
The hospital director''s office was marked in red. It all clicked into place. This was likely the client from the botched hospital job, sending another agent after the keycard.
Thomas sighed. His list of enemies was growing. He was thankful for his anonymity.
He found another map, identical to his own White Tower District map, but this one marked the "Sparrow City Opera House" as "HQ." Another refugee gang. Apparently, marking your headquarters on a map was standard practice. This map was a welcome replacement for the one he''d used to build the Intel Center.
But the most intriguing find was a key, blood-red in color.
[Abandoned Factory Rune Key]
Type: Abandoned Factory Key
Use: Unlocks a marked room on the second floor of the Abandoned Factory in Sparrow City''s White Tower District.
Description: A mysterious key to a door in the Abandoned Factory. Bears strange symbols.
The key felt ominous. He tucked it away and examined his next find ¨C a letter.
"Ghostface, I can finally contact you. The Butcher has betrayed you. He captured the hospital director, your brother, to get the lab access keycard. But something went wrong last night. The two wanderers sent to retrieve the keycard disappeared!"
"Ghostface, when can I embrace the Lord? I have prepared a room on the second floor of the Abandoned Factory, ready for the ritual. I await your response. ¨C The Saber."
"Holy shit¡" Thomas was stunned. Refugee gang warfare, corporate espionage, and cultist conspiracies? This apocalypse was getting complicated.
So, The Saber was a double agent, working for Ghostface while pretending to be loyal to The Butcher. And he wanted to become a cultist. Ambitious.
The key was likely for The Saber''s room in the factory. And the two men at the hospital weren''t sent by the director, but by The Butcher, targeting the lab keycard. The director, Ghostface''s brother, was The Butcher''s captive.
"What is so special about this lab?" Thomas wondered. "What kind of experiments are they running?"
He made a note of his questions, then turned to the looted gear.
The primary weapon was an AK-101, decked out with a tactical flashlight/laser combo, a muzzle brake, a 2x32 scope, and a foregrip. Thomas hefted the weapon, impressed. The scope was especially nice, allowing for quick transitions between close and long-range engagements.
The rest of the gear was unremarkable. The Level 4 armor was beneath his current setup. The pistol and knife were standard issue. The only other item of interest was two grenades in the invader''s pouch.
[RGO Grenade] x2
Type: Throwable Weapon
Inventory Size: 1x1
Detonation Delay: 0.3 seconds on impact (3.5 seconds if no impact)
Throwing Strength: 55
Blast Radius: 2-7 meters
Concussion Radius: 12 meters
Shrapnel: 85xF1 fragments
Description: An impact-fused grenade designed for close-quarters combat.
"Now this is interesting," Thomas thought. Impact-fused grenades. Like super-deadly slap bracelets. Perfect for close-quarters combat, but risky to use.
It was almost midnight. Thomas tidied up and went to bed.
The frigid air of the early polar vortex gripped Sparrow City. Fires raged in the refugee camps, fueled by furniture and books. The power flickered, unstable in the cold. Survivors caught outside huddled in abandoned buildings, shivering in the darkness, too afraid to risk fire or light. Desperate pleas for help filled the chat channels, mostly unanswered.
Thomas woke up on day seven. He shivered as he climbed out of bed. The fire in his fireplace had died down, and the hideout was cold. He rekindled the fire and checked the chat channels. He froze, then went to wash up.
Over five hundred survivors had died overnight. The temperature had plummeted to -10¡ãC. Photos in the chat showed a city shrouded in dark clouds, wind whipping through the streets. The blizzard was coming.
Panic filled the chat channels. No one dared venture outside. The fear of illness compounded the dangers of the cold. A few opportunistic survivors hawked overpriced warming supplies.
Thomas, seeing the messages, posted his Nourishing Mutton Stew offer in the chat. He checked the Medical Station, finding only three bandages. He then opened the Super Monopoly screen, rubbing his hands together. This was the last day before the disaster. He needed a big win.
"Lord Guan, God of War and Wealth, grant me good fortune today!"
He rolled the dice. It stopped.
[2]
His miniature avatar hopped two spaces, landing on a gift box.
"Survivor receives a gift ¨C [Living Vine]."
Ch. 25: A Bloodstained Letter, The Intel Center Awakens
The system notification left Thomas dumbfounded. "A¡ breathing what? A pothos?!!"
As he stared, a lush, green pothos plant materialized before him.
[Living Pothos (Mother Vine)]
Type: Rare Plant
Effect 1: Purifies the air within a 3-meter radius, removing gaseous pollutants, microorganisms, radiation, and particulate matter, converting them into growth factors for the mother vine and breathable oxygen.
Effect 2: Requires 1000ml of purified water daily. Under sufficient hydration, produces a new pothos sprout every three days (sprouts possess Effect 1 but cannot reproduce). Reproduction time decreases with sufficient growth factors.
Description: A peculiar plant from¡ somewhere. You might find it useful in certain environments.
Thomas''s confusion turned to awe. This wasn''t just any houseplant. Its value in toxic or plague-ridden environments would be immeasurable.
He placed the pothos on the coffee table. The air in the rest area, including the kitchen, felt noticeably fresher.
He watered the plant with 1000ml of purified water from his purifier. The leaves unfurled, a vibrant green, rustling softly as if stirred by an unseen breeze.
His wealth points had increased by 303 thanks to yesterday''s park acquisition, bringing his total to 791.
He ate a bowl of Nourishing Mutton Stew, restoring his energy, then made a cup of tea and settled down to review trade offers.
The plunging temperatures had taken their toll. Many survivors were suffering from the cold, or perhaps just facing the reality of their situation. There were more trade offers than usual, and the quality was better. Rare items were still scarce, but not nonexistent.
Two survivors offered graphics cards, which Thomas had recently added to his wishlist. He needed to prepare for the coming blizzard.
He happily accepted the graphics cards, bringing his total to four. He was curious to see how they''d be useful later.
He finalized trades with a few other survivors offering rare items, acquiring:
["Island" Inverter Air Conditioner Blueprint] x1
[Gas Mask Crafting Blueprint] x1
[Underground Well Construction Blueprint] x1
[A Bloodstained Letter] x1
He stored the graphics cards and blueprints, then turned his attention to the letter. Dark red stains covered the envelope, which bore no markings.
[A Bloodstained Letter]
Type: Intel Item
Views: 1/1
Description: A letter carefully protected, its contents clearly of great importance.
Thomas carefully opened the envelope. A letter and a key fell out.
"Colonel, I have infiltrated the cultists. They are backed by a mysterious force, using brainwashing and control to turn refugees and survivors into loyal followers. They use a transformation potion to complete the conversion."This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
"The ritual is dangerous, with a survival rate of less than twenty percent. Survivors have a higher chance of success, which is why the cultists are capturing them."
"Sparrow City is the epicenter of their activity. I suspect it''s connected to a lab here."
"I just participated in a ritual. I feel my mind being affected. They have discovered my identity. I am fleeing. If you receive this, investigate. I sent Lov with the encrypted drive. He worked at the Garden Station. I haven''t heard from him since the apocalypse began. I hope he''s alive."
Another undercover agent. And the subway worker mentioned was likely the owner of locker 45, the one with the encrypted drive. Sparrow City was a tangled web of secrets.
Thomas examined the key. The markings looked familiar.
[Blood-Red Key]
Type: Apartment 15 Key
Use: Unlocks room 704 in Apartment 15.
Description: A mysterious key. You might find a use for it.
He compared it to the rune key from the invader. Identical markings. He remembered the candlelight in Apartment 15.
"So that was the ritual," he realized.
He stored the keys. Exploring Apartment 15 or the Abandoned Factory wasn''t a priority right now.
At 1:30 PM, a shimmering light screen faded, revealing the completed Intel Center. A desk with a running laptop, displaying flickering code and images of people and buildings. Files, drives, and maps littered the surface.
He eagerly checked the description.
[Intel Center] Level 1
Type: Hideout Facility
Effect 1: Provides a random piece of intel daily (40% common, 30% valuable, 25% rare, 5% critical).
Effect 2: Predicts the next disaster (1/1 use).
Effect 3: Provides a critical piece of intel (16-hour cooldown).
Next Level: Intel Center Level 2
Upgrade Requirements: Level 3 Hideout Security, Level 3 Ventilation Duct, Level 1 Intel Center, Level 3 Generator, 3 Confidential Intel, 3 Encrypted Drives, 5 Power Cables, 2 SSDs.
Upgrade Time: 4 hours.
Current Status: Cannot upgrade (requirements not met).
"What?!" Thomas stared at the screen, disbelief etched on his face. He''d anticipated many possible Intel Center abilities, but not this. Predicting the next disaster.
"Holy shit¡ am I the protagonist now?" he muttered, goosebumps erupting on his arms.
It took him ten minutes to calm down. The feeling of having a crucial advantage in the apocalypse was overwhelming.
"Thank god I built this today," he thought. "Every day counts."
He accessed the Intel Center''s interface.
"Predict next disaster."
The laptop''s chaotic display flickered, then began playing a video. Images flashed across the screen ¨C grasslands, mountains, forests, coastlines, deserts, cities. He saw survivors scavenging, fighting refugees, even attacking each other.
Then, the sky darkened. Torrential rain began to fall, intensifying rapidly. It flooded coastlines, plains, forests, then cities, deserts, even the highest mountains. The world became a watery grave.
Giant fish, tens of meters long, swam through the submerged ruins, devouring survivors. Ninety-seven percent of the land was underwater. Countless bodies floated on the surface.
The final image showed shimmering, translucent seaweed growing on the seabed and a large shipping container drifting in the current.
The video ended, replaced by text:
Disaster Name: The Great Deluge.
Time Until Disaster: Seven days after the Polar Vortex.
Duration: 5 days.
Disaster Opportunities: Golden Whip Kelp, Random Containers.
The Great Deluge. Thomas stared at the words, his mind reeling. A flood. He was incredibly lucky to have the Intel Center.
His hideout was waterproof, but not floodproof. It wouldn''t withstand the pressure or the prolonged submersion.
The "Disaster Opportunities" caught his eye. The kelp and the containers were clearly valuable, but only obtainable during the flood.
This sparked a new thought. If the Deluge had opportunities, did the Polar Vortex have them too? He was sure of it. Every disaster must have its own unique rewards, hidden and difficult to obtain. It was the game''s way of offering a chance for advancement.
He looked at the Intel Center with renewed appreciation. No wonder it was so sought after.
The prediction function was now on cooldown. He wasn''t worried. He suspected it would recharge after the Intel Center was upgraded to Level 2.
He needed a plan. Two priorities:
Use the Polar Vortex and the mutton stew to trade for flood-related supplies and hideout upgrades.
Find the Polar Vortex''s hidden opportunity.
He started by listing necessary hideout modifications:
Reinforced Door: He needed a flood-proof, pressure-resistant door.
Airlock: A buffer zone between the door and the hideout interior was essential for safe entry and exit during the flood.
Oxygen System and Ventilation: The pothos wouldn''t be enough. He needed a dedicated oxygen generator. The ventilation system needed to be flood-proofed.
Walls and Roof: Reinforcements were needed to withstand the underwater pressure.
Food and water were less of a concern. He had the purifier and the well blueprint.
Next, he needed to consider equipment for underwater travel¡
Ch. 26: A Glacial Lotus and a Deadly Suitcase
Underwater movement required a pressure-resistant diving suit. For combat, firearms were useless underwater. A spear gun, perhaps. Or something more¡ technologically advanced.
Thomas spent two hours meticulously planning for the Great Deluge. His trading priorities were now clear.
The blizzard''s hidden opportunity remained elusive. But he had a theory. If the Golden Whip Kelp appeared in the deadliest part of the flood ¨C the depths ¨C then the blizzard''s equivalent must be¡ the blizzard itself. He''d have to brave the freezing winds and snow to find it. A suicidal prospect, but he had time. Something might turn up.
The regional chat showed the temperature had dropped to -11¡ãC. Everyone was huddled indoors. The chat was flooded with trade offers. He posted his own, offering [Nourishing Mutton Stew] and [Ibuprofen].
Thomas: Staying warm? [Image of Stew] and [Image of Ibuprofen] are your best bet against the cold. Priority trades for hideout upgrade blueprints. Also buying Graphics Cards, Disaster Coins, [Classified Intelligence], etc. DM with offers. Local discounts!
His earlier World Channel post had alerted everyone to the value of graphics cards. Some mocked him for "price gouging," but he didn''t care. Some would always be desperate enough to trade. Survival first, speculation later.
The private messages were mostly underwhelming. He ignored them.
He returned to the Intelligence Center. Two reports awaited. He checked the daily report first.
[A small suitcase will appear under the bench by the central fountain in White Tower Park at 7:00 PM. The combination is 325876. Contains a blueprint.]
Thomas''s eyes lit up. His park. Right behind the subway station. 2:00 PM. Five hours to go.
He accessed the weekly Critical Intelligence report.
[At 11:00 PM on the second day of the Polar Blizzard, a Disaster Wonder ¨C the Glacial Lotus ¨C will appear on the roof of the Sparrow City Trading Center during the peak of the storm.]
A Disaster Wonder. The Glacial Lotus. His theory was correct.
His expression turned grim. That lotus wouldn''t be easy to get. The peak of the blizzard. Unimaginable cold and wind. And the Trading Center. Mad Dog''s territory. A suicide mission.
A 16-hour cooldown timer appeared on the screen.
He studied the map. The Trading Center was close to the Pinewood Hotel, just across the street. 300-400 meters. He estimated Mad Dog''s gang numbered at least a hundred. He couldn''t take them head-on. He''d have to sneak in. A plan began to form.
6:30 PM. Fully equipped, he left the station. Six hours until the blizzard. -20¡ãC. The sky was dark, snow beginning to fall. The mutton stew and his fur coat barely kept the shivering at bay.
He reached the park, concealing himself in the shadows behind a bush near a large maple tree. The bench was five meters away. Nothing underneath.This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.
"7:00 PM," he muttered.
6:55 PM. Two red dots appeared on the map, sprinting towards the fountain. He saw them.
Bang. Bang. The first man fell, dropping a suitcase. The second rushed to grab it.
Just as his hand reached the suitcase, the fallen man rolled over, grabbing his leg. In his hand, a grenade.
"Holy¡" Thomas dove behind the maple, covering his head.
The gunman saw it too.
Bang. Bang. Bang. The fallen man was riddled with bullets. But he''d achieved his goal.
"No¡ no!"
BOOM. The maple tree absorbed the blast, shrapnel thudding into the wood.
Thomas winced. "Should have brought the earmuffs." He hadn''t expected this.
He cautiously approached the scene. Gore and body parts were scattered everywhere. The suitcase lay beneath the bench.
The time: 7:00 PM.
Back in his hideout, Thomas stared at the suitcase. He entered the code.
[325876]
Click.
The suitcase opened, whirring softly. A metal plate bearing the CBS logo lifted, revealing its contents. Thomas felt a chill. A bomb, its red light blinking ominously. A booby trap. The light went out as the plate opened.
Beside the deactivated bomb lay a blueprint, shimmering faintly. Unlike his other blueprints, this one wasn''t paper. It had a metallic sheen, a subtle grid pattern visible from certain angles. High-tech.
He picked it up.
[Human Gene Modification Serum Synthesis Blueprint ¨C Ocean''s Child
Type: Epic Blueprint
Effect: Grants underwater breathing, water manipulation, and pressure resistance.
Requirements: Level 2 Medical Station, Level 2 Intelligence Center, Disaster Wonder x1, Rare Plant x2, Adrenaline Injector x2, Pressure-Resistant Diving Suit x1, Disaster Coin x1.
Synthesis Time: 24 hours.
Description: One of three perfected gene modification serums developed by the CBS Laboratory through extensive human experimentation. Possesses incredible power.]
---
Thomas''s eyes locked onto the words "CBS Laboratory." He looked at the logo on the suitcase. Another product of that lab. One of three.
He wondered about the two men in the park. Their identities remained a mystery. He pushed the thought aside, focusing on the blueprint.
The CBS Laboratory. He finally understood its purpose. Human experimentation. Gene modification. The cultists'' transformation potion. A failed byproduct, perhaps. Explaining their strange abilities.
And Black Dog''s uncle, the city''s puppet master. He must have known. That''s why he''d warned Black Dog against the potion. He knew its dangers.
The hospital director, the uncle''s brother, possessing the [Medical Station[ blueprint¡ It mirrored Black Dog''s story. The uncle, entrusting his most valuable possessions to those he trusted before leaving Sparrow City. And now, both were in Thomas''s hands.
The [Medical Station], the [Intelligence Center]¡ Were they connected to the lab? Too much of a coincidence. The two blueprints, both required for the Ocean''s Child serum.
"Black Dog''s diary," he remembered. "Someone had ordered the [Intelligence Center] blueprint for his uncle."
The [Medical Station], the [Intelligence Center], the [Ocean''s Child] serum¡ all originating from the CBS Laboratory. Sold for profit. The uncle, a middleman, facilitating the transactions. The pieces were falling into place.
His resolve hardened. "I''m making this serum."
An Epic blueprint, recognized by the system. It must be safe. And essential for surviving the Great Deluge. Underwater breathing, water manipulation, pressure resistance¡ It solved his biggest problem.
He had the two required facilities. He just needed to upgrade the Intelligence Center.
The remaining ingredients: two rare plants, a Calamity Coin, two adrenaline injectors, and a pressure-resistant diving suit.
The rare plants were easy. The [Breathing Pothos].
He had the coin and the injectors.
The Disaster Wonder. He knew where and when it would appear. He''d need a plan.
The diving suit. He''d have to rely on trades.
He posted a request in the regional chat. His appearance sparked a flurry of stew inquiries. -22¡ãC. Even with fires, many were struggling.
The regional chat, once 1000 strong, was down to 698. A 30% drop. Over a hundred had succumbed to hypothermia in the last two days. The survivors were resourceful, but the worst was yet to come.
Ch. 27: Day One of the Blizzard and a Blueprint for Hope
Liu Haoyan: Legend Smyth, can you trade more stew?
Cecilia: Yeah, the disaster hits tonight. We''re low on supplies after trading for warm clothes.
Thomas: Stew''s limited. I used most of my supplies to get the ingredients. Trades depend on what you offer. No one''s having it easy.
Thomas: I''ll prioritize our region, but you need something I want. I''m not trading life-saving food for junk. Like that pressure-resistant diving suit. One only. Five bowls of stew for that.
Thomas: And no guilt trips. It''s the apocalypse. You know the rules. Annoy me, you''re blocked. I owe you nothing.
The subtle threats worked. No one wanted to antagonize the sole supplier of [Chill]-curing stew.
Thomas checked his messages. Another graphics card offer. He accepted. Five now.
As midnight approached, a chill seeped into the hideout. The thermometer read 19¡ãC. Down from 25¡ãC at noon. He piled more wood into the fireplace, cranking the heat back up. The outside temperature must be plummeting. Close to -30¡ãC.
He stored the finished stew, restocked the kitchen, and settled down for the night, wrapped in a wool blanket and thick comforter. The pothos rustled gently, purifying the air.
He slept soundly, waking warm and comfortable. But the moment his arm slipped out from under the covers, the cold bit deep.
The fire had dwindled. The hideout''s temperature had dropped. He shivered, pulling on his wool pajamas. 9¡ãC. He stoked the fire, then ate his stew while checking the regional chat.
The blizzard had arrived. 553 survivors. 145 dead overnight. The chat was filled with grief and desperation. His inbox overflowed with messages, some filled with bitter accusations. He deleted them. He wasn''t a savior. He was just trying to survive.
Most messages were stew requests, increasingly desperate. People were offering everything they had. He quickly scanned the offers, setting prices based on their value. One or two bowls each. Take it or leave it.
Then, he saw it. A flicker of excitement.
[Hideout Holographic Barrier Construction Blueprint]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect: Creates a holographic barrier around the hideout, providing camouflage, waterproofing, and moderate defense.
Requirements: Level 3 Generator, Level 3 Hideout Security, Level 2 Hideout Walls, Level 2 Intelligence Center, CPU x1, CPU Fan x2, Circuit Board x3, Graphics Card x2, Electronic Components x5, Phase Control Relay x2, Programmable Processor x1, Electromagnetic Collar x1.
Construction Time: 24 hours.
---
"This¡" He was stunned. A perfect solution for the flood. Waterproofing. No need for other upgrades. The other survivors didn''t know about the flood. This was his chance.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
"I have to get this."
The offer was from 1:00 AM. Twenty bowls of stew. He contacted the sender, unsure if they were even alive.
City - Thomas: You alive? Five bowls of stew, max, for the blueprint. Deal?
No response. He frowned. Dead? He distracted himself with other offers.
Ten minutes later, a reply.
City - Wang Dudu: Too low. Ten bowls. And a bottle of fever medicine if you have it.
[Chill] progressing to fever. He considered. Ten bowls was acceptable, but he sensed an opportunity to push back. His prices were public knowledge.
City - Thomas: No way. That blueprint''s only good for camouflage. The other effects are useless.
City - Thomas: Five bowls and three fever pills. Final offer.
He waited, nervously. He was gambling on their desperation. The more confident he appeared, the better his chances. He was telling the truth. Camouflage was the only useful effect right now. Most hideouts were already hidden. Moderate defense wouldn''t stop a determined attacker. And waterproofing? Completely useless. Except to him.
Minutes later, a trade request.
The trade went smoothly. He stored the blueprint. No rush to build it. After the blizzard.
Two crucial items for the flood secured: the barrier and the serum. Now, to gather the components.
But the Glacial Lotus loomed large. He needed it for the serum. He had to figure out how to get to the Trading Center during the blizzard''s peak.
The regional chat painted a grim picture. -40¡ãC. Survivors freezing to death in their hideouts. Doors frozen shut, sealed by ice. Half a meter of snow on the ground. Every step a monumental effort.
He could use the stew''s [Invigorated] buff, but what if he needed it during combat? He couldn''t just chug stew mid-fight. He needed better cold-weather gear. His fur coat wasn''t enough for -50¡ãC or -60¡ãC.
Transportation and warmth. Today''s priorities.
He checked the Medical Station''s daily restock. Two rectangular packages. A grin spread across his face. A big score.
[Field Surgical Kit]
Type: Trauma Treatment
Size: 3x1
Uses: 15/15
Effect: Removes one [Fracture] or [Gunshot Wound] status.
Description: An advanced surgical kit with superior tools for treating severe injuries in the field.
Note: Only removes one status per use. Further treatment required. Cannot repair head or chest injuries.
---
An upgrade to the [Emergency Surgical Kit]. Fifteen uses instead of five. And it removed [Fracture] as well. A significant improvement.
He stored the kits, then surveyed the Medical Station''s output. A stockpile of medical supplies: [Car First Aid Kits] x23, [Grizzly First Aid Kits] x32, a [Defibrillator], and five [Emergency Surgical Kits]. He stored them all. No one would be venturing out during the blizzard. He''d sell them later, when survivors were scavenging for resources.
He drafted his World Channel post, focusing on transportation, cold-weather gear, and components for the barrier and the serum, including hideout upgrades.
City - Thomas: [Nourishing Mutton Stew] x50, bundled with [Ibuprofen] and [Amoxicillin]. Trading for Motor x5, Mechanical Parts x10, Wire x20, [Classified Intelligence] x5¡ Pressure-Resistant Diving Suit x1, Phase Control Relay x5¡ Low-Grade Medical Supplies¡ Rare Items, Graphics Cards, Valuables¡ Also seeking snow transportation and extreme cold-weather gear. Top prices paid.
He duplicated the message in the regional chat.
The survivors, initially resigned to their fate, perked up. Low-grade medical supplies and electronic components? They flooded him with offers, hoping to trade their useless junk for life-saving stew.
Someone succeeded, posting a triumphant screenshot.
City - Liu Jing: It works! [Screenshots of trade with Thomas] Traded junk for stew! Finally safe! Legend Smyth is a good guy! But don''t bother him with other junk. He only wants medical and electronic stuff.
More and more survivors traded their low-grade medical supplies for stew. The chat channels filled with praise for Thomas, hailing him as a savior of the common survivor. Even though it took a large quantity of supplies to get a single bowl, they were grateful. [Assorted Pills], [Surgical Kit], [Tourniquet], [Capacitor]¡ all useless on their own.
Of course, some remained bitter. Sandy, still nursing her grudge, posted snide remarks. But she was quickly silenced by the other survivors, her inbox once again bombarded with angry messages.
Somewhere on the grasslands, Sandy seethed, her face contorted in rage. "A bunch of sycophants," she snarled. "Licking his boots for a bowl of stew."
Oblivious to the drama, Thomas stared at his screen, a look of astonishment on his face.
Ch. 28: A Fortunate Find and Another CBS Clue
[Cryogenic Freezer Suit]
Type: Rare Item
Material: Multi-layered Taslon, Thermal Microfiber
Effect: Temperature resistance from 0¡ãC to -250¡ãC. Provides freeze, liquid nitrogen, cold, water, and thermal protection.
Movement Penalty: -5%
Description: Specialized protective suit for extreme environments. Suitable for LNG stations, liquefied gas handling, liquid nitrogen/oxygen handling, cold storage, laboratories, and ultra-low temperature environments.
Note: Full protection requires the complete suit: coveralls, hood, gloves, and boots.
---
A grin stretched across Thomas''s face. A -250¡ãC suit. Talk about a lucky find.
He contacted the seller. Their request was simple. They''d found the suit in a freezer warehouse, but they were already suffering from [Chill]. Their heating supplies were gone. The suit couldn''t stop the inevitable. Now, they had a [Fever]. They needed stew to survive.
Thomas traded three bowls of stew, two ibuprofen, two amoxicillin, twenty units of wood, fuel, and a lighter for the suit.
When he retrieved it from his inbox, it was in a large case. The full suit, plus a compressed air tank with a hose and mask. The description explained it. The suit sealed the wearer off from the outside environment, requiring an external air supply.
"Impressive," he thought, carefully storing the suit.
His World Channel offer, allowing trades for low-grade medical supplies, seemed to have encouraged more offers. Or maybe they finally had something he wanted.
Minutes later, another promising offer.
[Husky Brand Electric Snowmobile]
Type: Rare Item
Effect: Fast snow travel. 50kg carrying capacity. Max speed 20km/h. Quiet and durable.
Battery Life: 6 hours at 0¡ãC, 5 hours at -30¡ãC, 4 hours at -70¡ãC.
Charge Time: 10 hours with a Level 2 Generator.
Description: Experience the joy of dog sledding, solo.
---
"Yes!" He couldn''t believe his luck. Both crucial items in one day.
He contacted the seller, haggling over the price. Fifteen bowls of stew. Too much. He frowned. Something felt off.
He didn''t reply, feigning disinterest. He wanted to test their resolve and see if other offers appeared.
Just then, a survivor from the West Coast contacted him, offering something he''d been searching for: a pressure-resistant diving suit.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.
The seller only wanted three bowls of stew and some fever medicine. A steal. The suit was worthless in this weather. But Thomas needed it. He accepted the trade.
[Pressure-Resistant Diving Suit]
Type: Rare Item
Effect: Protects against water pressure up to 500 meters.
Description: Bears the CBS logo. Appears to be of unusual origin.
Note: Requires an oxygen tank for underwater use.
---
"CBS again?" He examined the logo. The third time he''d seen it. The [Laboratory Access Keycard], the suitcase with the serum blueprint, and now this.
He narrowed his eyes. This CBS Laboratory was becoming increasingly intriguing. Its connection to Sparrow City was undeniable. Every faction seemed to be searching for it. And now, an item on the West Coast.
He contacted the seller.
City - Thomas: Where did you find this? Can you tell me more?
West Coast - Liu Cixin: Found it in a storage room at a sanatorium a couple of days ago.
A sanatorium? He frowned. Another piece of the puzzle.
City - Thomas: Thanks. If you find anything else with the CBS logo, contact me. I''ll pay well. He sent an extra bowl of stew.
City - Thomas: A little something for your trouble. Stay safe.
West Coast - Liu Cixin: Will do, Legend Smyth! I''ll let you know.
Liu Cixin, safe in his hideout, stared at the stew, surprised and grateful. A simple answer, rewarded with food. He''d learned something about Legend Smyth. Generosity had its price.
"He wants that CBS stuff," he thought. "I remember seeing more of it at the sanatorium. I''ll go back after the blizzard."
Thomas stored the diving suit, pleased with his progress. Only two requirements left for the serum: the Intelligence Center upgrade and the Disaster Wonder. The upgrade components were being gathered. The lotus would have to wait.
He checked his messages. The snowmobile seller had caved.
Mountains - Wu Jing: Legend Smyth, sorry, typo earlier. Five bowls of stew for the snowmobile. And some fever medicine, whatever you can spare.
Thomas smirked. He waited, sipping his tea by the fireplace.
Ten minutes later.
Mountains - Wu Jing: Three bowls? Can''t go any lower. I broke my leg getting this thing!
Thomas set down his tea.
City - Thomas: Deal.
Three bowls of stew, three ibuprofen, and three amoxicillin later, the snowmobile was his.
It was larger than a regular snowmobile, wider, with two treads in the back and small skis in front. Simple and efficient. He plugged it into the generator. The red light on the dashboard came on. Charging. He smiled.
Transportation and cold protection secured. Now, how to reach the roof of the Trading Center?
"Oh, the Super Monopoly roll!" He almost forgot.
He scrolled through his messages.
City - Thomas: You still there? You mentioned custom woodwork on the World Channel?
Forest - Howie Wang: Legend Smyth! You finally contacted me! What do you need?
City - Thomas: A statue of Lord Guan. About 50 centimeters tall. Eyes closed, stroking his beard, holding his guan dao. Coated in tung oil. And a pedestal for it. Three bowls of stew.
Howie Wang, standing by a roaring fire in his forest hideout, grinned. "My lucky break!"
He paused, a mischievous glint in his eye.
Forest - Howie Wang: You''ll need an incense burner and incense too, right?
City - Thomas: You can make incense? He was genuinely surprised.
Forest - Howie Wang: I know a guy. He''s got tons of it.
City - Thomas: Get it for me. I''ll cover the cost. Plus three ibuprofen and three amoxicillin for you. Half an hour, and I''ll throw in another bowl of stew.
Forest - Howie Wang: You got it, Legend Smyth!
Thomas hadn''t expected this. Incense was hard to come by. Now, he''d have everything he needed for his Lord Guan shrine.
Twenty-nine minutes later, a trade request from Howie. The statue, the pedestal, and a thousand sticks of incense.
Forest - Howie Wang: My friend said it''s for you, so just give what you think is fair. He made it for fun, he said. No big deal.
Thomas didn''t believe that for a second. He added another bowl of stew to the trade.
City - Thomas: Give that to your friend. And thanks. I might need more later.
The trade complete, he placed the statue prominently in his living area, away from the kitchen and bathroom. He filled the incense burner with rolled oats, placed five cans of food as offerings, washed his hands, and lit three sticks of incense. He stood before the statue, his expression solemn¡
Ch. 29: The Shop and a Strategic Purchase
"Lord Guan, I, your humble servant, Thomas Smyth, offer my sincere prayers. Grant me luck and prosperity."
He bowed three times, placing the incense sticks in the burner. The ritual complete, a smile touched his lips.
He opened the Super Monopoly screen and rolled the dice.
A four.
"Four¡ the Shop?"
The fourth space on the board was different this time. A small room, labeled "Shop."
Mini-Thomas landed on the space. The screen changed, displaying three shelves, each with three items and their prices.
[Remote Control Dice] x2: 200 Wealth Points
[Get Out of Jail Free Card] x1: 150 Wealth Points
[Interest Rate Increase (Level 1)]: 1500 Wealth Points
[Chosen One (Trait)]: 2000 Wealth Points
[Rare Pet]: 400 Wealth Points
¡and more.
The array of items was dazzling. A five-minute timer ticked down in the corner. 4:13 remaining.
He checked his points. Another 303 today, plus yesterday''s 791. 1094 total. He scanned the items, searching for a solution to his problem.
[Stay Put Card], [Go to Jail Card], [Shopping Spree Card], [Forced Transaction (Trait)], [Burglar (Trait)], [Build Houses (Trait)], [Special Pass], [Blessing of the God of Fortune], [Curse of the God of Misfortune]¡
He was tempted to buy everything, but his points were limited.
Two minutes left. His eyes stopped on a particular item.
[One-Time Designated Purchase Card
Uses: 1/1
Effect: Forces the purchase of a designated property for an additional 15% fee.
Cost: 250 Wealth Points]
---
He thought for a moment. A smile spread across his face. "This is it."
He bought the card. It appeared in his inventory. 844 points remaining. Enough.
He scanned the Monopoly board. Property information appeared as he hovered over each space.
[Car Dealership], [Post Office], [Ginseng & Black Pearl Restaurant], [Public Restroom]¡
His gaze settled on a high-rise building.
[Sparrow City Trading Center]
"Use [One-Time Designated Purchase Card] on [Sparrow City Trading Center]."
The card glowed, then shot towards the Trading Center space on the board.
[Spend 650 Wealth Points to purchase the Sparrow City Trading Center?]
He grinned.
"Yes."
His points dwindled to 96. The 15% fee had been deducted. Worth it.The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.
A massive blueprint appeared in his mind. The 23-story Trading Center, the vast trading floor, hundreds of rooms. Overwhelming. And the red dots moving within.
"Mad Dog''s lair," he confirmed.
He studied the blueprint, rotating it, zooming in. Most of the activity was concentrated on the lower floors and the trading floor. Living quarters and common areas. A few occupied rooms on the upper floors. Mid-level gang members, probably. Hierarchy reflected in their location.
One occupied room on the 20th floor. The largest, most luxurious suite. People occasionally entered, then quickly left.
"Mad Dog''s room," he concluded.
He spent the rest of the day studying the blueprint, searching for weaknesses, occasionally responding to trade requests.
Inside the Trading Center, Mad Dog was restless. He was in trouble. The Boss''s brother was missing. And one of his guards. He shuddered, imagining the Boss''s wrath.
"More heat!" he roared. "I''m freezing!"
His underlings scrambled to obey, adding more fuel to the furnace. The generator strained to power the air conditioners.
One of them, bundled in a fur coat, spat towards Mad Dog''s door. "So demanding," he muttered. "So many of our brothers dead, and he doesn''t care."
"I miss Black Dog," another said. "He promised to get me into the ritual. I could have been a god!"
"Heard the VIP at the Pinewood disappeared," a third whispered. "That''s why Mad Dog''s so pissed."
The others leaned in. "Tell us more."
"They found the guards dead on the seventh floor. Weapons everywhere. But the VIP was gone. Mad Dog freaked out when he heard."
The looter grinned, glancing at Mad Dog''s door. "His face was priceless." They chuckled.
Across the city, in the Sparrow City Opera House, Kolenty, the Butcher, sat by the fireplace, a cigar clenched between his teeth. He inhaled deeply, the smoke stinging his lungs, chasing away the lethargy.
The windows were frosted over, the cold seeping in despite the roaring fire.
"The Saber''s probably dead," he mused, twirling the cigar. Two days. The Saber should have returned yesterday. But the City Hospital remained silent, swallowing his men whole.
"Is someone watching me?" he wondered. Had someone seen him abduct the Boss''s brother? The thought sent a shiver down his spine. He needed to get rid of this liability. But how?
His eyes lit up. A plan began to form.
Meanwhile, Thomas stared at a peculiar item in a trade offer. A book.
[The Art of Explosives]
Type: Rare Book
Effect: Allows the creation of explosives using various chemical components.
Requirements: Level 2 Bathroom, Level 2 Kitchen, Level 2 Ventilation System.
Description: A practical guide that may prove invaluable in difficult situations.
---
Mining District - Liu Binbin: Legend Smyth, how much stew for this book? Found it in a lab-like room. Beakers, test tubes, chemicals everywhere.
Mining District - Liu Binbin: It''s valuable, right? The requirements are a bit high, but I just need enough to survive the blizzard.
Thomas recognized the description. A blasting room. Probably full of useful materials.
City - Thomas: We can trade. What else did you find in that room?
Mining District - Liu Binbin: You want that junk? I kept it, but no one wants it. [Pictures of chemical equipment] [Pictures of chemical liquids]
Thomas saw the pictures. Beakers, test tubes, stirring rods, Bunsen burners¡ And the chemicals: nitric acid, hydrochloric acid, sulfuric acid, glycerin, cotton, mercury, ethanol¡ He was speechless. Had this guy looted the entire lab?
No wonder no one wanted it. Useless in the current disaster. Liu Binbin had probably intended to keep the book for himself, but desperation had forced his hand.
This saved Thomas the trouble of searching for these materials. And the Mining District¡ there must be unique resources there, like the wood in the forest, the mutton on the grasslands, the salt and fish by the sea. Minerals, probably. This Liu Binbin seemed resourceful. Worth cultivating.
City - Thomas: I''ll take it all. Three bowls of stew, three ibuprofen, three amoxicillin, and three cans of meat. Deal?
Liu Binbin was surprised. He''d expected one or two bowls at most.
Mining District - Liu Binbin: Deal, Legend Smyth! Thank you!
The trade complete, Liu Binbin relaxed. "I''ll be fine now," he thought. "Should have built my hideout in the mine. Too bad about the book, but I only have a Level 1 Kitchen. I''ll never meet the requirements."
Thomas learned the book. It wasn''t what he''d expected. No crafting menu. Instead, a new skill.
[Explosives Crafting]
Type: Rare Life Skill
Description: Allows the creation of various explosives using chemical components, including black powder, emulsion explosives, detonators, nitroglycerin, timed bombs, remote detonated bombs, micro-bombs, etc.
Effects: Increased stability, success rate, and defusal rate. Reduced chance of accidents. 10% chance of bonus effects (30% at max level). 50% reduced crafting and defusal time at max level.
Skill Level: 0/10000
How to Increase Skill: Craft explosives, defuse explosives, use explosives to kill enemies or destroy structures.
Ch. 30: The Delicate Dance of Nitroglycerin
Thomas stared at the [Explosives Crafting] skill description. "Are you sure this isn''t [bomb] crafting?" he muttered.
He opened the skill menu. A long list of recipes, similar to the Medical Station''s crafting list. But there was a crucial difference. The Medical Station, Bathroom, and Kitchen handled the crafting automatically. This skill, however, provided detailed instructions, a step-by-step guide. He''d have to do it himself.
He eyed the top entries: [Nitroglycerin], [Mercury Fulminate]¡ "Seriously? This is a suicide mission." He understood the skill''s emphasis on stability and accident reduction now. He could literally blow himself up.
He felt a pang of regret, then shrugged it off. A rare skill. One of only two he possessed. [Stealth] and this. He had to try.
He contacted Howie Wang, ordering a workbench, a chair, and a four-tiered shelf for the chemicals and equipment. Ten minutes later, the furniture arrived. He paid Howie with an extra bowl of stew. Wood was expensive.
He rearranged his hideout. The fuel corner became his workshop. The shelf went up opposite the workbench. He moved the fuel and wood to the hallway, away from potential explosions.
He opened the [Explosives Crafting] menu, searching for a beginner-friendly recipe. His eyes settled on [Nitrocellulose]. He was familiar with it. A key ingredient in gunpowder. Relatively safe. And he had all the components.
He gathered the necessary equipment and chemicals: beakers, measuring cups, stirring rods, nitric acid, sulfuric acid, and cotton. The workshop area, away from the fireplace, was cooler. 10¡ãC. Perfect.
He took a few deep breaths and began.
Following the instructions, he prepared an ice bath. He carefully measured the nitric acid and sulfuric acid, pouring them into a beaker. The beaker heated up rapidly. His heart pounded. Heat and light were bad signs in explosives crafting.
He plunged the beaker into the ice bath, stirring the mixture until it cooled. He added the cotton, stirring gently. The beaker heated again. Back into the ice bath. He stirred for thirty seconds, monitoring the temperature. 10¡ãC to 20¡ãC. Good.
Now, he waited.
Fifteen minutes later, the nitration was complete. He carefully transferred the nitrocellulose to another beaker, rinsed it repeatedly in the bathroom, then soaked it in a baking soda solution to neutralize any remaining acid. He rinsed it again, tested it with pH paper, then carefully spread it on a wooden board to dry.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
He finally relaxed. And that was just nitrocellulose. The simplest explosive.
He knew it was mostly first-time nerves. He''d get used to it.
The nitrocellulose dried in minutes. Another apparent effect of the game system.
He gathered the dried nitrocellulose, placed a small amount on the floor, and flicked his lighter.
"Here goes nothing."
The nitrocellulose flared brightly, then vanished in a puff of smoke. No residue. If he hadn''t seen it himself, he would have doubted it.
"It worked!" he exclaimed, a surge of satisfaction washing over him. If he could make nitrocellulose, he could make anything.
He remembered a movie scene. A prison break. A tiny explosive, tucked into a hole in the wall, creating a massive breach. Jason Statham, he thought.
He scanned the [Explosives Crafting] menu. A smile spread across his face.
[Remote Detonated Emulsion Explosive]
Requirements: Ammonium Nitrate x2, Sodium Nitrate x3, Petroleum Jelly x1, Paraffin Wax x1, Urea x1, Emulsifier x2, Sensitizer x1¡ Mercury x1, Nitric Acid x2, Ethanol x3¡ Cell Phone x1, Electronic Components x4, Lithium Battery x1, Capacitor x1¡
Instructions: Combine ammonium nitrate¡ in a water-phase mixing tank¡
The list was daunting, but he needed this for the Glacial Lotus.
He checked his supplies. Missing: ammonium nitrate. He posted a request in the regional chat.
Andrew Jackson: Legend Smyth, you need fertilizer?
Thomas: Fertilizer? No. Ammonium nitrate.
Andrew Jackson: Same thing. I''ve got the pure stuff.
Thomas was surprised. He''d heard of starting with fuel, wood, or minerals, but fertilizer?
Andrew Jackson had raided a fertilizer plant early on, stockpiling ammonium nitrate. Thomas traded a bowl of stew for 100 pounds of it.
Just as he was about to end the conversation, he remembered something.
Thomas: You said you cleared out the plant. Find anything that boosts rare plant growth?
A pause.
Andrew Jackson: You have a rare plant? I do have something¡ [Picture of Type I Plant Growth Solution]
[Type I Plant Growth Solution
Type: Rare Item
Effect: Doubles rare plant growth rate and nutrient consumption for seven days.
Description: An early, cost-effective growth solution developed by Titan Laboratories.
Note: Ensure sufficient nutrients are provided after use.]
---
Thomas stared at the description, surprised. He''d asked on a whim. Another laboratory. Titan Laboratories. He made a mental note.
Double growth rate. The pothos would produce offspring every day and a half. Five offspring in seven days. Plus the mother vine. Six total. Two for the serum. Four left.
He tried to contain his excitement.
Thomas: I''ll trade three bowls of stew for it.
The reply surprised him.
Andrew Jackson: I''ll give it to you. Just give me a cutting or fruit from your plant later.
He hadn''t anticipated this. He needed the pothos for the flood.
Thomas: Can''t promise that. The solution''s not that effective. I might not have any extra. He was bluffing, hoping Andrew Jackson had a better version. Type II, Type III¡
Silence.
Thomas waited, then turned to his workbench, preparing the explosives components. He wanted the solution, but he had the leverage. He could imagine Andrew Jackson on the other end, anxiously awaiting his reply.
He smiled. He had the rare plant. It would grow without the solution, just slower. But Andrew Jackson''s solution was useless without a rare plant.
He wasn''t sure if he was the only one with a rare plant, but they were definitely rare. That was his gamble.
Ch. 31: Information on the 4S Dealership, Crafting Emulsion Explosives
Thomas Smyth methodically completed all the preparatory steps for crafting the explosives. Twenty minutes ticked by. Just as he began to think his calculations were off, his private message inbox chimed. He opened it and a smile stretched across his face.
[Andrew Jackson: So, what do you think of this? Trade you for a rare plant? [Image: Type II Plant Growth Solution]]
[Image: Type II Plant Growth Solution]
Type: Rare Item
Effect: Exclusive growth solution for rare plants. Plant growth speed +200%, growth consumption +200%, 5% chance of plant mutation.
Duration: 7 days
Description: A peak creation from Titan Labs'' early days, highly sought after by plant enthusiasts.
Note: Cannot be used in conjunction with other growth solutions.
"Holy¡" Thomas breathed, staring at the item information. As he suspected, this guy did have some good stuff. His mind raced, calculating how to acquire more of this rare plant growth solution. Both the previous version and this enhanced one were invaluable. However, Jackson now knew he possessed rare plants, and therefore understood the solution''s worth. This wouldn''t be easy.
After a moment of contemplation, Thomas decided to secure this bottle first. Possession was nine-tenths of the law, especially in the apocalypse. Thinking more wouldn''t get him anywhere.
[Thomas Smyth: If it''s that growth solution, I agree. I''ll give you a rare plant in exchange.]
[Andrew Jackson: Legend Smyth, mind sharing the rare plant''s info?]
Jackson''s true intention was to confirm Thomas actually had a rare plant. A precious growth solution was on the line, after all. Understanding this, Thomas sent the information.
[Thomas Smyth: [Image: Breathing Pothos]]
As expected, upon confirming the rare plant, Jackson initiated the trade without hesitation. The speed surprised even Thomas. The Type II Plant Growth Solution materialized in his inventory. After verifying the effects matched the description, he finally relaxed enough to voice his question.
[Thomas Smyth: I''ll trade the plant in two days. Say, why did you trust me so readily?]
On the other side, Andrew Jackson grinned, revealing two rows of pearly whites.
[Andrew Jackson: Legend Smyth, I''ve been following you for a while. You have a good reputation among us survivors. You don''t price gouge in trades; you have principles. I figured a rare item wasn''t worth you compromising those principles!]
Thomas, taken aback by the unexpected compliment, chuckled. Perhaps it was because he hadn''t been in this apocalyptic game for long. Despite understanding the harsh realities, he still clung to his values. It seemed to be paying off.
The subsequent conversation flowed smoothly. Thomas traded bowls of Nourishing Mutton Stew for Type I Plant Growth Solution at a 1:1 ratio, acquiring three bottles. Not because he didn''t want more, but because Jackson claimed to be out. Thomas was skeptical, but didn''t press the issue. He also had Jackson send over ten flowerpots and some potting soil ¨C insignificant items in the grand scheme of things. This way, he could plant the offshoots immediately after they sprouted.
Transaction complete, Thomas poured the Type II solution into the Breathing Pothos'' pot, adding 3 liters of purified water from the purifier.
"Come on, little buddy, time to multiply!" he murmured, heading towards the workbench, determined to finish the emulsion explosives today.
Passing the Intel Center, he paused.
"I haven''t checked today''s intel yet, have I?"
He activated the Intel Center panel, selecting "View Today''s Intel." The laptop on the workbench flickered to life, displaying a flurry of images. A radar-like icon pulsed, seemingly scanning for information. Five seconds later, the display settled, revealing the day''s intel.
[Tonight at 11 PM, The Butcher will place the body of Sparrow City Hospital Director Stephen Zhou near the 4S dealership in the White Tower District. He will then manipulate Mad Dog into discovering the body, framing Caban for the murder.]You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
"Hmm?"
Thomas was stunned by the sheer volume of information contained within that single sentence. Damn. The Butcher was playing a dangerous game. Thomas mentally organized the facts. The Butcher and Mad Dog were the leaders of two known refugee camps. Caban, mentioned in the intel, was likely the leader of a third. The hospital director''s name was Stephen Zhou. His brother, the mysterious figure backing Mad Dog and Ghostface, supposedly controlled all the refugee factions within Sparrow City''s White Tower District, and possibly the entire city. The Butcher, clearly aiming to seize the keycard to the CBS lab while the mysterious figure was away, had kidnapped Director Zhou, who was likely under Mad Dog''s protection. The two teams The Butcher sent to the hospital had been inadvertently neutralized by Thomas. Now, feeling the pressure, The Butcher was resorting to framing Caban, diverting Mad Dog''s attention. This way, whether Mad Dog and Caban clashed, or the mysterious figure returned demanding answers, The Butcher would remain in the clear.
"Wow, this isn''t an apocalypse; it''s practically the Three Kingdoms. The Butcher is playing dirty," Thomas thought, impressed by the Machiavellian scheme. He hadn''t intended to get involved further, but a possibility struck him. He pulled out the Sparrow City White Tower District map. He quickly located the marked 4S dealership.
"Just as I thought. It forms a triangle with the Trading Center and The Butcher''s theater. Right near the Crimson Cabaret."
He immediately contacted Ben Walker, remembering he''d last seen him heading in that direction. He might know something.
[Thomas Smyth: Is there a 4S dealership near you? Any refugees inside?]
Ben''s reply arrived shortly.
[Ben Walker: Legend Smyth, you''re eyeing that place? Don''t go there! It''s a refugee nest, swarming with them. I almost died there last time.]
[Thomas Smyth: ??? You''ve been there?]
[Ben Walker: Yeah. I thought it was a small outpost, ripe for looting. Slipped inside only to find at least a hundred refugees. If I hadn''t bolted, I''d be a corpse by now!]
Ben''s message confirmed Thomas''s suspicion. The 4S dealership was Caban''s base of operations.
[Thomas Smyth: How far is your hideout from the dealership?]
Ben, nestled in his hideout by the warm fireplace, frowned at the message. "No way. Legend Smyth can''t be seriously considering that place. There are so many of them!" Knowing Thomas, he suspected a plan was brewing. He relayed his situation honestly.
[Ben Walker: It''s within viewing distance. Need me to do anything, Legend Smyth?]
"Does he have inside information?" Ben wondered, but couldn''t figure it out. He quickly agreed to Thomas''s request.
[Ben Walker: No problem. I can observe from my hideout. I''ll notify you immediately if anything happens!]
[Thomas Smyth: Thanks!]
Ending the conversation, Thomas set Ben''s messages to priority notification. This way, even if he was asleep, he''d be alerted instantly, ensuring he wouldn''t miss anything.
With the intel handled, Thomas''s appreciation for the Intel Center grew. "This thing is a goddamn treasure." Eliminating Black Dog was proving to be the best decision he''d made since entering this apocalyptic game.
Composing himself, he ate and drank, replenishing his energy and hydration. He then settled at the workbench in the corner, focusing his attention on crafting the remote-controlled emulsion explosives.
Time slipped by unnoticed. The only sounds in the hideout were the crackling fireplace and the gentle hum of the generator. Four hours passed in a blur of concentrated effort, draining both his physical and mental reserves.
Finally, as he finished the last explosive, Thomas leaned back with a sigh of relief. The sigh seemed to flip a switch. Exhaustion washed over him, his eyes struggling to stay open. He was utterly spent, not just physically, but mentally. Four hours of unrelenting focus had taken their toll. A single mistake could have been disastrous.
Dragging himself to the kitchen, he devoured a large bowl of Nourishing Mutton Stew, the Invigorated buff finally easing his fatigue. This particular bowl had been set aside specifically for this purpose. Feeling his strength and focus return, he returned to the workbench.
Looking at the array of cylindrical objects, a smile crept onto his face. The four hours hadn''t been wasted. With the Explosive Crafting skill, he''d produced twenty sausage-sized and ten chewing-gum-sized emulsion explosives. Small but potent, each packed the punch of a typical mining charge.
"The main explosives are done. I have the phones for the remote detonators, but I''m short on electronic components and capacitors. Need to acquire more."
He cleared the workbench, returning the chemicals to the shelves. The finished explosives were stored separately. Despite their inherent stability, Thomas''s cautious nature demanded extra precautions.
It was 7 PM. Finally, a moment to rest. He poured himself a steaming cup of tea and sank into the armchair, posting a request for electronic components and capacitors in the regional chat. These were common items, rarely utilized by survivors. Within minutes, he''d acquired enough, trading them for a few basic food items.
With all the materials gathered, he could assemble the remote detonators tomorrow, making the explosives ready for deployment.
"Heh¡ only in an apocalypse could I craft high-grade explosives so easily. In the real world, I''d be a chemistry prodigy or a demolitions expert," he mused, acutely aware of his limitations. His motto in this apocalyptic game remained: overprepare. If he could make ten thousand preparations, he wouldn''t settle for nine thousand nine hundred and ninety-nine.
He checked his private messages, searching for valuable trade offers among the mountain of messages that had accumulated. He relied on keyword searches to sift through the deluge. As he read, his smile widened.
"Just as I thought. Only in dire straits do people offer their treasures for survival."
Thirty minutes later, Thomas surveyed his overflowing inventory with satisfaction. He''d acquired the precious items needed to upgrade the Hideout Security, Ventilation, and Lighting to level 3, as well as the rare Refugee Treasure Chest facility. And this was only the first day of the Calamity! He''d also made progress towards the materials for upgrading the Intel Center to level 2, the Generator to level 3, and the Hideout Walls to level 2. He estimated he''d have everything within the three-day Calamity period.
"Inventory''s full. Time to upgrade what I can!" He looked at the hideout interface, excitement burning in his eyes.
Ch. 32: Bens Speculation, Trouble Brewing at the Trading Center
[Lighting] Level 2
Type: Hideout Facility
Effect: Provides basic lighting for the hideout.
Next Stage: [Lighting] Level 3
Upgrade Requirements: [Lighting] Level 2, [Generator] Level 2, LEDs x15, Capacitors x10, Wires x6, Light Switches x5.
Upgrade Time: 90 minutes
Upgrade requirements met. Upgrade now?
[Ventilation - Safe] Level 2
Type: Hideout Facility
Effect: Ventilation performance +40%, indoor hazardous gas expulsion rate +30%.
Next Stage: [Ventilation] Level 3
Upgrade Requirements: [Generator] Level 2, [Ventilation] Level 2, Fans x4, Motors x4, Wires x14, PCB Chips x5, Assorted Parts x5, Battery x1.
Upgrade Time: 120 minutes
Upgrade requirements met. Upgrade now?
Thomas immediately confirmed.
[YES]
A shimmering light enveloped the lighting and ventilation systems, signaling the start of the upgrades.
The other two facilities, the Refugee Treasure Chest and Level 3 Hideout Security, required a Level 2 Intel Center and Level 3 Lighting, respectively. He''d have to wait for the lighting upgrade to finish before enhancing the security.
After a quick wash, he replenished the fireplace wood and the mutton stew ingredients in the kitchen. He then headed to the heated sleeping platform. The temperature had plummeted. Despite the constantly burning fireplace, the hideout was nearing freezing.
Bundled in a thick wool pajama set, Thomas placed lit logs into the fire pit and waited. Ten minutes later, the pit radiated a noticeable warmth. He pulled the thick quilt over himself and drifted off to sleep.
Past 10 PM, Sparrow City was a maelstrom of snow and wind. Ping-pong ball-sized snowflakes, driven by the gale, sliced through the air like tiny blades. Trees groaned and snapped under the relentless assault. The temperature had plunged to -50¡ãC, burying the city under a meter of snow.
The four hundred or so surviving residents of the White Tower District huddled in their hideouts, shivering against the cold. Some burned everything flammable, desperate to survive the brutal night.
Ben Walker, however, clad in a bearskin coat, observed the distant 4S dealership through night vision binoculars. He munched on a ramen brick, his confusion growing.
"Strange. Why is Legend Smyth so interested in this place? Specifically asking me to keep watch tonight."
"Well, it''s a chance to help him¡" He tossed the ramen aside, gripping the binoculars with both hands, his focus sharpening.
The world through the lenses was bathed in an eerie green, turning night into day. Two figures, bundled in heavy winter coats, emerged from the shadows. They dragged a wooden plank bearing a corpse across the snow, cautiously scanning their surroundings. The deep snow hampered their movements as they made their way towards the 4S dealership entrance.
The refugees usually patrolling the perimeter had retreated inside due to the blizzard. No one expected anyone to be out in this weather. The two figures, taking advantage of the empty streets and the cover of the swirling snow, slipped through the dealership''s doors.
Ben lost sight of them, but figured they''d reappear soon. He waited patiently.
Ten minutes later, just as his arms began to ache from holding the binoculars, the figures emerged. The corpse was gone. They meticulously erased their tracks in the snow before disappearing into the blizzard.
Ben stared, dumbfounded. "What the hell¡?" His mind raced. What was the meaning of that? Dump a body and run? Could this be what Legend Smyth wanted to know? Remembering his instructions, he quickly messaged Thomas.This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.
Meanwhile, The Butcher, observing through his own telescope, saw the prearranged light signal from his men.
"Mission accomplished. Proceed as planned!" he cackled. "Now let''s see how Mad Dog and Ghostface react." He winked at a subordinate, who nodded and vanished into the blizzard on skis.
Thomas, roused by Ben''s message notification, had only slept for a few hours. Seeing the sender and the time ¨C 11:05 PM, almost exactly as the intel predicted ¨C he knew the show was about to begin.
[Ben Walker: Legend Smyth, holy crap¡ you won''t believe what I just saw¡]
After hearing the full account, Thomas drew a sharp breath.
"I need to eliminate The Butcher. He''s a snake, and he can''t know about me." That was his first thought. The Butcher wasn''t just treacherous, constantly plotting against his own boss; he was downright ruthless. Thomas almost preferred Mad Dog, who seemed genuinely lost without his underlings.
[Thomas Smyth: Good work. Stay sharp. There should be a fight at the 4S dealership tonight. Keep me updated.]
He traded Ben three bowls of Invigorated Nourishing Mutton Stew. You had to feed the mule if you wanted it to grind.
Ben, delighted by the stew, accepted without hesitation. He still had two bowls from before, but he wouldn''t refuse such a valuable commodity. He was starting to understand Thomas''s ways.
[Ben Walker: You got it, Legend Smyth! Should I call you when the fight starts? Any specific instructions?]
Thomas frowned, considering.
[Thomas Smyth: No need to call. Just tell me the casualty count of the attacking side after it''s over.]
Ending the conversation and disabling Ben''s message notifications, Thomas went back to sleep. The outcome was all he needed to know. Given The Butcher''s character, he''d undoubtedly instigate a conflict between Mad Dog and Caban, the leader of the 4S dealership refugees. It was all part of his plan. And it played right into Thomas''s hands.
Regardless of who won, both sides would suffer losses. Especially in this extreme weather, any serious injury in the open was practically a death sentence. He actually hoped Mad Dog''s forces would be decimated. It would create the perfect opportunity to infiltrate the Trading Center. The greater Mad Dog''s losses, the better his chances.
Silently thanking The Butcher, Thomas drifted off to sleep, murmuring, "You sneaky bastard, I owe you one."
Meanwhile, Ben pondered Thomas''s final message. "What does he mean?" Focus on the attackers? Did Thomas have a grudge against them? A plan? Or¡
A chilling possibility struck him. "Holy¡ could this all be orchestrated by Legend Smyth? Is his goal to spark a conflict between these two factions?" He was startled by his own deduction.
"But that doesn''t make sense. He only learned about the refugees at the 4S dealership this afternoon. He sounded like he''d received intel about tonight''s events and wanted me to confirm it."
"But his message did show a strong interest in the attacking force. His next move must be related to them. That''s why he wants the casualty count ¨C to plan accordingly."
As a specially trained operative for the base city, Ben''s analytical skills were sharp. He''d pieced together the truth from a few seemingly innocuous messages. If Thomas knew about Ben''s deductions, he''d probably be impressed.
Understanding the situation, a grin spread across Ben''s face. "Looks like the more casualties the attackers suffer, the easier Legend Smyth''s job will be." He raised his binoculars again, a daring idea forming in his mind.
Inside the Sparrow City Trading Center, on the twentieth floor, Mad Dog and Ghostface, shrouded in shadow, stood facing each other, their faces grim.
"Still haven''t found Stephen?" Ghostface rasped, his voice laced with barely suppressed fury. His gaze bored into Mad Dog. His suspicion had reached a boiling point.
Black Dog''s sudden death had been a shock. Black Dog was cautious, never one to put himself in harm''s way. His entire twenty-man squad being wiped out meant someone had planned it meticulously. And Mad Dog was the prime suspect. Black Dog had always resented Mad Dog, often ignoring his orders. He only tolerated him because of their boss. But did that mean he harbored no resentment? A man who betrayed his former leader to become chief¡ Ghostface didn''t believe Mad Dog was one to turn the other cheek.
And now, Stephen, their boss''s younger brother, who was under Mad Dog''s protection, had been kidnapped. This cemented Ghostface''s suspicions. Only their boss, Black Dog, and Mad Dog knew Stephen''s location. Even the guards were assigned directly by their boss. Ghostface himself only knew Stephen was somewhere in the White Tower District.
Their boss was away, Black Dog was dead, Stephen was kidnapped, and his guards were killed. All signs pointed to Mad Dog. Ghostface could barely contain his killing intent.
Mad Dog, sensing the palpable hostility, subtly reached behind him, towards his Colt Python revolver. A glint of malice flashed in his downcast eyes. The tension in the room crackled.
Just as the situation threatened to explode, the door burst open. A subordinate froze, taking in the scene, then turned to Mad Dog with a look of triumph.
"Boss, we found a trace of the guy from the Pinewood Hotel!"
Both Mad Dog and Ghostface snapped their heads towards the newcomer.
"Where?" they demanded simultaneously.
The subordinate, flustered by their intensity, stammered, his gaze darting between them. They stared at each other, then back at him, their expressions a mixture of urgency and interrogation.
Sensing the charged atmosphere, the subordinate blurted out what he knew.
"So, someone from Caban''s group took Stephen? Is that it?" Mad Dog asked, his voice heavy.
"Yes! The guy''s outside. I brought him up!"
Mad Dog and Ghostface rushed out. A man, his face pale with cold, his lips blue, stood shivering uncontrollably. A medic-looking refugee withdrew a thermometer, checking the reading.
"Boss, he''s got a high fever. Needs treatment fast."
Ghostface, ignoring Mad Dog, strode towards the man, pulling open his shirt to reveal a gunshot wound on his right chest, already scabbed over.
"This wound is at least three or four days old!"
Mad Dog, recognizing the man''s face, exclaimed, "You¡ you were one of Stephen''s guards!"
Ghostface finally realized this was the man who disappeared with Stephen from the Pinewood Hotel. Hearing Mad Dog''s voice, the man''s clouded consciousness began to clear. He gasped, struggling to speak.
"Hurry¡ 4S dealership¡ Caban took¡ Mr. Zhou¡ danger¡"
Ch. 33: Gunfire in the Night, Carnage at the Dealership
Ben Walker, wrapped in a bearskin coat, yawned. He checked his watch. 1:30 AM. "Are these guys ever going to show?" he muttered, glancing towards the car dealership. Suddenly, he froze. He snatched up his night vision binoculars, adjusting the focus. He wasn''t mistaken. In the pitch black, faint beams of flashlights snaked towards the dealership''s entrance. Further out, perhaps four or five hundred meters away ¨C likely to avoid alerting anyone inside with the engine noise ¨C twenty or thirty snowmobiles idled in the snow, each with a rider standing by, ready for extraction.
Through the binoculars, Ben saw a long line of figures trudging through the snow. Seventy, maybe eighty of them. Behind them, flickering in and out of view, several cloaked figures in black followed, their footsteps tracing the path of those ahead. Though their faces were obscured, the night vision revealed disturbing patterns and symbols etched onto their skin.
"Holy crap¡are those freaking cultists?" Ben breathed. "This is insane!" He counted carefully. Four cultists, each with an unsettling gait. One in particular radiated a chilling aura that Ben could feel even from this distance. "No way¡a Cultist Priest?" He was stunned.
Ben knew more about the Apocalypse Game''s hidden details than most, a perk of being a seed survivor in the base city. Cultist Priests were terrifying. Their abilities varied, but their presence on any battlefield was a harbinger of death. Ben''s carefully laid plans wavered. He hesitated. Then, he glanced back at the dealership. The hesitation vanished, replaced by grim determination.
"This is a golden opportunity," he thought. "If I play this right, the payoff could be enormous. My survival index will skyrocket, and it might even help Legend Smyth''s operation." He continued, "It''s a risk worth taking. As long as I steer clear of the Cultist Priest, the others aren''t a major threat."
With renewed resolve, Ben donned his gear and retrieved a bowl of Nourishing Mutton Stew, imbued with the ''Invigorated'' buff, a gift from Thomas. He devoured it, feeling a surge of warmth and energy. Grinning, he stepped out of his hideout. Light shimmered around him, and he vanished into the darkness.
* * *
Sparrow City, White Tower District. Inside the car dealership showroom, the vehicles were gone, replaced by roaring bonfires and refugees drinking and boasting. The blizzard raging outside had forced them to hole up inside, leaving them with little to do but indulge in these simple pleasures. They were oblivious to the corpse that had appeared in their midst just hours earlier. They were equally unaware of the armed refugees closing in on them from just beyond the perimeter wall.
The Bayonet, Mad Dog''s right-hand man, had infiltrated the dealership. He found Stephen Chow tied to a chair in a back room, just as planned. But something was wrong. He checked Stephen''s carotid artery. The skin was icy cold, the body stiff. Dead.
The Bayonet''s eyes narrowed, his heart pounding. This was bad. Black Dog was dead. Now this. He could already imagine his boss''s reaction.
As he stood there, a figure materialized in the room. Ghostface, his expression impassive, approached the dead Stephen. Ignoring The Bayonet''s wary stance, he examined Stephen''s jaw. Then, he turned to leave. "Inform Mad Dog," he said, his voice devoid of emotion. "Tonight, this place is razed. If he fails, he dies."
Ghostface vanished, leaving The Bayonet alone. The message was clear. If Mad Dog was going to die, he would too. There was only one option left: eliminate Caban. A nagging suspicion told him something was amiss. He was sure Ghostface felt it too. But¡this was too big to ignore. Someone had to pay.
Without hesitation, The Bayonet contacted Mad Dog, relaying the information and Ghostface''s ultimatum. Silence followed. Then, Mad Dog''s weary voice crackled through the radio. "Bayonet, do it. It''s our only chance. You''re in command. Cripple Caban''s forces fast. This is a fight to the death. Reinforcements are on their way. Tonight, we have one objective¡leave no one alive."Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
The transmission ended. The Bayonet stared at the dealership, his eyes cold.
* * *
Across the street, Ben Walker navigated a debris-strewn hallway, reaching a room on the fifth floor overlooking the dealership. He surveyed the sightlines and angles of attack, nodding. "This will do." He retrieved a spool of thin wire, several small bells, and a handful of grenades, returning to the hallway to set up tripwires and booby traps.
Ten minutes later, back in the room, Ben drew the curtains. He pulled out a five-foot-long case, revealing a sniper rifle and its components. Methodically, he attached the suppressor, high-powered scope, and other tactical accessories. He chambered a round. Propping his feet on a chair, he rested the rifle on the backrest, aiming towards the dealership. Popping a candy in his mouth, he peered through the scope. The Bayonet''s head filled his crosshairs. A smirk played on his lips. "Come on, baby," he whispered. "Daddy''s long gun is getting hungry."
Sparrow City, White Tower District. Inside the car dealership showroom, Caban was enjoying himself. Downstairs, his men feasted on canned beef and sardines, washing it down with whiskey and lemonade, warmed by the bonfires. They were a stark contrast to the blizzard raging outside. But in the shadows beyond the firelight, figures moved swiftly, closing in, their eyes gleaming with a predatory excitement. Days of watching their comrades die had fueled a burning rage, and tonight, they finally had a target. They would paint the dealership red.
Following The Bayonet''s orders, they moved into position. Their goal was to eliminate the enemy in the first volley, leaving no room for retaliation.
Across the street, Ben Walker watched through his scope, observing The Bayonet''s deployment. He frowned. "This won''t do," he muttered. "If they finish setting up, it''ll be a slaughter." That wasn''t what he wanted. Chaos was his ally. Only in chaos could he maximize his gains.
His eyes narrowed, a mischievous glint appearing. "Nah¡this isn''t fun. I don''t approve." He shifted his aim, acquiring a new target. A slow smile spread across his face.
Bang.
The sharp crack of the rifle echoed through the night, cutting through the howling wind. Inside the dealership, a refugee sitting with his back to the entrance slumped forward, his head exploding in a shower of gore. For a moment, there was stunned silence. Then, all hell broke loose.
"Ambush! Ambush!" "Enemy contact! Find cover!"
The shouts reverberated through the showroom. Refugees dropped their food and drinks, scrambling for weapons. And in that moment, they saw them ¨C Mad Dog''s men, less than thirty meters away.
The air erupted in a cacophony of gunfire and explosions.
Upstairs, Caban, alerted by the first shot, leaped out of bed. He rushed to the window, just in time to see the body of his man hit the floor. "Fucking hell!" he roared, slapping his bald head. He quickly donned his gear, his movements surprisingly agile for his bulky frame. The sounds of battle intensified below. Bullets pinged off the second-floor windows.
"Let''s see who''s messing with me," Caban growled. "They must have forgotten I''m called ''The Bull''!" He patted his body armor, pulled a red sweater over it, and finally, draped himself in a mink coat. His gaze fell upon the PKM machine gun and its massive 100-round drum magazine. A savage grin twisted his lips. He lit a cigar, kicked open the office door, and unleashed a torrent of fire upon the intruders below, the PKM''s roar echoing through the showroom.
The Bayonet, momentarily stunned by the initial shot, thought, "Which idiot fired first?" But he instantly recognized the distinct sound of a sniper rifle. Before he could warn his men, the dealership''s occupants had spotted them, and the firefight began. His carefully planned ambush was ruined.
"Someone''s working from the shadows¡" he thought, diving for cover. His instincts screamed of a hidden player. He reached for his radio to alert Mad Dog, but another explosion rocked the dealership, sending a mangled body flying.
"Mines! Watch out for mines!"
More explosions followed. Mad Dog''s men faltered, caught off guard. Caban''s men, however, erupted in laughter. "Idiots! You think we wouldn''t defend those approaches?" "I love seeing them fly! Beautiful!"
The Bayonet realized Mad Dog''s reinforcements had arrived and attacked from a different direction, only to run into Caban''s minefield. "Damn it! How could this happen?"
Mad Dog roared up to the dealership entrance on a snowmobile, his face grim. One of his men had taken the blast meant for him. He was fully armed now, his usual clumsiness gone.
The Bayonet ran to his side. "Boss, it wasn''t us who fired first. There''s someone else here¡"
Mad Dog cut him off. "Doesn''t matter. Ghostface is dealing with the rat. Our objective is Caban." He raised his Remington M870 shotgun, aimed, and fired.
The blast ripped through the showroom, spraying blood. "Shotgun! Buckshot!" yelled one of Caban''s men, scrambling for cover.
Mad Dog grinned savagely. "Die!" He emptied the magazine, ducked back, and reloaded. As he prepared to emerge, the second-floor door exploded inward. A stocky figure appeared, and the showroom was filled with the deafening roar of the PKM.
Mad Dog heard the familiar sound and snarled, "Caban!"
Ch. 34: Day Two of Calamity, Thomass Shock
The next morning, Thomas instinctively checked his messages. He closed his eyes and lay back down. Two seconds later, he bolted upright, reopening his inbox. His jaw dropped.
Ben had sent him over a hundred messages during the night. Mostly pictures, with a few captions thrown in. "Holy crap¡what did this guy do last night?" Thomas muttered. "Why is he telling me the dealership refugees got wiped out?"
He scrolled back to his last message to Ben. Two hours later, the photo stream began. The first few seemed to depict Mad Dog''s approach to the dealership. But why the stealth? And the sheer number of men seemed excessive.
Through Ben''s photos and captions, Thomas pieced together the story: how Ben''s first shot had disrupted Mad Dog''s ambush, sparking a full-blown clash between the two refugee factions. The result? Caban, shielded by his men, escaped through the sewers. Mad Dog''s forces, decimated, retreated to their base.
Thomas felt like he was dreaming. "This guy is a freaking genius!" he exclaimed. Whose lieutenant was this, anyway? He''d always thought Ben was capable, someone worth befriending. These past few days had confirmed his suspicions. But he never imagined Ben would pull off something this audacious. Instigating a conflict between nearly three hundred refugees? And succeeding?
Thomas could only offer one response: "Awesome!"
He immediately messaged Ben, expressing his astonishment. He figured Ben would be asleep after being up all night, but a reply came quickly.
[Ben Walker: Haha, Legend Smyth, awesome, right?]
[Thomas Smyth: Amazing! Any idea how many men Mad Dog brought and how many returned? Even a rough estimate would be helpful.]
As he sent the message, Thomas checked the virtual map of the Sparrow City Trading Center. His eyes widened. "Holy crap¡"
The map, which had been swarming with red dots yesterday, now showed only forty or so, clustered on the twentieth floor, likely recovering or resting.
Ben, seeing Thomas''s question, felt his suspicions confirmed. Legend Smyth''s next move was definitely connected to these guys. Luckily, he''d anticipated the question and had already compiled the data.
[Ben Walker: Legend Smyth, the attackers brought roughly 90-110 men. Around 20-30 made it back alive. My numbers should be fairly accurate.]
[Ben Walker: The dealership had about 130-150 men. Maybe a dozen or twenty escaped.]
[Ben Walker: The dealership actually had the upper hand initially. They even had landmines! They caught the attackers completely off guard. If it weren''t for a particularly powerful Cultist Priest on the attacking side, they wouldn''t have broken.]
Thomas''s eyes narrowed at the mention of the Cultist Priest.
[Thomas Smyth: Cultist Priest? I know about cultists, but what''s a Priest?]
[Ben Walker: It''s normal you wouldn''t know, Legend Smyth. This is insider information, only shared with seed survivors in the base cities. Cultist Priests are cultists, but their abilities are magnitudes stronger. They lead the rituals. They''re rare, but incredibly dangerous.]
Thomas immediately recalled the black dot he''d seen on the subway map a few nights ago. "So there are higher-ranking cultists," he thought. He''d suspected as much, so Ben''s confirmation wasn''t entirely surprising. Another detail, however, piqued his interest.
[Thomas Smyth: Seed survivor? What''s that?]
[Ben Walker: Haha, no need for secrecy now. You know how the world basically lost the concept of nations after the apocalypse? The 100 Bronze Base Cities are each independent, trying to find a way to survive the Apocalypse Game. The "Seed Project" is a human survival plan developed by all 100 cities. I''m a seed survivor from Base City 99. We''re specially trained and given access to information ordinary people don''t have. We''re basically combat survivalists bred for the Apocalypse Game.]
[Ben Walker: It costs a fortune to train a seed survivor, so the program can''t be extended to everyone.]
[Ben Walker: Our mission is to use our knowledge and skills to become powerful if we''re ever drafted into the game. We''re supposed to survive as long as possible, like seeds taking root, to give Earth a better chance.]Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
Thomas was deeply impressed. This explained the source of the graphics card and Apocalypse Coin information. More importantly, it explained Ben''s access to rare items and blueprints. Clearly, professionals had an edge. Come to think of it, Ben had provided the items that helped Thomas overcome several crucial hurdles. The Paralyzing Toxin. The Nourishing Mutton Stew recipe. As a seed survivor, Ben likely had more tricks up his sleeve than Thomas realized.
Ben''s value in Thomas''s eyes increased significantly. But Thomas wouldn''t let it go to his head. Ben had his skills, and Thomas had his¡cheat. He''d gotten this far through his own wits and his cheat. He wouldn''t underestimate himself or anyone else.
His thoughts returned to Mad Dog. According to Ben, Mad Dog had suffered heavy losses. Thomas had a theory about Mad Dog''s obsession with Caban. It almost certainly revolved around Stephen Chow, aka the Sparrow City mastermind''s younger brother. His nephew had been killed under Mad Dog''s watch, and now his brother too. If Thomas wasn''t mistaken, Mad Dog had been responsible for Stephen''s safety. With two family members dead on his watch, Mad Dog would face the mastermind''s wrath upon his return. That explained Mad Dog''s seemingly reckless actions. He had no other choice.
A smile crept across Thomas''s face. Thanks to Ben, Mad Dog''s planned ambush had been foiled. If it had succeeded, Caban''s forces could have been crippled before they even reacted. It would have been a one-sided massacre, with minimal casualties for Mad Dog. Instead, both sides were weakened. Ben''s single shot had changed the entire course of the battle. A true "golden shot."
And it had significantly reduced the risk of Thomas''s planned operation tonight.
He contacted Ben again, sending him ten bowls of Nourishing Mutton Stew.
[Thomas Smyth: Thanks for your hard work, buddy. Eat up! Let me know when you''re done!]
Ben stared at the ten bowls of stew, then grinned, understanding Thomas''s gesture. He glanced at his hideout, overflowing with weapons, equipment, and ammunition ¨C spoils of last night''s battle. A haul he wouldn''t have dreamed of before.
He rummaged through his inventory and sent Thomas a message.
[Ben Walker: Haha, thanks, Legend Smyth! Thanks to your tip, I made a killing last night. Even took down a cultist. This might be useful to you. Consider it a gift!]
A trade request followed.
Thomas accepted, studying the item description. His eyes lit up.
[Thomas Smyth: Nice! Thanks!]
He ended the conversation, a pleased expression on his face. He stowed the item away and turned to his tasks for the day. He planned to finish all his preparations by noon, rest in the afternoon, and be ready for tonight''s operation at the Trading Center.
The temperature in his hideout had dropped further. He could see his breath. He shivered, ate a quick meal, and replenished the supplies consumed by the kitchen and bathroom last night. The lighting and ventilation had both reached level 3. He upgraded the hideout security. After filling the fireplace, he headed to the medical station.
Today''s refresh was excellent: an Epinephrine Injector, a valuable high-tier medical supply. He carefully stored it away, then retrieved the medical and surgical kits he''d crafted, restocking them with basic supplies and setting new production queues. Thanks to the medical station''s constant operation, he had a decent stockpile of high-tier medical supplies. This was mainly due to the station''s level 3 perk: a 20% chance of producing an extra item. The odds were low, but with constant production, the extra items added up. And these were bonus high-tier supplies, not basic ones ¨C a crucial difference.
Next, he checked the daily intel from the Intelligence Center.
[At 11:00 PM, the polar blizzard will reach peak intensity. However, fifteen minutes later, there will be a brief two-minute lull in the wind before the blizzard returns to maximum strength and then begins to weaken.]
Thomas frowned. This aligned with the weekly intel about the Calamity Relic, the Polar Snow Lotus, appearing at the blizzard''s peak. But today''s intel offered a crucial new piece of information: a two-minute window of calm at 11:15 PM, followed by the storm''s gradual decline. This meant that surviving past tonight would essentially mean surviving 70% of the calamity!
Realization dawned. This was vital information. Today was the last day to effectively trade Nourishing Mutton Stew. Tomorrow, once the blizzard weakened, demand would plummet unless someone was truly on death''s door.
"Damn it," he muttered.
He quickly listed the upgrade materials he needed for his hideout. He had to capitalize on the blizzard''s peak intensity to acquire the remaining materials for upgrading the Intelligence Center to level 2, the generator to level 3, the hideout walls to level 2, and building the holographic barrier. Fortunately, he''d already gathered most of the materials. With a little effort, he should be able to get the rest today.
Once the Intelligence Center reached level 2, he could finally build the Refugee Loot Box, the blueprint for which he''d found alongside the Intelligence Center. He''d already gathered the materials. All he needed was the level 2 Intelligence Center. After witnessing the power of the Intelligence Center, he was practically drooling over the Refugee Loot Box.
He was so close.
He compiled a list of needed materials and posted it to the world channel, along with his entire stock of stew ¨C around 120 bowls. He was still producing eight bowls per hour, so he should be able to keep up with demand. He was determined to trade for everything he needed, regardless of the price, as long as it wasn''t outrageous.
[City - Thomas Smyth: "Image of Nourishing Mutton Stew" Folks, the temperature''s dropping further today. Get your stew while you can! Limited supply. Today, I''m buying: low-tier medical supplies, low-tier food and drinks, chemical materials (nitric acid, sulfuric acid, etc.), confidential intel, graphics cards, Apocalypse Coins, rare items. DM me if you have any of these!]
Many survivors had been waiting for this. After yesterday''s low-tier material purchases, everyone was curious about his targets today. They weren''t disappointed. Many grinned, recognizing items they possessed. Especially the survivors in the mining districts. Several had found explosives workshops and collected chemical materials. These materials had been useless until now. The chance to trade them for the highly sought-after stew was a godsend.
Ch. 35: Green Vine Splits, Inventory Upgrade
Thomas glanced at the accumulating private messages. He decided to address them later, opting for a unified response. Back in his sanctuary, the [Breathing Green Vine], after its nightly soak in 3000ml of purified water and the [Type II Plant Growth Solution], had sprouted an aerial root. Another vine showed the nascent beginnings of a second root.
"Just as I predicted," Thomas muttered, a knowing smirk playing on his lips. The first offshoot, having already lived a full day, had rapidly split under the influence of the growth solution. He quickly checked the vine''s status. The interface confirmed a mature offshoot, ready to be planted. He just needed to snip the rooted vine and plant it in soil or water. The second, budding root would be ready by nightfall.
"Excellent. Another vine," Thomas said, procuring a pot and filling it with the compost he''d bought yesterday. He carefully severed the rooted vine and nestled it into the rich soil, then added 1000ml of purified water. The vine unfurled, swaying gently as if in contentment. Seeing the "all systems normal" message on his interface, Thomas breathed a sigh of relief. This first foray into horticulture had him slightly on edge. Thankfully, it was a success. Rare Plant Count +1.
After watering the mother vine with its daily 3000ml, Thomas turned to the statue of Lord Guan. He performed his ritualistic ablutions in the bathroom, washing his face and hands. Standing before the statue, his expression solemn, he began, "Lord Guan, your humble servant, Thomas Smyth, offers his sincere prayers. Bless me with luck and prosperity." Prayer complete, he offered three sticks of incense, bowing respectfully before placing them in the burner. A feeling of profound good fortune washed over him. Today, he felt, was his lucky day.
Without hesitation, he opened the Super Monopoly interface and rolled the dice. Eyes closed, he chanted, "Lucky day, lucky day¡" The clattering stopped. Thomas opened his eyes. Before he could register the number rolled, his miniature avatar on the Super Monopoly map began to hop across the squares, landing on one marked with a mysterious. Unlike the Event squares, this one felt more like¡ a loot box.
The Super Monopoly interface confirmed his suspicion: [Survivor receives random enhancement. Target: Inventory.] The items in his inventory tumbled to the floor as the space itself began to warp and shift. First, it expanded dramatically, its capacity increasing from 5 slots to a whopping 100. The second change was even more astonishing. He walked over to the generator and focused on the snowmobile he''d traded for yesterday. With a thought, it vanished. In his inventory, one of the previously empty slots was now occupied by the snowmobile.
"Holy crap¡ this is insane!" Thomas exclaimed, eyes wide. A 300-pound snowmobile, tucked away in his inventory without an ounce of added weight. This was the third, and perhaps most significant, change. He began frantically experimenting, stuffing various items into his inventory. A wide grin spread across his face. "This is¡ incredible!"
His inventory had defied the laws of physics. Size and weight were irrelevant; each item occupied a single slot, with no burden to carry. Identical items stacked, taking up only one slot. However, used items couldn''t be stacked. Two full water bottles stacked, but a half-empty one required its own slot. These changes were exhilarating.
There was a minor drawback: he could no longer equip backpacks to increase inventory slots. He could still equip ammo pouches, but it was a slight inconvenience. He quickly found a workaround. While he couldn''t equip backpacks directly, he could store them. A backpack full of supplies still only took up one inventory slot. The possibilities were endless. With enough large containers, he could carry a staggering amount of gear.
Thomas repacked his belongings, placing frequently used items like keys, keycards, medical supplies, and armor-piercing rounds into his CamelBak backpack, which he then stored in his inventory. He admired the organized space, a satisfied smile on his face.Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.
His current wealth stood at 521 points, generated from his five properties: Garden Station, Crimson Cabaret, City Hospital, White Tower Park, and Sparrow City Trading Center.
He closed the Super Monopoly interface, musing, "I wonder when I''ll encounter that shop again. The things it had¡ truly remarkable."
The memory of the rare and powerful items, cards, and traits from the mysterious shop still tantalized Thomas. He sighed, a small smile playing on his lips. He was getting greedy. He already possessed power far beyond the average survivor. With careful planning, he could survive this Apocalypse Game for a long, long time.
He approached the explosives workbench, where electronic components, lithium batteries, capacitors, and other materials were neatly arranged. He began crafting the remote detonators for the emulsion explosives. The process, thankfully, was neither complex nor dangerous. The risky part, preparing the emulsion itself, was already done. Guided by his [Explosives Crafting] skill, he worked with practiced ease, slotting the final lithium battery into place in under an hour. He also made some performance modifications to the mobile phone that would serve as the detonator. It was strange. He''d never worked with these materials before, yet his movements were fluid and instinctive, as if he''d done this a thousand times. It reinforced his growing fascination with the Apocalypse Game. The true treasures weren''t the weapons and equipment, but the skills acquired through exploration and survival. He began to formulate a plan for his next skill acquisition targets.
He retrieved the emulsion explosives from the four-tiered shelving unit and began installing the detonators. This took only half an hour. The final step was applying adhesive strips to the backs of the explosives. Twenty [Remote Emulsion Explosives] were now complete.
His interface displayed their stats:
[Remote Emulsion Explosive]
Type: Explosive
Slots: 2x1
Remote Radius: 100 meters
Detonation Delay: 0.5 seconds
Explosive Power: 150
Blast Radius: 10-20 meters
Concussion Radius: 30 meters
Note 1: Stay clear of the blast radius. Value your life, stay away from explosives!
Note 2: Do not attach steel balls, nails, or similar objects to the surface of the explosive. Extremely dangerous.
"Whoa¡" Thomas whistled, impressed. These were lethal. A detonation within 20 meters was almost certainly fatal. With added shrapnel, even those 30 meters away wouldn''t be safe. Then he saw the second note.
"Holy crap¡ you can do that?" He slapped his thigh, laughing. "I''m such an idiot!"
He rushed to the storage area and retrieved several boxes of small, round objects.
[5mm Steel Balls]
Type: Miscellaneous Materials
Description: Common steel balls, seemingly used in some mechanical parts.
"Perfect!" He grabbed a bottle of strong adhesive and returned to the workbench. He put away fifteen of the explosives, leaving five on the table. Eyes gleaming, he tore open the boxes of steel balls, hundreds of them spilling into a waiting bowl. He began meticulously gluing the steel balls to the surface of the explosives and two RGO grenades.
Half an hour later, he surveyed his handiwork ¨C five [Remote Emulsion Explosive.Mod] and two [RGO Grenade.Mod] ¨C with a mischievous grin. The explosives were now covered in a dense layer of steel balls, a nightmare for anyone with trypophobia. The effect on detonation would be devastating. The RGO grenades, already deadly with their 85 F1 fragments, were now even more lethal. Anyone caught in their blast radius would be riddled with holes.
He stored these deadly creations in his inventory. It was now 10 AM. The temperature inside the sanctuary had dropped to -5¡ãC, but the fireplace roared defiantly. His [Rabbit Brand Military Coat] had kept him warm while working, but his legs and feet were numb with cold. He headed to the kitchen and downed a bowl of Nourishing Mutton Stew. The invigorating warmth spread through him, chasing away the chill.
"Should''ve had two bowls," he muttered.
The sanctuary security door upgrade was complete. Lacking special blueprints, the Level 3 [Sanctuary Security], [Lighting], and [Ventilation] retained their previous functions with enhanced performance. Security gained a 10% boost to stealth and defense. The lighting was upgraded to brighter, safer, and more energy-efficient LEDs. The ventilation system, while rendered somewhat redundant by the Breathing Green Vine, was still a crucial prerequisite for upgrading the generator.
With all three upgrades complete and his tasks for the day finished, he could finally focus on the private messages and potential trades. Settled comfortably on the sofa by the fire, he opened his inbox. The first item made him pause.
"Now this¡ this is interesting."
Ch. 36: Upgrading the Hideout Walls, Thomass Little Black Book
[Sharkskin Wetsuit]
Type: Rare Item
Effect 1: In water, reduces frictional drag by 30%, wave resistance by 30%, and form drag by 30%.
Effect 2: Increases swimming speed by 40%, reduces stamina consumption by 30%.
Description: A diving suit designed to mimic sharkskin, highly sought after by swimming enthusiasts since its release.
This suit, Thomas thought, his eyes gleaming, was practically a godsend for the impending deluge. He already possessed the [Son of the Ocean] gene-modifying serum. Once synthesized, it would grant him underwater breathing and water manipulation abilities. Combined with this Sharkskin Wetsuit, his mobility in the underwater world would be dramatically enhanced.
He immediately contacted the seller, only to learn the man was at death''s door, stricken with a severe cold. Otherwise, he wouldn''t be trading such a valuable item. The seller, originally from the coastal region, had planned to explore the underwater world after surviving the extreme cold. Now, survival itself depended on this trade.
The deal was struck: three bowls of Nourishing Mutton Stew, two cans of meat, two fever reducers, and two amoxicillin capsules in exchange for the rare wetsuit. Enough supplies for the seller to weather the storm, as the blizzard was predicted to lessen by morning.
A successful first trade brought a flicker of satisfaction to Thomas''s face. He then returned to the deluge of private messages. His trading agenda for the day was packed: securing materials to upgrade his Intelligence Center to Level 2, the Generator to Level 3, and reinforce his Hideout Walls to Level 2. If he failed today, the chances of acquiring these materials after the blizzard subsided were slim to none.
Once this wave of newbies survived and integrated into the real Apocalypse Game, the value of these high-level materials would skyrocket¡ªpotentially tenfold, even a hundredfold. Thomas knew, with chilling certainty, that the surviving newcomers would become prime targets for the veteran players, their advanced materials and rare items highly coveted.
Those who survived the Apocalypse Game were seasoned predators. In this world of survival of the fittest, any atrocity was justifiable. Even encountering fellow Earth survivors warranted caution. And then there were the myriad alien races mentioned in the training manuals, the true adversaries. While cooperation among humans was conceivable, facing these alien races meant a fight to the death. This grim reality had been drilled into him before entering the game.
"Speaking of which," Thomas mused, his thoughts drifting, "those alien races must also integrate new players periodically."
He snapped back to reality. Over an hour had passed. Driven by the pressure to survive, he had gathered most of the materials needed for the upgrades. Yet, each upgrade was missing one or two crucial components: two Confidential Intel reports for the Intelligence Center, a Fuel Injector and a Thermostat for the Generator, and, ironically, a Sledgehammer for the Hideout Walls.
Impatience gnawed at him. He contacted Ben Walker, unsure if he was awake. A swift reply arrived.
[Ben Walker: What''s up, Legend?]
[Thomas: Damn, you''re still up?!]
[Ben Walker: Was asleep! Your message woke me.]
Thomas realized Ben had set his messages to alert him. A pang of guilt hit him.
[Thomas: Sorry! Do you have any World Channel announcements left?]
[Ben Walker: Yep! What do you need to announce, Legend? I''ll post it for you.]
Thomas relayed his requirements. Soon, the World Channel buzzed with a new message:
[City - Ben Walker: Attention everyone, Legend Smyth asked me to announce that he''s buying "Confidential Intel," "Fuel Injectors," "Thermostats," and "Sledgehammers." He''s offering 10 bowls of Nourishing Mutton Stew per item. Offer valid until 7 PM tonight. Don''t miss out!]
The message caused a ripple of excitement. Nourishing Mutton Stew was the hottest commodity in these early days. Rare items usually fetched three or four bowls at most. Ten bowls was unprecedented. Many were tempted. The exorbitant price was the main draw.
While Thomas dominated the Mutton Stew trade, a few other survivors were also peddling smaller quantities on the World Channel. These were individuals who had previously traded with Thomas and now possessed a surplus. Since Thomas wasn''t buying every type of material, focusing on upgrade components and high-value items like graphics cards and rare items, the market had stratified. Mutton Stew circulated in the high-end and a fraction of the mid-tier market.
Lower-tier materials, like wood for heating or cotton and wool for clothing¡ªessential for survival¡ªrarely earned Mutton Stew from Thomas unless he specifically requested them, such as medical supplies, electronic components, or food. He had ample stockpiles and wasn''t interested in reselling. His focus remained on upgrading his Hideout and acquiring the Calamity Relic, [Arctic Snow Lotus].Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
This created a supply imbalance. A network of middlemen emerged in the lower and mid-tier markets. Those with surplus Mutton Stew traded it for large quantities of wood, cotton, and wool, then used these to acquire other essential supplies, preparing for the post-blizzard world. For these individuals, a single bowl of Mutton Stew was a small fortune. This explained the fervent reaction when Thomas contacted Howie Wang, offering Mutton Stew for the statue of Lord Guan. Profit was the driving force. Even if they didn''t use the stew themselves, trading it was a lucrative venture.
So, when Ben Walker, Thomas''s designated mouthpiece, broadcast the message, those possessing the desired items were instantly intrigued. Some hesitated, unaware of the true value of their possessions, but sensing their significance if Thomas was willing to pay such a high price. They wavered between holding onto their items and making the trade.
Oblivious to the commotion he''d caused, Thomas returned to his private messages, shifting his focus to lower-tier material trades. Today''s offers were scarce in medical supplies and electronic components. Those who possessed them had mostly traded with him yesterday. Today''s offers primarily consisted of chemical raw materials from survivors in the mining and city zones, hoping to barter for Mutton Stew.
Thomas swiftly assessed the offered quantities and negotiated accordingly. Direct trades were made when feasible. If the quantity was too low to warrant a full bowl of Mutton Stew, he''d state this clearly, leaving the decision to the seller.
Within half an hour, not only was his four-tiered shelf overflowing, but he''d also contacted Howie Wang in the forest zone to craft two more. Only then could he accommodate the influx of chemical raw materials.
He frowned at the increasingly cramped Hideout. "This space is too small!" His Hideout, already upgraded once with a scroll, had expanded from its initial 82 square meters to over 200. It had felt spacious initially, but with the constant upgrades and accumulating supplies, it was becoming constricted.
He rubbed his temples. So many problems! It felt like playing whack-a-mole. "One step at a time," he muttered, brewing a cup of black tea to combat fatigue.
He returned to his messages. Ben Walker''s announcement had worked its magic. Three people had contacted him, confirming the ten-bowl offer for the listed items. They sent him the details of their possessions. Two had a Sledgehammer and a Fuel Injector, crucial for upgrading the Generator and Hideout Walls. The trades were swiftly executed.
Finally, all the materials needed to upgrade the Hideout Walls to Level 2 were secured. The Generator only required a Thermostat. Coincidentally, the third trader possessed this very item. Thomas''s initial elation soured when he saw the asking price: 15 bowls of Mutton Stew. His worst fears were realized.
After a moment of contemplation, he replied:
[City - Thomas: Friend, ten bowls is already a generous offer. Will you trade?]
A test.
[Storage Depot - Dash Strong: Seriously, Legend? Isn''t this what you''ve been looking for? I almost died getting this. 15 bowls, firm.]
Thomas scrutinized the message, his gaze flitting between the avatar and the text, analyzing the hidden implications. He desperately needed the Thermostat, but the seller clearly had him over a barrel.
After a few seconds of hesitation, he made his decision. Fifteen bowls he could afford. Acquiring the Thermostat was worth it.
[City - Thomas: Fine, let''s trade.]
This time, the response was delayed. A full minute passed before a new message arrived.
[Storage Depot - Dash Strong: Seems I''m the only one with this item. I''ve changed my mind. I want 30 bowls.]
Thomas closed the message window, blocking the sender. A cold smile touched his lips. He knew these greedy types were never satisfied. Had he agreed to 30, the demand would have instantly jumped to 50.
"Storage Depot - Dash Strong," he murmured. "Interesting. I''ll remember you."
This was the second name added to his mental list. The first was Sandy. He wasn''t one to turn the other cheek. Retribution was his creed. Especially in the Apocalypse Game, where kindness was a death sentence. For now, during the first calamity, separated by different zones, he would simply remember. Opportunity would present itself eventually.
He composed himself. As if to compensate for the previous encounter, someone offered him Confidential Intel. The asking price was ten bowls of Mutton Stew and a submachine gun. Thomas readily agreed. Confidential Intel was exceedingly rare. He traded one of the silenced submachine guns acquired from the hospital delivery.
The trade went smoothly. Now, only a Confidential Intel report and a Thermostat remained. After quickly scanning his private messages for any further offers and finding none, he cleared his inbox and waited.
He retrieved the upgrade materials for the Hideout Walls.
[Hideout Walls - Insulated] Level 1
Type: Hideout Facility
Effect: Reduces heat loss within the Hideout by 60%, increases soundproofing by 40%.
Next Stage: [Hideout Security] Level 2, [Ventilation System] Level 2, [Generator] Level 2. Requires: Sledgehammer x1, Toolbox x1, Metal Parts x5, Expanding Foam Sealant x10, Duct Tape x5, Electrical Wiring x15, Screws x3 packs.
Upgrade Time: 120 minutes.
Upgrade conditions met. Upgrade?
[Yes]
The wall dissolved into a shimmering light.
"Two hours until completion. Not bad."
"Now, only the Intelligence Center and the Generator remain." He sighed softly. But he wasn''t discouraged. He checked the time. 3:30 PM. After another fruitless scan of his inbox, he retreated to his resting area and crawled back into bed.
Time to conserve energy. Tonight''s operation was crucial. He needed to be at peak physical and mental condition. He set an alarm for 7 PM and closed his eyes, his breathing gradually evening out.
While he rested, preparing for the night ahead, in the Storage Depot zone, Dash Strong, recently blocked by Thomas, waited impatiently for a reply. Seeing the notification that he''d been blocked, he immediately contacted his accomplice.
[Dash Strong: Boss, that Thomas guy blocked me. Did we push too hard?]
A few seconds later, the reply came.
[Liam Brightman: Damn, that Sandy bitch is unreliable. She said this Thomas guy would pay anything for stuff he needs.]
[Liam Brightman: Forget it. Blocked is blocked. I''ll contact him again tonight. You said he agreed to 15 bowls, right? I''ll ask for 15 tonight¡ The idiot doesn''t know how to make a profit. What a waste of his good fortune¡]
Ch. 37: Magic Mushrooms, Destination Trading Center – Go!
The hideout was silent. Only the occasional crackle of the fireplace and the hum of the generator broke the stillness. A soft snore drifted from the heated brick bed.
"Brrrring..." The alarm blared. 7:00 PM.
Thomas Smyth stretched, yawned, and shuffled to the bathroom. A quick wash later, he checked his private messages. Still no takers for the two items he''d listed. Suppressing a twinge of disappointment, his eyes landed on a message from Howie Wang. Something interesting.
[Magic Mushrooms]
Category: Fungus
Effect: 30 minutes after consumption, causes various status effects based on quantity consumed: [Gastroenteritis], [Neuropsychiatric Disorder], [Hemolysis], [Kidney Necrosis], [Rhabdomyolysis].
Description: A deceptively delicious food, notorious for its frequent accidental poisonings.
Note: Heating to above 100¡ãC for 30 minutes reduces toxicity by 95%, making it safe to eat. Use [Antidote] if poisoned.
Below followed detailed descriptions of each status effect, outlining their debilitating consequences, from vomiting blood and hallucinations to paralysis and internal organ failure.
A grin spread across Thomas''s face. Magic mushrooms. The status effects were potent, to say the least. He''d sampled them once before his transmigration, resulting in a night of heartfelt conversations with his dog. He''d steered clear ever since.
But now¡ His eyes gleamed. These strange items were becoming increasingly intriguing. Used correctly, they could be game-changers.
[City - Thomas Smyth: How many do you have? I''ll take them all!]
[Forest - Howie Wang: Heh, knew you''d like these, Legend Smyth. My friend picked them a few days ago. He''s got about twenty more. I''ll get them for you.]
Friend again? Thomas raised an eyebrow. First the sandalwood, now this. Howie seemed to have a lot of conveniently resourceful friends.
Three minutes later, a trade request popped up. Twenty-seven magic mushrooms. Thomas promptly sent two bowls of Nourishing Mutton Stew in exchange.
[City - Thomas Smyth: Keep an eye out for more stuff like this.]
[Forest - Howie Wang: You got it. Won''t bother you further.]
Thomas closed the message window and stashed the mushrooms in his inventory. He headed to the kitchen and downed a bowl of Nourishing Mutton Stew, fortified with ginseng, angelica, and goji berries. The familiar warmth spread through him, granting him the [Invigorated] buff and a two-hour boost to strength and reduced stamina consumption.
He noted with satisfaction that the hideout walls had upgraded to level 2, looking noticeably thicker. Their protective effects had also improved.
Next, he began organizing his gear. 7:15 PM. 3 hours and 45 minutes until 11:00 PM. The Trading Center was about 3 kilometers from Garden Station. He needed to move.
He meticulously checked his weapons: PP-91-01 Kedr-B suppressed submachine gun, a customized AK-101 assault rifle, a Mosin-Nagant sniper rifle, along with ample ammunition. His sidearm was a suppressed Stechkin APS pistol. For close combat, he had his trusty 6h5 bayonet. He packed a crate of grenades, including his modified shrapnel grenades and two flashbangs.
He also packed three large suitcases (8x8 grid inventory each) salvaged from the Pinewood Hotel, adding to his existing "Camel" travel backpack. His inventory now boasted five large-capacity containers.
He added his homemade remote-detonated plastic explosives, both regular and modified, along with sheets of chewing gum explosive and the necessary detonators.
For stealth, he packed his [Night Cloak] and [Black Mask]. Armor included a plate carrier with level 5 plates, a level 4 helmet, reinforced military boots, and tactical gloves. He added goggles, a digital headset, two doses of [Paralyzing Toxin], a towel, and assorted supplies. His medical kit contained a field surgery kit, a first aid kit, and ibuprofen. Finally, he packed Nourishing Mutton Stew, purified water, canned meat, and energy drinks.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
He donned his [Cryogenic Suit], essential protection against the arctic blizzard raging outside. Connecting the respirator, he walked to the hideout entrance, taking one last look at the familiar space. Turning back, his eyes hardened with resolve.
He pushed the door.
Nothing.
Confusion replaced his steely gaze. He slammed his shoulder against the door.
Crack!
He stumbled out, the door swinging open. He turned back to see a thick layer of ice coating the wall where the door had been. Not just the wall, but the entire station was encased in frost, like the inside of a freezer.
The blizzard hadn''t directly buried the station, but the extreme cold, now at -65¡ãC, had turned the city into an icy tomb. He''d be a popsicle without the cryogenic suit.
He trudged towards the subway entrance. Despite being only 7:00 PM, the sky was pitch black. The entrance was buried under at least 1.5 meters of snow. Wind howled, whipping snowflakes into a white frenzy.
He dug out his snowmobile, climbed on with some difficulty, checked his bearings, and twisted the throttle. The vehicle whirred to life, turned, and vanished into the blizzard. The falling snow quickly erased any trace of his passage, returning the world to a pristine white silence.
Sparrow City Trading Center. Trading Hall.
The city''s power grid had collapsed under the extreme cold, plunging everything into darkness. Twenty-odd refugees huddled around a massive bonfire, seeking warmth.
"Caban''s really that tough, huh? Ambushed by the Boss and still managed to¡ damn, eighty of our guys gone," a refugee wearing a clown mask muttered, taking a swig of whiskey through a hole ripped in the mask''s mouth.
"Clown, just take the damn mask off, will ya?" one of his companions chuckled.
"Nah, can''t do that. Love my Clown," he replied with a grin.
Another refugee glanced at the staircase. "Mad Dog usually has us scattered around, holding different territories. Why call us all back today?" he whispered.
The question sparked immediate interest. All eyes turned to him. He savored the attention, taking a slow sip of his drink.
"Spit it out, man! Or we''re not listening," someone urged.
"Alright, alright," he relented, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Don''t tell anyone, but¡ Mad Dog didn''t actually finish off Caban like he said this afternoon."
"What? Caban''s still alive?" Shock rippled through the group. This contradicted everything Mad Dog had told them.
"Surprise! He lied. The whole thing''s a sham," the refugee continued, enjoying their astonishment. "My cousin was there last night. It was a bloodbath, let me tell you¡"
"Get to the point! What about Caban?" someone interrupted.
"He escaped through the sewers," he revealed. "Took a dozen of his men with him. That''s why Mad Dog called us back."
The realization dawned on the others. Mad Dog was scared. He''d rallied them for protection.
"Knew that fat pig was up to something," someone grumbled.
"Well, we''re here now. Let''s drink," the Clown chimed in, passing around a bottle.
Half an hour later, the refugees were thoroughly inebriated, swaying in the firelight, occasionally taking swigs and bites of food.
"Gotta¡ gotta take a leak," the Clown mumbled, struggling to his feet and stumbling towards the restrooms.
"Just piss wherever, man. It''s freezing out there," someone called after him.
"Screw you," the Clown slurred back.
But upon reaching the restroom, his drunken demeanor vanished. He pressed his ear against the door, listening intently. Silence. He slipped inside, retrieved a folded piece of paper and a red armband from a crack behind a urinal.
Just as he unfolded the note, a chill ran down his spine, piercing even his arctic gear. Someone was here. But how? He''d checked. Everyone was downstairs.
A towel covered his nose and mouth. Paralysis gripped him instantly.
Clad in his [Night Cloak] and [Black Mask], Thomas Smyth watched the refugee collapse. He''d infiltrated the building hours ago, observing, waiting for an opportunity. The Clown''s erratic behavior had made him a prime target.
He checked his virtual map. The others were still by the fire. He quickly looted the unconscious refugee, finding a Glock 17, a 6h5 bayonet, a level 2 vest, three F-1 grenades, and some gauze. His main weapon was likely downstairs with the others.
Thomas stripped the refugee of his outer clothing, including the clown mask. He dragged the body into a stall, a swift bayonet thrust ending his life. He wiped the blade clean on the refugee''s clothes and stowed it. The body lay face down, blood pooling and freezing in the toilet bowl.
"Ugh¡ this thing stinks," Thomas muttered, wrinkling his nose at the stained mask. He quickly ate a bowl of stew, refreshing his [Invigorated] buff. He removed his own mask and cloak, then, after a moment of hesitation, donned the refugee''s clothes and the clown mask. He checked his reflection. Close enough.
He glanced back at the lifeless body, closed the stall door, and opened the window, letting the icy wind and snow sweep in, dispersing the faint scent of blood. Mimicking the Clown''s unsteady gait, he headed back to the trading hall.
"Clown! Thought you fell in. Was gonna fish you out," a slurring voice greeted him.
"Nah¡ found something¡ good. Look!" Thomas mumbled, holding up his hands.
The drunken refugees, their vision blurry, focused on the objects in his hands. Their faces lit up with surprise. With his perfect imitation of the Clown''s voice and mannerisms, none suspected a thing.
Ch. 38: The Inside Man, Full Alert, The Message Receiver
Thomas watched the refugees'' faces light up at the sight of the items in his hands.
"Holy crap, canned beef and mushrooms? Joker, where''d you find this stuff?"
Thomas dodged the reaching hands, flashing a theatrical grin.
"Heh heh, found it behind a flowerpot outside the toilets. Some idiot probably stashed it there, thinking they were slick. Now it''s ours!"
"Haha, good on you, Joker! Those fat cats in the main camp are living the high life, eating fresh mushrooms while we''re lucky to find a can of beans."
"Quit yapping and get it in the pot! Let''s eat!"
"Yeah, yeah!"
Thomas stopped dodging. The can and the magic mushrooms were snatched from his hands. A refugee with a combat knife started slicing the fungi.
"What kind of mushrooms are these? They''re turning blue! Are they poisonous?"
Thomas feigned annoyance. "Get outta here! If you don''t want them, give them back! These are the good stuff. You ever seen a wild mushroom before, you bunch of city slickers?"
"True enough. I can''t even tell my veggies apart anymore. Who cares? Let''s eat!"
"Yeah, it''s been ages since I''ve seen fresh food!"
As the mushrooms and beef simmered in the pot, Thomas''s eyes narrowed behind his mask. "Don''t fight me for it later! I found this stuff. And don''t overcook the mushrooms, they''ll get rubbery. Anyone tries to steal my share, they''ll regret it."
The other refugees scoffed.
"Bullshit. Finders keepers."
Thomas played along, muttering responses while checking the refugee distribution on his virtual map. On his snowmobile ride over, he''d noticed that Mad Dog had learned from Caban''s mistake. Three lookouts, positioned for optimal visibility, now guarded the trading hall''s second floor.
That, and the twenty extra refugees inside, had forced Thomas to take a long detour, circling around to the back of the building. He''d stashed his snowmobile and cold-weather gear, relying on his Invigorated buff, Night Cloak, and black mask to endure the blizzard as he slipped through a bathroom window. The city-wide blackout, courtesy of the polar storm, had been a godsend.
It was 9:20 PM. Less than forty minutes until the Butcher arrived.
He turned to a refugee who looked like he was in charge. "Should we send some up to the lookouts?"
The man blinked. "They''re Mad Dog''s men. Let them starve." He waved a dismissive hand. "If you want to, go ahead."
Thomas grinned.
Minutes later, the stew bubbled, filling the air with the aroma of beef and mushrooms. The refugees swallowed, eyes glued to the pot.
Thomas grabbed a metal bowl, ladled out a generous helping, and headed for the stairs. "Don''t you dare touch this! Wait till I get back. Especially those mushrooms, you hear?"
A chorus of half-hearted agreements followed him. The moment he rounded the corner, spoons plunged into the pot, targeting the beef and mushrooms.
Thomas had seen it coming. He paused on the stairs for two minutes, then continued upwards.
On the second floor, he approached the nearest lookout. The man huddled in a thermal blanket and sleeping bag, half-heartedly scanning the street below. A cigarette dangled from his lips, the glowing ember a bright spot in the darkness.
Thomas shook his head. Refugees. So unreliable.
The lookout noticed him. "What do you want?"
"Just brought some beef and mushroom stew for you guys. Thought you might appreciate something warm." He beamed. "The bosses don''t care about us, but we gotta look out for each other, right? It''s all yours."
The lookout stared, surprised. "Beef and mushroom stew?"
As Thomas approached, the aroma hit him full force. He swallowed hard.
"Go on, call your buddies. A warm meal will do you good. You''ve got a long night ahead of you." Thomas added casually, "If Caban really shows up, just watch the main entrance. We''ve got the rest covered."
The lookout gave him a curious look, then nodded. He let out a sharp whistle.
Two more men appeared.
"Lice, what''s going on? We''re on watch!"
"Relax, it''s just for a minute. This guy brought us some beef and mushroom stew. Dig in!"
The sight of the stew transformed their attitudes. Suddenly, Thomas was their new best friend.
"Alright, eat up!"
The three men didn''t hesitate, crowding around the bowl.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.
"This is amazing! What kind of mushrooms are these? So flavorful!"
"Who cares? Haven''t had fresh food in ages."
¡
Thomas checked his watch. 9:35 PM. Perfect.
He waved goodbye and headed back downstairs.
As expected, only two chunks of beef remained in the pot.
"Haha, Joker, you''re too late!"
"You¡ you¡" Thomas sputtered, feigning outrage.
The refugees roared with laughter.
"More booze! We''ll get you next time!"
As 10:00 PM approached, the refugees were thoroughly intoxicated. The alcohol, combined with the magic mushrooms, induced hallucinations and disorientation.
"Whoa, boss, when did you grow horns? I want some!"
"Shut up, there''s a fairy on the boss''s head talking to me!"
"Hahaha!"
"More booze! This stuff''s great, it''s pouring itself down my throat!"
Thomas mingled, cracking jokes, all the while subtly relieving the refugees of their weapons and valuables. They just giggled, oblivious.
The lookout from upstairs poked his head down. "Hey, what''s going on down there?"
"Nothing, just having some fun. Keeping them entertained. Don''t worry, I''ve got everything under control."
Apparently, the stew had earned Thomas some trust.
"Alright, just checking." The lookout disappeared.
Thomas smiled.
[ F-1 Grenades x28
RGD-5 Grenades x8
Flashbangs x5
AKM Assault Rifles x5
Vepr Hunter Carbines x2
Vepr KM Carbines x2
MP9 Submachine Guns x5
AKS-74U Carbines x6
Assorted Pistols x22
Travel Backpack (12 slots) x1
Assorted Magazines x43
Melee Weapons x22
Bank Office Key x1
Supermarket Manager''s Office Key x1
Corner Clinic Radiology Room Key x1
Ooh la la¡ Rolex Gold Watch x1
Apocalypse Coins: 163,000]
He''d cleaned them out. He''d skipped the vests and harnesses; too time-consuming and risky.
Thomas looked at the unconscious refugees with a tinge of regret. "Shame. If I''d killed them all, would my ''Refugee''s Bane'' title have leveled up?"
"No time."
He headed towards the back of the trading hall, towards the stairwell leading to Mad Dog''s headquarters.
He pressed himself against the wall, checking the time. 10:00 PM on the dot.
He glanced back at the refugees, still laughing around the fire.
"Safe travels. I''ll put your inheritance to good use."
He climbed the stairs.
Outside the trading hall, the Butcher checked his watch. "It''s time. Move in. Hit the trading hall directly. Be quick. The lookouts should be down. Remember, anyone with a red armband on their left arm is one of ours. Don''t shoot."
"Understood, Boss."
Thomas climbed the stairs, his virtual map guiding him. Except for the refugees in the trading hall, everyone else was on the twentieth floor.
In the center of the twentieth floor was a large suite ¨C Mad Dog''s lair. A large central room was surrounded by five smaller rooms. Apart from two red dots in the main room, only the largest of the smaller rooms showed signs of life. That had to be Mad Dog. The remaining forty or fifty refugees were scattered throughout the other rooms on the floor.
The numbers didn''t match what Ben had told him, but Thomas figured these were the survivors from last night. The rest must have been stationed back at the main camp.
"Mad Dog''s a paranoid one," he thought, amused.
He checked the map and the time. 10:01 PM.
"Gotta move."
The Butcher''s attack should have started by now.
Thomas hurried up the stairs.
He reached the nineteenth floor just as the first shots rang out, echoing through the night.
Thanks to Thomas''s earlier tip, the lookouts had focused on the front of the building. They spotted the Butcher''s crew the moment they appeared on the street.
Gunfire erupted.
Downstairs, the hallucinating refugees instinctively ducked for cover, their movements chaotic and uncoordinated.
The lookouts were quickly eliminated.
The Butcher''s men stormed the trading hall. They paused, momentarily confused by the sight of twenty refugees babbling incoherently. Then they opened fire.
A hail of bullets swept across the room. The refugees collapsed.
Dozens of men poured into the trading hall from the street, their boots crunching on the snow. A small team had already taken out the remaining lookouts on the second floor. The Butcher now controlled the first two floors.
Flanked by his men, the Butcher strolled into the trading hall, a cigar clenched between his teeth. He wore heavy arctic gear and a fox fur scarf. He surveyed the bodies with a sneer.
"Just as I thought. Mad Dog''s crew is nothing but a bunch of amateurs."
One of his men approached. "Boss, we didn''t find the inside man with the red armband. And the lookouts weren''t taken out. What now?"
The Butcher waved a dismissive hand. "Doesn''t matter. He must have had a reason. Didn''t you notice? They''re all unarmed."
The man blinked, then looked at the bodies. He checked a few.
"Not just unarmed, Boss. They''re stripped clean. Everything''s gone except their vests and harnesses." He remembered their strange behavior. "That explains it. They were acting all weird when we came in. Must have been the inside man."
The Butcher didn''t question the "weird" behavior.
"Mad Dog will be reacting by now. They''re outnumbered. Let''s move."
Meanwhile, Thomas had reached the twentieth floor. The lights were on, powered by a generator humming somewhere nearby.
The sounds of battle from below had alerted the refugees.
Mad Dog''s voice echoed down the hallway. "Move! Grab your weapons! It''s Caban! He wants a fight, we''ll give him one!"
The hallway filled with the sounds of running feet, clattering gear, and shouted commands.
Thomas, hidden behind his clown mask, blended in with the crowd, moving deeper into the floor.
As he passed a room, a hand shot out and pulled him inside. The door slammed shut and locked.
Startled, Thomas raised his silenced pistol, aiming it at the man. The man was pale, but his eyes were sharp and intelligent.
He ignored the gun. "What are you doing up here? You were supposed to bring them up after you took out the lookouts. Why is there fighting?"
Thomas realized he was talking to the inside man, the one who had slipped the note to the real Joker.
He was about to try to bluff his way out when he saw the man''s eyes change. He''d been made.
Thump. Thump. Thump.
Thomas reacted instantly. Two shots to the chest, one to the head. The man''s mouth opened in surprise, then closed forever.
"You knew too much."
The silenced shots were not entirely silent, but the closed door and the chaos in the hallway masked the sounds.
He checked his virtual map. No one had noticed.
The refugees had barricaded the stairwells on the east and west sides of the building. Furniture had been piled up between the eighteenth and nineteenth floors, creating a buffer zone. A second line of defense had been set up between the nineteenth and twentieth floors.
Mad Dog wasn''t entirely incompetent, it seemed.
The refugees huddled behind their makeshift cover on the nineteenth floor, weapons at the ready, waiting for the attack.
Satisfied, Thomas knelt and looted the body, transferring everything to his inventory. He then searched the room.
The man had clearly been seriously injured. Thomas found a stash of medical supplies. Nothing high-value, just common items.
But the backpack in the closet was a different story. It was a 5x7 (35 slot) backpack, a rare find. Thomas only had one other 35-slot bag, his Camel Pack.
The contents of the backpack made him grin. Valuables, some of which he''d never seen before.
[Wooden Clock x1
Golden Rooster x2
Golden Egg x6
Worn Antique Book x1
Bronze Lion Statue x1]
Under the pillow, he found a device that looked like a pager.
[Message Receiver]
Type: Rare Item
Effect: Receives specific messages sent from a Message Sender.
Range: 2000 meters
Thomas''s eyes widened. A jackpot.
"This is how he got his instructions from the Butcher."
"But it''s useless without the sender¡"
A thought struck him. He pocketed the Message Receiver.
Ch. 39: A Room Full of Treasure, [Confidential Information] Finally Acquired
Thomas Smyth checked the history on his information receiver. Empty. Wiped clean.
Figures. He thought, A rat wouldn''t leave a trail.
He swept the room, pocketing everything of value. He dragged a blanket off the bed and covered the corpse and the spreading stain on the floor.
Thomas left the room. The twentieth floor was deserted. The refugees had holed up near the east and west stairwells, ready to ambush the invaders.
Mad Dog, fully armed, crouched behind cover on the nineteenth floor. He could hear Caban and his crew ascending, somewhere between the sixteenth and seventeenth floors.
"Damn it, if only Bayonet were here!" Mad Dog snarled, his eyes hard. Yesterday, Bayonet had died shielding him from Caban''s machine gun fire, leaving him with no one he could truly trust. He scanned his remaining men, his gaze narrowing.
"With this much commotion, Ghostface should be here soon. If he abandons me, I''ll take everything down with me. If I''m going down, he''s coming with me!"
The time was 10:15 PM. On his virtual map, Thomas saw the Butcher''s group pause near the seventeenth floor. They''d spotted Mad Dog''s preparations for a pitched battle.
Thomas used the distraction to slip through the rooms on the twentieth floor. He popped a chocolate bar into his mouth, the exaggerated grin of his clown mask fixed in place. Underneath, he hummed a cheerful tune.
"The sun is shining bright, the flowers smile at me, the little birds say, ''Good morning, good morning!'' Why do you have a bomb strapped to your back? I''m going to blow..."
Room by room, Thomas emptied them, planting remote-detonated emulsion explosives at pre-selected points. He activated the detonators, then camouflaged them with furniture and plants before moving on.
He''d chosen these locations carefully. Concealed, yet perfectly positioned to engulf most of the twentieth floor. Originally intended for Mad Dog, this gift would now serve a dual purpose. The Butcher had chosen tonight to settle his score with Mad Dog. Perfect. Thomas would eliminate two threats with one bang. He couldn''t risk the Butcher learning of his existence. The man was notoriously ruthless.
The explosives would give them both a surprise they wouldn''t soon forget.
Finished with the explosives, Thomas reached the central room on the twentieth floor, a place that had piqued his curiosity. Mad Dog, as the refugees'' leader, must have some good loot stashed away.
He stepped into the main hall and froze. His breath hitched. On his virtual map, three new blips had appeared in the previously empty first-floor trading hall. Two red and black, and one pure black.
Cult Priests! The name, learned just today from Ben Walker, sent a chill down his spine. He''d seen them before.
"Tonight''s shaping up to be quite the party," he murmured, a grim smile forming beneath his mask. "Interesting... very interesting."The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.
He refocused on the task at hand. No matter how dangerous the Cult Priests were, they were still on the first floor. It would take them time to get up here. And the Butcher stood between them.
Still, he needed to move quickly. This place was about to become a warzone, and he had no intention of sticking around for the fireworks.
The room was enormous. Aside from the central hall, where the refugees had a makeshift fireplace, there were five or six smaller rooms branching off. Thomas entered the one closest to the corridor.
He stared, jaw agape. "Holy¡ shit¡ It''s¡ an armory!"
Across from the doorway, an entire wall was covered in valuables. At least twenty or thirty items. Three of the bronze lion statues he''d found in the informant''s room. A glass case filled with a dozen Rolex gold watches. Gold necklaces, antique vases, cat statues¡ Thomas gaped.
He''d expected Mad Dog to be wealthy, but this was excessive. Perhaps the man had a penchant for collecting. Displaying his wealth so openly was foolish. But Thomas wasn''t complaining.
Finders keepers.
He pulled out two 64-slot suitcases from his inventory and started filling them with the loot.
Next, he turned his attention to a weapons rack. Two weapons remained where there should have been three. Mad Dog likely had the third. The remaining weapons gleamed, brand new.
Thomas examined them closely.
[SV-98 Sniper Rifle]
Type: Sniper Rifle
Slots: 6x1
Recoil: Vertical: 158; Horizontal: 498
Effective Range: 1000m
Firing Mode: Single
Fire Rate: 30
Accuracy: 0.55
Ammo Caliber: 7.62x54mm R
Default Magazine: 7.62x54R 10-round SV-98 Polymer Magazine
Description: Designed as a magazine-fed bolt-action rifle for eliminating high-value targets within 1000 meters.
[MP-133 Shotgun]
Type: Shotgun
Slots: 5x1
Recoil: Vertical: 278; Horizontal: 410
Effective Range: 70m
Firing Mode: Single
Fire Rate: 30
Accuracy: 21.31
Ammo Caliber: 12x70mm
Default Magazine: MP-133x6 12 Gauge 6-round Tube Magazine
Description: The MP-133 pump-action shotgun is a reliable and practical weapon for hunting and self-defense, featuring a classic last-round bolt hold open rarely seen in similar shotguns.
"Nice," Thomas breathed, running a hand along the sleek lines of the sniper rifle. The carbon steel barrel shimmered like a predator''s tooth. Ever since using the Mosin-Nagant, he''d developed a taste for headshots. The built-in bipod was a bonus.
He located three weapons cases nearby, clearly intended for these firearms. He packed the guns, the cases, and even the weapons rack into his inventory. His hideout needed a proper display.
As he turned to leave, he glanced at his virtual map and stopped dead. He walked over to a four-drawer dresser and shoved it aside, revealing a small safe embedded in the wall.
"Almost missed it," he muttered. "Good thing I learned my lesson from the hospital director''s office."
This safe was a far cry from the complex one he''d encountered before. Just a simple keyhole. But the thick steel plating meant it wouldn''t be easy to crack. The key was undoubtedly on Mad Dog. Not a problem.
Thomas placed his hand on the safe. It vanished, appearing in his inventory. He then realized the dresser itself was an item container, similar to a storage crate. And inside, he found it ¨C the [Confidential Information].
Elation surged through him. The final piece he needed to upgrade the [Information Center] to Level 2.
He swept the dresser into his inventory. His gaze fell on Mad Dog''s sofa, coffee table, and office furniture. He took those too.
The room was now bare.
Just then, the fighting erupted. The Butcher''s group launched their assault. Gunfire and explosions echoed through the building. Thomas''s virtual map showed the three Cult Priests reaching the sixteenth floor, closing in on the Butcher''s men.
It was 10:35 PM. Twenty-five minutes until 11:00.
"Time to go," he said, entering the final room. A massive generator hummed, powering the building. "This thing looks high-tech. Should have the [Thermostat] I need."
He tried to store it in his inventory. No luck. Perhaps the wiring and mounting prevented it.
As he considered his options, a refugee rushed in with a flatbed cart, heading for the former armory. The firefight was consuming ammunition at an alarming rate.
The refugee stopped, staring at the empty room. He backed out, checked the room number, and re-entered.
"What the¡ Where''s the ammo?"
Ch. 40: The Thermostat and a Message
While the refugees were baffled by the vanished weaponry, Thomas Smyth''s clown mask peeked out from the generator room. He surveyed the bewildered group.
"Hey, buddy, whatcha lookin'' for?"
The refugee, startled by Smyth''s presence, latched onto him like a lifeline.
"We need ammo, man, but the armory''s been cleaned out!" Realization dawned, and suspicion narrowed his eyes. "Wait a minute. Everyone''s supposed to be defending the stairwell. What are you doing here?"
Smyth feigned impatience. "Don''t even ask. Mad Dog made me hunt down this thermostat thingy. Said he needed it."
"What?"
"Yeah, don''t believe me? Ask him yourself! I didn''t want this job. I''d be anywhere else if it wasn''t for him."
Smyth''s aggressive tone left the refugee speechless. He muttered, "Damn, he gets a layman for this, not me? What''s he thinking?" He pointed. "Move it. The thermostat''s in the back. See? That thing connected to the water pipes."
Smyth followed his gaze. There it was, identical to the picture Dash Strong had sent.
"Oh, thanks, man!"
As the refugee stared, shocked, a silenced pistol materialized in Smyth''s hand. Thump. Thump. Two crimson holes appeared on the refugee''s forehead.
Looking down at the disbelieving corpse, Smyth shrugged, humming a cheerful tune. "Listen to me¡ thank you¡ because of you¡ you warmed my heart¡" His gaze, however, was fixed on the thermostat, burning with avarice.
On the east stairwell, between the 17th and 18th floors, The Butcher''s face was grim. This wasn''t working. Ammo was down 30%. He had twice Mad Dog''s numbers, but the narrow stairwell negated that advantage. Plus, Mad Dog''s men had the high ground.
He contacted his western flank commander via radio. Stalemate there too. Something had to change. He couldn''t afford this war of attrition.
He reached for his message transmitter to contact his inside man, but his radio crackled to life. "Boss, it''s Ghostface! He''s hitting us from the rear! Sniper fire! Mad Dog''s pushing harder too! We can''t hold much longer!"
"Damn it! Ghostface? Why? I thought he despised Mad Dog!" But there was no time for questions. "Hold your ground! I''ll send reinforcements! If Mad Dog falters, push back!"
The Butcher knew this was it. Do or die.
Back with Smyth, he was figuring out how to detach the thermostat from the running generator when he felt a buzz in his pocket. He pulled out the message receiver. A simple message: Attack the east stairwell. Create an opening for us.
No doubt from The Butcher. "That sly old dog''s getting desperate."
The virtual map confirmed it. The west stairwell was a bloodbath. The Butcher''s forces were down to twenty men. They''d started with forty or fifty on each side, against Mad Dog''s twenty-odd defenders. Now, Ghostface and two cultists were tearing through the western flank. Each attack meant another refugee down. Minutes, maybe, before they were overrun.
"He wants to clear the east stairwell, then pincer Mad Dog''s men. Classic Butcher."
Smyth glanced at the generator. An idea sparked. He checked the time: 10:45 PM. Just enough time.
He wrapped the thermostat in a towel, then pulled a grenade, yanked the pin, and wedged it into the generator, away from the thermostat. He sprinted out and took cover.
BOOM!
The generator exploded, a fireball erupting. The 20th floor plunged into darkness.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.
In the now-darkened west stairwell, only the faint glow of chemlights illuminated the carnage. Mad Dog heard the explosion and saw the lights die. "Damn it! Everyone, push harder! Take them out! Two men, check the generator!"
The refugees surged forward, suppressing The Butcher''s men. The east side defenders, lacking Mad Dog''s leadership, panicked.
The Butcher, puzzled by the lack of attack on the east, heard the commotion upstairs. Opportunity knocked. "Everyone, fall back to the 17th floor! Assault team, flashbangs!"
His men, save for a few with tactical headsets, retreated, covering their ears. Seconds later, flashbangs arced upwards. Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Screams echoed from above.
"Go! Go! Go!" The Butcher roared.
Smyth emerged from his hiding spot, surveying the wreckage of the generator. A shame, but time was short. He saw on the virtual map how his grenade had shifted the battle.
He dashed into the generator room, stepping over burning fuel. He snatched the towel-wrapped thermostat, checked it ¨C intact. Into his inventory it went. A grin spread across his face. "Finally! That wasn''t easy."
Thermostat secured, Smyth''s virtual map showed The Butcher''s men dying rapidly in the west stairwell, and two of Mad Dog''s men heading his way. This place was getting hot. The east stairwell, however, told a different story. The Butcher''s forces were mopping up, pushing into the 19th and 20th-floor defenses.
10:50 PM. Smyth thought fast. He donned the red armband he''d acquired in the first-floor lobby bathroom and sprinted towards the east stairwell.
The two refugees spotted him. "Who''s there?!" They fired, but Smyth vanished around the corner.
"Go tell the boss! Someone''s heading for the east stairwell!" a voice yelled.
Smyth pressed himself against the wall by the east stairwell fire door. He didn''t go out. The Butcher''s men, alerted by the gunfire, were on high alert.
Checking their positions on the virtual map, Smyth yelled, "Boss Butcher? Don''t shoot! It''s me! I''m here to help! Mad Dog''s about to wipe out your men on the west side! They saw me blow the generator! We gotta move!"
The Butcher narrowed his eyes. "Enough! Come out!"
"Okay, Boss! Don''t shoot!" Smyth raised his hands, angling his body to display the red armband.
As he emerged, seven or eight tactical flashlights blinded him. The Butcher saw the armband and nodded. He gestured, and his men surged past, taking up positions in the hallway. If Smyth was right, Mad Dog would be here soon.
The Butcher approached. "How did you neutralize those guys on the first floor?"
Still testing me, Smyth thought. He put on a sheepish grin. "Boss, I kept ''em drunk, slipped something in their food, gave ''em hallucinations, then lifted their weapons. Couldn''t do anything about the upper guards, though. They wouldn''t eat anything. Screwed up your plan, sorry."
His story matched the reports. The Butcher was convinced. Scorpion must be with Mad Dog, hence this kid blowing the generator and coming to meet him. He even found the clown mask endearing now. Not bad. Potential here.
"Stay close," he told Smyth, then moved forward.
Smyth watched him go, itching to put a bullet in the man''s back. Not yet.
Mad Dog finished off his last opponent just as his men reported back. "Boss, we found the generator. Someone blew it. He ran towards the east stairwell."
Ghostface, his outlandish sniper rifle slung over his shoulder, approached with his remaining cultist. "See? Your men are riddled with traitors. Someone poisoned the first floor."
Mad Dog didn''t react. He owed Ghostface. "The east side''s probably gone. We''re low on ammo. Priority: the armory."
They moved into the dimly lit 20th floor, the only light coming from the burning generator room and a nearby furnace. No one dared use their flashlights. They crept forward.
Ghostface signaled his cultist. They split up, seeking vantage points. Ghostface slipped on his night vision goggles. The world became clear. He moved to a good sniping position, raised his rifle. A laser sight, visible only through night vision, appeared. He was ready.
Mad Dog joined him. "I don''t think this is Caban. He wouldn''t have this many men after last night."
"You think¡" Ghostface wasn''t surprised. This many attackers pointed to someone else.
"If it''s not Caban," Mad Dog growled, "it''s The Butcher."
"Kid, you know why they call me The Butcher?" The Butcher asked Smyth, watching Mad Dog''s men on his night vision display.
"Why, Boss?" Smyth played along.
The Butcher tapped a man on the shoulder. "Because when someone becomes my enemy," he said softly, "I leave no one alive."
Grenades flew, landing at the enemy''s feet. Boom! Boom! Gunfire erupted. Both sides ducked behind cover.
Smyth, anticipating the grenades, had retreated to the fire door. While the battle raged, he slapped two remote-detonated plastic explosives onto the wall, activating the timers. He retreated into the stairwell, closed the fire door, and rigged it with two grenades, pins pulled, tied to the handle. A trick he''d learned from Ben Walker when asking about dealing with cultists.
Ready. He checked the virtual map one last time. He chuckled and ran up the stairs towards the roof.
"Enjoy the fireworks, Butcher."
He reached the roof. The metal door was unlocked. Cigarette butts littered the floor. Some boss must have used this as a smoking spot.
10:58 PM.
He ripped off the clown mask and refugee jacket, quickly changing into his own gear, the rabbit-brand greatcoat over it all. He downed a bowl of Nourishing Mutton Stew, refreshing his Invigorated buff.
11:00 PM.
Anticipation and excitement burned in his eyes. He pushed open the metal door that stood between him and¡ whatever lay beyond.
Ch. 41: The True Polar Blizzard, The Heaven-Defying Properties of the [Polar Snow Lotus]
The steel door, as expected, didn''t budge under Thomas''s push. He took two steps back, then lunged forward, his heavy combat boot connecting with the metal with a dull thud. The frigid air had already weakened the door''s integrity, and it burst open, unleashing a torrent of snow and wind from the rooftop.
Whoosh¡ Whoosh¡ Whoosh¡
The blizzard ripped through the opening, lashing at Thomas''s face. Normally harmless snowflakes, propelled by the gale, stung like tiny slaps. The icy air choked his breath, and frost rapidly crystallized on his hair and eyebrows.
Driven by a desperate urgency, Thomas shoved himself through the doorway, bracing against the onslaught. One hand gripped the wind-battered metal handle, the other clawing at the frame. With a grunt, he hauled the door shut.
Slam!
The sudden silence was deafening. The blizzard, now a fading nightmare, left Thomas gasping for air. A shiver wracked his body ¨C not from the cold, but from pure, unadulterated fear. He had been terrified, truly terrified, by the sheer, overwhelming power of nature. This was his first real encounter with a natural disaster, a stark reminder of humanity''s insignificance.
On his way to the Trading Center, a smug confidence had filled him. This polar blizzard? Child''s play. Now, facing the true face of the storm, he realized how foolish he''d been. He suspected this brief, brutal onslaught was the blizzard''s actual intensity, a glimpse of its true power. The rest of the time? A toned-down tutorial for newbie survivors, a pathetic imitation of the real thing. Two completely different leagues of disaster.
Humbled, Thomas quickly shed his gear and donned the [Cryogenic Ultra-Low Temperature Insulated Suit]. The [Invigorated] buff had mitigated the cold, but the wind and the struggle to breathe had been crippling. Only this suit could withstand the blizzard''s fury.
Time was running out. This peak intensity would last only fifteen minutes, followed by a brief lull. He''d already wasted three. He couldn''t afford any more delays. Disaster Relics only appeared at the height of the calamity. He wouldn''t gamble on its presence after the fifteen-minute mark. He couldn''t afford to.
Securing his respirator, Thomas took a deep breath. His eyes sharpened, his resolve hardening. This Relic was his.
He threw open the steel door, the blizzard instantly pushing him back. Braced against the doorframe, he fought his way onto the rooftop, the wind screaming against his respirator.
Scanning the expanse of the roof, he searched for the Relic. Then, he stopped. Beneath the respirator, his jaw dropped. Shock, awe, disbelief, and a surge of exhilaration flooded his senses.
The blizzard, the Apocalypse Game, Mad Dog, The Butcher, Ghostface, the mysterious figure pulling the strings ¨C none of it mattered anymore. His vision narrowed, focused solely on the object of his quest, blooming defiantly amidst the raging storm: the Polar Snow Lotus.
In the center of the rooftop, a pristine white lotus bud pulsed with a soft luminescence, illuminating a two-meter radius around it. The blizzard, a raging dragon just moments ago, became docile and gentle as it approached the bud, as if an invisible barrier shielded it from harm. Thomas knew better. The storm wasn''t being held back; it was choosing not to touch the Lotus.
He stepped into the two-meter radius. The blizzard vanished. The tension and excitement drained away, replaced by a profound sense of calm. A new buff appeared on his status panel: [Tranquil Focus].
[Tranquil Focus]
Type: Buff
Effect 1: Calms emotions, relieves mental stress.
Effect 2: Focus +20, Intelligence +5, Health +15
"Holy¡ crap¡ A passive aura buff?" His newfound tranquility shattered. This was insane! He hadn''t even done anything, and he was already reaping benefits. He immediately thought of the perfect application: his [Explosive Crafting] skill. Powerful, but nerve-wracking. With this buff, the risk of accidental detonation would plummet. This was a game-changer.Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
As he approached the [Polar Snow Lotus], its information appeared on his panel.
[Polar Snow Lotus]
Type: Disaster Relic
Appearance Conditions: Extreme Cold Disaster, World Pole.
Effect 1: Upon consumption, permanently grants +60 Cold Resistance, +60 Frostbite Resistance, +50 Max HP.
Effect 2: When steeped and consumed, permanently grants +60 Stun Resistance, +60 Blind Resistance, +20 Intelligence.
Description: A legendary plant found only in the most extreme climates. A must-have on every botanist''s bucket list.
Maturation Countdown: 3 minutes 47 seconds.
Warning: Must be harvested within one minute of maturation and must not come into contact with any non-natural materials, or it will instantly wither.
Thomas stared at the list of permanent stat boosts, his eyes bulging. "Sweet mother of¡ this is a Disaster Relic?" Then he saw the warning. No time to gawk.
"No non-natural materials¡ Natural materials it is, then!"
The countdown read 3 minutes 35 seconds. He opened his private messages and found the contact he needed.
[City - Thomas]: Howie, you there? Emergency! Need your help!
He sent the message, his heart pounding. It was late, and most survivors slept early to conserve time, body heat, and resources. He watched the countdown, his anxiety barely contained even by the [Tranquil Focus] buff.
Seconds later, a reply arrived.
[Forest - Howie Wang]: Legend Smyth? What''s up?
Thomas breathed a sigh of relief.
[City - Thomas]: Need a wooden box, about 30x30cm, within two minutes. Absolutely no non-natural materials. Pure wood. Can you do it? A wooden shovel and tongs would be amazing too!
[Forest - Howie Wang]: Just wood? Easy peasy. Give me a sec!
Relief washed over Thomas. The countdown: 2 minutes 45 seconds. He glanced at the 20th floor''s virtual map. The fighting continued. The Butcher''s forty-strong force was down to twenty. Mad Dog still had a dozen fighters. This surprised Thomas. The Butcher had the numbers advantage and had taken out several refugees with grenades early on. Why were they losing ground?
He quickly spotted the problem. Every time the black blip ¨C Ghostface, the cultist priest ¨C appeared, one of The Butcher''s men went down. The guy was a crack shot, a sniper with unnerving accuracy. Even Thomas felt a chill. He imagined The Butcher was feeling even more helpless.
And he was right. Watching another man fall, The Butcher seethed with impotent rage. "Damn Ghostface! Why me?" From nearly a hundred men to barely twenty, all thanks to one damn sniper. He couldn''t let this continue. He pulled out his [Information Transmitter] and sent a message to his supposed inside man with Mad Dog.
[Kill Ghostface. Now.]
He didn''t care if the informant died. As long as Mad Dog and Ghostface went down, the losses were acceptable. He didn''t know his "inside man" was already dead, courtesy of Thomas. His message would go unanswered.
But Thomas had other priorities.
[Forest - Howie Wang]: Legend Smyth, as requested! Let me know what you think!
Howie traded the items without asking for anything in return. Thomas didn''t have time for pleasantries. He checked the box ¨C perfect. The countdown: 30 seconds.
He crouched, placing the box beside the Lotus, the wooden shovel and tongs in his hands. His eyes were glued to the timer.
25¡ 24¡ 23¡ ¡ 3¡ 2¡ 1¡
The countdown ended. The bud unfurled its petals, like a shy maiden revealing her face, a blend of innocence and purity. The faint luminescence intensified into a soft, white glow that enveloped Thomas. Three crisp system notifications rang out.
"Survivor Thomas Smyth, you have witnessed the birth of a Disaster Relic. You have obtained the common title: [Child of Calamity].
"Survivor Thomas Smyth, through trials and tribulations, you have found a legendary treasure, a wonder of the world. You have obtained the achievement [Disaster Traveler]. Regional Legend Points +1."
"Survivor Thomas Smyth, bathed in the birth-light of the Disaster Relic [Polar Snow Lotus], you have permanently gained: +50 Max HP, +20% Max Stamina, +20 Health, +20 Vitality, +50 Ice Resistance."
A new buff appeared on his status panel.
[Blessing of the Snow Lotus]
Type: Buff
Effect: Immunity to blizzard and extreme cold effects. +20% movement speed in snowy terrain.
Duration: 2 hours.
"Holy¡ crap¡" Thomas''s mind went blank, overwhelmed by the deluge of rewards. "This is a Disaster Relic?"
He snapped back to reality, checking the harvest timer. 48 seconds. "Good, still on track."
Ignoring everything else, he carefully plucked the Lotus with the tongs and dug around its base with the shovel. The root snapped cleanly. Fresh soil, inexplicably present on the rooftop, clung to the roots. The Apocalypse Game''s absurdity was no longer surprising. He wouldn''t even blink if another Lotus sprouted right now.
"Holy¡ crap¡"
He froze. A new Lotus was sprouting, growing at an impossible rate. In five seconds, it went from sprout to bloom to wither, a second per stage. A peanut-sized black seed dropped from the withered flower and rolled to his feet.
Thomas felt a twitch in his brain. What was going on? Buy one, get one free? No time to ponder. He placed the harvested Lotus and the seed into the wooden box, sealed it, and stowed it in his inventory.
A wave of exhaustion hit him, despite the dopamine-fueled euphoria. It had been a long, arduous journey of planning and risk-taking. But it was worth it. The Lotus itself was invaluable, but even the stat boosts from the birth-light alone justified his efforts.
But his work wasn''t done. He strode to the edge of the roof, his gaze fixed on the still-raging battle on the 20th floor. A smile curved his lips. He had another objective. Time for him to make his entrance.
Ch. 42: Unpowered Hang Glider, Detonation of [Remote Emulsion Explosive.Mod]
Thomas Smyth, invigorated by the lingering effects of [Blessing of the Snow Lotus] and [Invigorated], his body further fortified by a permanent +50 frost resistance, stood impervious to the arctic blizzard. The raging snow, a swirling white chaos, softened into a gentle flurry within a meter of him. The howling wind, a frigid predator, became a docile breeze as it brushed past.
He hadn''t bothered with the stairwell. The rooftop of the Trading Center provided ample space for his preparations. The thermal suit, a loyal companion throughout the storm, vanished into his inventory. He donned the Level 5 ballistic vest, concealing it beneath the [Night Cloak]. The [Black Mask] and [Digital Earpiece] clicked into place. He was ready.
11:14 AM. The blizzard''s fury began to wane. He wasted no time. From his inventory, he retrieved a bulky object, unfolding and assembling it with practiced ease. As the final piece locked into place, the snow ceased abruptly. The wind died. The lull. It had arrived.
He secured the harness around his waist, connecting it to the hang glider''s hooks. Everything was in place. Two deep breaths, and he sprinted towards the edge of the rooftop. One step... two... three... ten...
He launched himself into the void.
Like a nocturnal wraith, he soared silently into the night sky. He was flying.
"Woohoo... hell yeah!" He grinned, taking in the cityscape spread beneath him, the skeletal outlines of buildings against the twilight sky. He glanced back at the massive triangular wing.
[Unpowered Hang Glider]
Type: Rare Special Item
Effect 1: Automatically grants the user proficiency in unpowered hang glider flight.
Effect 2: Increased flight stability, enhanced directional control, reduced susceptibility to air currents.
Description: A toy for the brave, a chasm for the timid.
Caution: Initiate flight from a height of at least 50 meters.
This was Ben Walker''s gift. Upon receiving it, Thomas had envisioned this very scenario ¨C an escape route. Now, his purpose had shifted.
Gripping the control bar, he steered the hang glider in a graceful arc, descending towards the street fronting the Trading Center. Thankfully, the Trading Center dwarfed the surrounding buildings, their highest floors barely reaching ten stories.
With seconds to spare before the lull ended, he landed in a deep drift of snow, the glider disappearing back into his inventory. The Trading Center entrance was a mere 50 meters away. The snowmobile made short work of the distance.
He slipped into the west stairwell, ascending rapidly. This was Mad Dog and Ghostface''s territory. His virtual map showed the refugees concentrated on the 20th floor. He didn''t bother with stealth, racing upwards until he reached the 15th floor.
The sounds of gunfire and muffled shouts drifted down. He slowed, his movements becoming fluid and silent. He hugged the wall, inching upwards. The virtual map zoomed in, highlighting enemy positions. [Stealth Mode] activated. The [Night Cloak] and [Black Mask] amplified his concealment, merging him with the shadows.
20th floor. The gunfire had become sporadic, both sides conserving ammunition. Ghostface''s presence had instilled a cautious restraint in the Butcher''s ranks.
Twenty minutes after Thomas''s departure, the Butcher, growing suspicious of the delayed attack from Mad Dog''s supposed inside man, turned to one of his men. "Where''s that kid?"
"Boss, who?"
"The one who let us in!" A knot of unease tightened in the Butcher''s gut.
A quick headcount confirmed his fears. "Boss, he''s gone. Skipped out on us!"
"Damn it! Someone check it out!"
The closest refugee to the stairwell fire door charged forward, throwing his weight against it. The door burst open, sending two grenades tumbling out. They ricocheted off the opposite wall, landing at the refugee''s feet. His tactical flashlight beam illuminated the deadly devices. His eyes widened in horror.
Boom... Boom...
Thomas, now on the 19th floor, heard the explosions. The east stairwell. He had to move faster. He took advantage of the chaos, sprinting upwards. His focus remained fixed on the blip representing the cultist priest. Fortunately, the priest was positioned further inside. Thomas reached the 20th-floor fire door undetected.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.
The door stood wide open. He could hear Mad Dog''s hushed commands. His virtual map showed the Butcher''s forces depleted by the explosions. They were regrouping, moving towards the stairwell. The explosions had broken the Butcher''s resolve. They were retreating.
Thomas wouldn''t allow it.
He flipped open the detonator for the [Remote Emulsion Explosives]. Twenty buttons, one for each charge. The Butcher, shielded by his remaining men, reached the fire door. Thomas pressed two buttons.
The 20th floor shuddered violently. Two deafening blasts rocked the building. Mad Dog and Ghostface exchanged bewildered glances. What was the Butcher doing? What was happening on the east side? These explosions were far beyond the power of grenades.
Mad Dog, ever quick to react, began rallying his men for a final push.
Thomas, anticipating the outcome, stowed the detonator. He pulled out two modified explosives, planting them on either side of the west stairwell fire door as a contingency. He remained wary of the cultist priest, his abilities still unknown.
He held the last modified explosive in one hand, the detonator in the other. He moved to a vantage point, judging the trajectory. He hurled the explosive into the corridor beyond the fire door, aiming for the densest cluster of enemies. Then, he scrambled back down the stairs.
As he rounded the corner, he slammed his thumb on the detonator.
Boom...
The [Remote Emulsion Explosive.Mod] detonated. A shockwave ripped through the corridor, a storm of steel pellets shredding everything in its path.
Five seconds passed before Thomas dared to rise. His eyes were glued to the virtual map. A slow smile spread across his face. The modified explosive had exceeded his expectations. Of the twenty or so refugees in the corridor, only a handful of faint red blips remained. Mad Dog''s attempt to rally his men for the attack had inadvertently presented Thomas with a perfect target.
He rubbed his aching elbow, wincing. The force of the blast had sent him tumbling down the stairs, coming to rest on the 19th floor. His elbow throbbed, a painful souvenir of the explosion. But the thought of the impending loot quickly overshadowed the discomfort. His hours of planning, the meticulous execution, it all culminated in this moment. Harvest time.
He started back up the stairs. Five steps up, he froze. He pressed himself against the wall, AK-101 raised, aimed at the 20th-floor landing. On the virtual map, beneath one of the fading red blips, a deeper darkness lurked. The cultist priest. Ghostface.
"Holy crap... he''s still alive? This guy''s a freakin'' cockroach!" He cursed inwardly. His unease about the priest intensified. Everything about him, from Ben''s warnings to his own instincts, screamed danger.
He remained motionless, studying the black blip, analyzing. His ascent hadn''t gone unnoticed. Ghostface hadn''t moved. The faint red blip still covered him. Then, it clicked. He understood how the priest had survived.
Ghostface had been positioned near a corner. He must have seen the explosive flying towards him. In a desperate gamble, he''d ducked around the corner, using a nearby refugee as a human shield. The corner had absorbed most of the blast and shrapnel, and the refugee''s body armor had done the rest. He was alive, but barely.
Ghostface''s intent was clear. He was waiting for Thomas to appear, a deadly surprise waiting in the wings. A classic ambush.
Too bad for him, Thomas had a cheat sheet. The virtual map laid bare every detail of Ghostface''s plan.
A smirk played on Thomas''s lips. He abandoned all pretense of stealth, resuming his ascent with deliberate, heavy footsteps.
Ghostface, huddled beneath Mad Dog''s lifeless bulk, his precision rifle trained on the corner, waited. His mask had been blown off in the explosion, a gash bleeding on his forehead. His left leg, numb and useless, throbbed with returning sensation. He ignored the pain. If not for his superhuman resilience, the blast would have pulverized his internal organs, just like it had done to Mad Dog.
He slowed his breathing, listening to the approaching footsteps, calculating the distance. Mad Dog''s faint, gurgling breaths tickled the hairs on his face.
Closer... closer...
The footsteps reached the landing. The intruder seemed oblivious, rummaging through the bodies, looting. He could hear him muttering, "Damn, this AK is sweet!" "This is good, gotta take this!"
The feeling returned to Ghostface''s leg, a searing wave of agony. Good.
"Come on... come closer... there''s more loot over here..." He waited, a predator poised to strike.
He heard it. The footsteps approaching the corner. Steady, unhurried.
Three steps... two... one!
Now!
A masked head appeared around the corner.
Bang...
"No... not him!!!"
As realization dawned, a dark object arced over the corner, landing at his feet. He didn''t have time to react.
"No..."
Boom...
Crackle...
Thomas, crouched behind the corner, listened to the low-frequency hum in his digital earpiece, his eyes narrowed. Finally.
The black and red blips vanished from the virtual map. He chuckled softly. "Now you know who the real ambush predator is."
Then, to his astonishment, the familiar mechanical voice echoed in his mind.
"Survivor Thomas Smyth has single-handedly eliminated a Regional [Cultist Priest] in the First Calamity, earning the rare title [Night Walker]. Regional Renown +1."
"Survivor Thomas Smyth has accumulated 3 Regional Renown in the First Calamity, earning the achievement [Rising Legend]. World Renown +1."
"Holy..." Shock and elation warred on his face. Another triple reward! A title, an achievement, regional renown, and now, world renown!
He hadn''t realized the cultist priest held such significance. Eliminating him had yielded a rare title and a point of regional renown. A rare title! His previous titles, [Refugee''s Bane] and [Calamity''s Favorite], were only common. This suggested a tier system for titles, mirroring the item rarity levels. Common, rare, epic... what lay beyond? He didn''t know.
But judging by the difficulty of obtaining them, each title represented a significant accomplishment. [Refugee''s Bane] was awarded to the first survivor to achieve the [Refugee Nemesis] achievement in the tutorial scenario. Out of 100,000 survivors entering the Apocalypse Game each month, only one would earn that title. One in a hundred thousand. Staggering odds.
[Calamity''s Favorite] had been even harder. He''d meticulously planned and prepared, relying on a healthy dose of luck to pull it off. Just entering the refugee-infested Trading Center would deter 99.99% of survivors.
And now, the rare title [Night Walker].
"That Ghostface... he must have been the biggest... BOSS... of this First Calamity!"
Ch. 43: The Incomplete Neural Bridge, A Light Piercing the Darkness
Thomas knew this wasn''t the time to browse through titles and achievements. He stepped over the corpse, heading straight for Ghostface''s position. Two bodies, mangled by shrapnel, lay before him. One, a large, bald man with a facial scar, wore expensive gear and a thick gold chain, now marred by the steel pellets that had ripped through him. Thomas easily deduced this was Mad Dog, the refugee camp''s leader. Ghostface really used him as a meat shield, Thomas thought, a grim understanding settling in. Ruthlessness is the currency of survival in this Apocalypse Game. "Never leave your back exposed," he muttered to himself, a lesson etched in blood.
He kicked Mad Dog''s body aside, revealing Ghostface. Mad Dog''s bulk had absorbed most of the modified RGO grenade''s blast, leaving Ghostface''s upper body and head exposed. The tactical vest was riddled with holes, useless against the onslaught. Ghostface''s head¡ well, it was less a head and more a gruesome collection of fragments. But as Thomas''s flashlight beam swept over the remains, his eyes widened in disbelief. Shock, fear, and a flicker of scientific curiosity warred within him. Nestled within the shattered skull, amidst the pulped brain matter, a point of crystalline light shimmered with iridescent colors.
Hesitantly, Thomas gripped the flashlight in his teeth. With a practiced flick of his wrists, a glass vial and tweezers materialized in his hands. Under the flashlight''s beam, he meticulously removed the milky-white brain tissue and blood vessels surrounding the shimmering object. Finally free, it revealed itself: a jelly-like substance, the size of a Calamity Coin. It resembled bone marrow, but far more translucent, radiating a rainbow sheen in the light. Tweezers in his right hand, vial in his left, Thomas carefully deposited the jelly-like substance into the container and sealed it tight. Instantly, information flooded his vision.
[Incomplete Neural Bridge]
Type: Rare Item
Effect: Direct use: 70% chance of instant death, 20% chance of brain damage, 7% chance of +3% brain development, 2.5% chance of body modification and +3% brain development, 0.5% chance of unknown effect.
Description: This substance spontaneously generates within the bodies of test subjects injected with incomplete gene-altering serums. Numerous individuals seem to be actively seeking this item, indicating its high value. Rumors suggest it holds the secrets of "divinity." You might want to inquire with XXX about this.
Thomas frowned, studying the description. He''d already suspected something along these lines, so the information itself wasn''t surprising. What did pique his interest was the censored portion of the description ¨C a name or location redacted. This was a first. Clearly, this place or person was significant. After a moment''s thought, he stowed the vial in his inventory. His curiosity about the Apocalypse Game was already overflowing; this was just another drop in the bucket.
He surveyed the 20th floor, a grin spreading across his face. He couldn''t suppress it. An entire night''s work, and he''d pulled it off without even needing the remotely detonated emulsion explosives. The Butcher''s unexpected attack had been a stroke of luck, diverting Mad Dog''s attention and drawing Ghostface into the perfect trap.
The thought of the Butcher spurred him toward the east fire exit. Two gaping holes now marred the steel door, surrounded by a chaotic mess of concrete chunks and scattered bodies. He quickly located the Butcher, barely clinging to life. The man wasn''t dead yet. His loyal followers had shielded him from the worst of the blast, and his distance from the epicenter had played in his favor. A combination of fortunate circumstances. But even so, he was as good as gone. While his men might have absorbed the shrapnel, the concussive force from the two modified emulsion charges had ruptured his internal organs. Blood gurgled from his lips.
Combat boots appeared in his field of vision. The Butcher strained to look up, but the blinding flashlight beam forced him to close his eyes. "You sneaky bastard," he rasped, "waiting for me to take my last breath¡ Well¡"
A silenced pistol appeared in Thomas''s hand, aimed squarely at the Butcher''s head. "Safe travels," Thomas murmured, lips barely moving. "Don''t worry, I won''t see you off."
Thump.
Watching the Butcher die didn''t evoke any particular emotion in Thomas. Before, his mind had raced with possibilities. Now, the act felt¡ inevitable. He began systematically looting the bodies, stripping them of weapons, equipment, and supplies, stuffing everything into his inventory. He filled any bags he found before storing them as well, a looting strategy he called "bagging."
He''d discovered this trick on the first day of the Apocalypse Game, after killing those two refugees in the subway station. Perhaps because it was the newbie version of the first Calamity, any looted weapons and equipment, even if damaged in combat, would revert to perfect condition once picked up. The same held true now. Many of the refugees'' gear had been wrecked in the explosion, but in Thomas''s hands, they became whole again.
After experiencing the true apocalyptic power of the blizzard on the rooftop, Thomas realized their "newbie difficulty" first Calamity was a heavily watered-down version of the real thing ¨C a grace period, a chance to prepare for the true horrors to come. He glanced at the current survivor count: 398. If they''d lost 60% of their number during the tutorial, what awaited them in the real Apocalypse Game? A shiver ran down his spine.Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.
It took him over half an hour to collect everything, even the belongings of the refugees who''d died in the hallway. He even revisited the generator, a pang of regret hitting him. "Damn it," he muttered. "Should''ve salvaged that generator instead of blowing up the whole floor. What a waste." Even so, he managed to scavenge valuable mechanical parts from the wreckage ¨C enough to upgrade his own generator, it seemed.
He scoured the 20th floor three times, retrieving the planted emulsion charges, deactivating the detonators, and storing them away. He didn''t regret his meticulous preparations. Having a backup plan and not needing it was far better than the alternative. When facing death, no precaution was excessive.
Even his Monopoly-enhanced inventory was overflowing. A night''s work, indeed.
He reached the west stairwell, took one last look at the carnage-strewn floor, and chuckled softly. Turning, his flashlight cut through the darkness, illuminating the path ahead. He broke into a run, heading down¡
3:00 AM. Thomas stumbled back to his hideout, his legs heavy. It had been the most grueling experience since the Apocalypse Game began, a marathon of destruction and looting that stretched from 7:00 PM the previous night. After clearing out the 20th floor, he''d ridden his snowmobile back to the Garden Station, the blizzard providing perfect cover. He''d made his first supply run back to the hideout around midnight. He''d considered calling it a night, but the unsettling thought of what awaited them after the first Calamity, the merging with the true apocalypse, kept him on edge. So he''d unloaded his haul and headed back to the Trading Center, starting from the top floor ¨C the 23rd ¨C and commencing a thorough, systematic sweep.
This time, he wasn''t leaving anything behind. From crackers and bread to electric motors and sofas, anything remotely useful went into his inventory. Every computer case was cracked open, yielding two graphics cards, bringing his total to a staggering seven. But the loot didn''t stop there. The refugees had stashed away a surprising amount of valuables ¨C weapons, ammunition, food, alcohol ¨C in bizarre hiding spots. Toilets and ceilings were apparently favorites. If not for his ability to pinpoint the location of every item within the Trading Center, he would have missed a fortune.
His haul was so massive, he''d had to make two trips back to the hideout, his inventory overflowing twice. The process was arduous, but the result¡ equally problematic. His hideout, all 200+ square meters of it, was packed to the rafters. A space that once represented a dream for countless workers was now a navigable maze of stacked supplies. The living area was submerged under a mountain of furniture and appliances, even the heated floor covered in loot. In the corner where his explosives workbench stood, crates of ammunition reached the ceiling, the floor piled high with hundreds of weapons and armor pieces. There was no time to organize; he''d just dumped everything. The kitchen was similarly crammed with food and drinks, many frozen solid but still usable. And this didn''t even include the high-value and rare items still in his inventory ¨C the loot from Mad Dog, the Butcher, Ghostface, the safe from Mad Dog''s room, and the equipment from the two cultists.
Only three things remained untouched: the generator, the intelligence center, and the medical station.
Thomas cracked open an energy drink, needing the boost. He checked the generator. He''d initiated the upgrade during his first return trip. Three hours later, the Level 3 generator was ready. The most noticeable improvement was the increased fuel capacity ¨C from two canisters to four ¨C and the significantly larger battery. It was now practically "charge for five minutes, run for three hours." A joke, but a testament to the Level 3 generator''s power.
He turned to the intelligence center. With the generator upgrade complete, it was time for the next step. But first¡ "The daily intel should be refreshed by now," he muttered, approaching the laptop. Light flickered, and a line of text appeared on the screen, instantly arresting his attention.
[Caban, learning of the Butcher''s attack on Mad Dog and subsequent loss of contact, launches an assault on the Butcher''s headquarters ¨C the Sparrow City Opera House ¨C at 3:00 AM.]
"Guess I''m not sleeping tonight," Thomas sighed, a grim determination hardening his gaze. He initiated the intelligence center upgrade. This time, however, a new message popped up.
"Survivor possesses rare items [Information Transmitter] and [Information Receiver]. These items meet the upgrade requirements for the Intelligence Center. Do you wish to use them as upgrade materials?"
Thomas paused, surprised. He retrieved the Information Receiver from his inventory and then pulled a device resembling an old Nokia phone from the Butcher''s loot ¨C the Information Transmitter. His eyes flickered with calculation. Without hesitation, he selected "Yes." The two rare items, along with the other upgrade materials, dissolved into the intelligence center''s shimmering interface.
"Let''s hope this is worth it," he murmured. The upgrade would take four hours. Plenty of time to make another trip. He might not have known Caban''s location before, but now¡ he had a theory to test.
He forced down another bowl of Nourishing Mutton Stew, renewing the Invigorated buff. He was starting to get sick of the taste. He donned his usual gear ¨C Level 5 tactical vest, dark cloak, black mask ¨C and equipped the rare title he''d acquired from Ghostface: [Nightwalker]. The title''s effects took hold, and he became one with the shadows, a phantom moving towards the Sparrow City Opera House.
[Nightwalker]
Type: Title
Rarity: Rare
Acquisition Requirements: Single-handedly kill a "Cultist Priest" during the first Calamity of the Apocalypse Game.
Equip Requirements: Perform a sacrificial ritual every seven days to appease the night; failure to do so will result in self-sacrifice.
Effect 1: Grants the right to conduct sacrificial rituals and wield the [Cultist Priest''s Blade].
Effect 2: During nighttime: -70% stamina consumption, +30% movement speed, +50% perception, +50% dexterity.
Effect 3: While moving in darkness or shadows: +50% concealment, +50% chance of being overlooked.
Effect 4: While moving in darkness or shadows: automatically grants the [Silent] effect.
Effect 5: +Revered reputation with Cultists.
Description: Having slain a Cultist Priest, your strength is acknowledged by all Cultists. The old king is dead; long live the new king!
Note: Title effects are only active while equipped. Only one title can be equipped at a time; effects do not stack.
[Silent]
Type: Rare Equipment Skill
Effect: Eliminates all sounds within a 1-meter radius of the user (including but not limited to footsteps, friction, and collision sounds).
Ch. 44: The Sixth Sense 2.0, Cabans Fury
Thomas Smyth moved through the darkness, surveying the interior of the Sparrow City Opera House. The sounds of gunfire had become sporadic. The Butcher, before launching his assault on the Trading Center against Mad Dog, must have anticipated the need to defend his base. The opera house was riddled with hastily constructed barricades and booby traps. Yet, Caban seemed to have gained the upper hand. The fighting had raged from the main hall all the way back to the ten-story building at the rear. Distant flickers of firelight, sparked by explosions, still danced within the building''s windows.
Following the trail of bodies, Thomas reached the vicinity of the ten-story building''s entrance, concealing himself in the shadows. Two refugees, fully armed, crouched behind defensive sandbags at the entrance, warily scanning their surroundings. Nearby, several others were scavenging the battlefield, rifling through the dead, retrieving equipment. Whenever they encountered an enemy corpse, dead or alive, a bullet to the head was standard procedure.
Thomas frowned. Caban, it seemed, had grown considerably more cautious and cunning after last night''s events. His gaze fixed on the ten-story building. He needed a way inside. But the defenses were tight. Even cloaked in darkness, he couldn''t simply stroll past them unnoticed. A large bonfire blazed behind the refugees, and more patrolled the building''s interior, searching for hidden enemies.
After circling the building, an idea formed in Thomas''s mind.
Ten minutes later, a violent explosion rocked the entrance of the ten-story building. The blast hurled the unsuspecting guards through the air, leaving the entrance in ruins. Surrounding windows, glass, and walls shattered, leaving a gaping hole in the exterior.
The explosion alerted the patrolling refugees inside, who rushed to assess the damage and brace for a counterattack. They assumed it was a final, desperate push by the Butcher''s remnants.
They failed to notice that, in the instant of the detonation, while the blast wave shattered the entrance''s glass and windows, a single pane of glass in a distant room, farthest from the blast, also fractured. The sound was lost amidst the cacophony of the explosion and shattering debris.
While the refugees on the first floor converged on the main entrance, Thomas climbed onto the windowsill, preparing to drop to the ground. Suddenly, he froze, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead.
[Nightwalker] granted him a +50 boost to perception. Even in the absence of light, using the faintest ambient illumination, Thomas saw the floor below the windowsill covered in a dense carpet of caltrops.
Had he jumped, even his level 2 puncture-resistant boots wouldn''t have saved him from a nasty fall. And that wasn''t all. The caltrops were only the first layer of defense. Beyond them, Thomas spotted three tripwires, each stretching towards furniture two meters away.
"Bloody hell," he thought. "Who set this up? So insidious."
Caban or the Butcher? Neither was a saint.
Thomas had initially thought they were easily fooled, rushing to the entrance. It seemed they were prepared, waiting for someone to walk into their trap.
Carefully, he used his boot to clear a small landing zone amidst the caltrops and slipped inside.
He couldn''t afford to linger. The refugees in this building exuded a palpable sense of danger. They were on a different level from any he''d encountered before. Their tactical awareness and combat proficiency were significantly higher. Whether this was due to Caban''s leadership or some other factor, Thomas didn''t know. He knew only that if he wasn''t extremely careful, he might very well¡
¡die here.
He stepped over the tripwires and saw the refugees at the entrance beginning to withdraw. Thomas immediately melted back into the shadows, moving upwards. This time, he scrutinized every step, wary of further traps.
His ascent was surprisingly smooth. Caban''s forces, having just won a battle and likely suffering losses, had only secured the first floor entrance. The others were still searching the building for hidden enemies.
By the time Thomas reached the eighth floor, he had a rough estimate of Caban''s numbers. Excluding the guards at the entrance and those patrolling the first floor, there were approximately twenty refugees on the upper floors.
He even spotted Caban himself on the eighth floor. The man''s distinctive shaved head, fur coat, and PKM machine gun made him hard to miss. Ben Walker had highlighted Caban''s ferocity in the photos he''d sent.
Suddenly, someone noticed the signs of forced entry on the first floor. The broken window and disturbed caltrops were undeniable evidence.
"Boss, we found signs of intrusion on the first floor. Someone must have slipped in during the explosion when we were distracted!"This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
Caban chuckled coldly over the radio. "Alright, boys, we''ve got a rat in the house. Three-man teams, search every corner."
The twenty-plus refugees formed groups of three and began a systematic sweep of the building. Caban remained on the eighth floor. On the first floor, six men guarded the two staircases leading to the second floor, three men per staircase. One watched the left, one the right, and the third crouched with his back to the wall, weapon trained on the stairs. Tactical positioning.
Thomas, having overheard the report, had already slipped away.
On the sixth floor, a three-man team methodically cleared each room. One opened the door, two entered with weapons raised, covering left and right respectively, while the third covered their rear.
They swept the room with their flashlights: double bed, four-door wardrobe, dressing table, sofa. Their gazes finally settled on the window. They exchanged glances. The drawn curtains bulged slightly. A casual observer might have missed it, but closer inspection revealed the distinct outline of a human form.
One of the refugees gestured towards the wardrobe, then the curtains, and finally himself. The others nodded. They shifted formation, one man covering the center with his weapon, aiming between the wardrobe and the curtains. The other two approached the wardrobe and curtains simultaneously.
Ready, they yanked open both the wardrobe and the curtains. For a moment, their expressions relaxed. Empty.
Then¡
Clang¡
A spherical object rolled out of the wardrobe, hitting the floor with a metallic chime. The three refugees stared, their eyes widening in horror.
"Down! Grena¡ª"
Boom¡
The violent explosion reverberated through the building, jolting every refugee. They hadn''t expected the "rat" to be so bold as to attack.
The refugees on the fifth and seventh floors quickly pinpointed the explosion to the sixth floor and relayed the information to Caban. Over the radio, Caban issued rapid commands.
"Seventh floor team to the sixth. All other floors maintain vigilance. Once your floor is clear, swap with an adjacent floor for a secondary sweep."
The seventh floor team rushed towards the sixth.
At the end of the fourth-floor corridor, a three-man team emerged from the last room, having heard Caban''s orders.
"Stay sharp, everyone. The rat''s likely on the sixth, but he could be here too. Don''t get complacent."
Despite his words, his tone was light. Then, his gaze fixed on his teammates, his expression freezing.
From the shadows behind a large, frost-covered potted plant in the corner of the corridor, a dark muzzle emerged.
Thump-thump¡ Thump-thump¡ Thump-thump¡
Three bodies slumped to the floor. Thomas hopped out from behind the plant, rolling his neck and shoulders. He''d been crouched for too long, his body stiffening. The results, however, were satisfactory.
He quickly looted the bodies, then pulled the pins on two grenades and carefully placed them on the chest of the uppermost corpse, face down. Satisfied, he melted back into the darkness.
This time, Thomas had no intention of blending in. The situation was different. Caban''s three-man teams were clearly designed to prevent infiltration. If Thomas''s hunch was correct, anyone appearing alone would be shot on sight.
Time passed. The search team on the sixth floor found nothing, their attention shifting to other floors. The fifth-floor team, having cleared their level, moved to the fourth for a secondary sweep. Unable to contact the fourth-floor team, they sensed trouble and informed Caban. They cautiously proceeded to the fourth floor.
As their tactical flashlights illuminated the end of the corridor, the three refugees gasped. Three bodies lay piled together.
One immediately radioed Caban, while the others cautiously approached the bodies, weapons raised, checking each room as they went. They reached the bodies without incident. Reinforcements arrived from the first floor, and the three refugees breathed a sigh of relief. The intruder had apparently left.
But when had he killed their comrades? And how, without a sound?
"What happened? How were they killed?" one of the reinforcements asked.
"Not sure. Let''s take a look," the leader replied, turning over the top body and recognizing the face. "It''s Kruff. Headshot¡"
He was analyzing the cause of death when two metallic clicks echoed ¨C the sound of grenade pins being released. Two lemon-sized spherical objects rolled off the corpse.
His eyes widened.
"Grenades! Run!"
The six refugees scrambled back, diving into the nearest room, hitting the floor, covering their heads.
Boom¡ Boom¡
The explosions shook the room, sending dust raining from the ceiling. As they raised their heads, a dark muzzle pointed at them from beneath the double bed.
Brrrt¡ Brrrt¡
A hail of silenced bullets erupted from the PP-91-01 Kedr-B. Even with body armor and helmets, at this range, Thomas''s burst was lethal. Six more bodies littered the floor.
The two explosions reached Caban, who roared in fury.
"Damn it! Everyone with me! I''ll see who dares to cross me!"
He charged towards the fourth floor, PKM blazing, his men following close behind.
Thomas crawled out from under the bed, opened the window, and then went to the door. He quickly planted a remote-detonated shaped charge in a concealed spot above the doorframe, opened it, and sprinted towards the stairs.
He''d barely reached the stairwell when he heard the thunder of footsteps from both above and below.
"Damn¡ They''re fast!"
With no time to lose, he ducked into the nearest room. He immediately realized his mistake. The room was tiny, a cramped storage closet, barely three square meters. He could see the entire space from the doorway.
"I¡ Seriously¡" Thomas cursed, acutely aware of how much he missed his virtual map. He''d never been this cornered. He was used to outmaneuvering his enemies, not being hunted. He felt exhausted, longing for the tactical advantage of his map.
But the enemy was closing in. Changing rooms was no longer an option. If he didn''t think of something fast, he wouldn''t have to think ever again.
He scanned the room, a plan forming.
After the successive explosions, Caban, enraged, had called all his men, except the four guarding the main entrance, to the fourth floor. The sound of their approaching footsteps sent shivers down Thomas''s spine. But his expression remained calm. He''d faced death too many times to lose his composure now.
Caban, despite his fury, hadn''t lost his head. He didn''t enter the fourth floor himself but sent his men to investigate the site of the explosions. The original three bodies were mangled beyond recognition. The others quickly discovered the six bodies in the adjacent room. The sight of their comrades riddled with bullets, even after the battle they''d just fought, left them stunned.
Ch. 45: Achieving [Refugee Bane II] and the Rare Title [Refugee Conqueror]
Caban stood at the top of the stairs, watching his men survey the carnage in the hallway. Fury coiled in his gut. Last night''s ambush by Mad Dog and Ghostface had forced him to flee like a rat through the sewers, a humiliation he, the arrogant Caban, couldn''t stomach. So when he heard The Butcher was attacking Mad Dog''s trading post, a ruthless plan hatched in his mind: a hostile takeover.
The gamble had paid off. The Butcher, a man of decisive action, had left only a skeleton crew guarding his headquarters. The theater, despite some losses on Caban''s side, was now his. The Butcher''s hoard, his for the taking. But now¡ now¡ a damned rat had cost him twelve men in half an hour, halving his forces. The rage was a physical thing, choking him.
Beneath the anger, however, a cold fear gnawed at him. These ghostly tactics¡ they brought to mind a figure lurking in the shadows. "No, impossible. Ghostface wouldn''t be this subtle. He''d crush his enemies head-on, brutally." He shook his head, dismissing the thought.
One of his men approached. "Boss, we''ve figured it out. The intruder planted two grenades under the bodies after killing Kruff. When Banner checked the corpses¡"
"They triggered the traps," Caban finished, his voice tight. "But how did the rest die?"
The man stammered, "The¡ the intruder was hiding under the bed. When Banner and the others hit the floor¡ he attacked."
Caban slammed his boot into the fire door, sending it crashing open. "Anything else?" he growled.
"The window was open, staged to look like an escape. But there are no footprints in the snow, Boss." The man hesitated. "The intruder¡ he''s still here. On this floor."
A chilling grin spread across Caban''s face. "Good. He wants to play hide-and-seek? Let''s play." His voice dripped venom. "Sweep the floor. Leave nothing standing."
Caban hefted his PKM machine gun, its weight familiar in his hands. He kicked open the nearest door and unleashed a torrent of 7.62x54mmR rounds, pulverizing everything inside. His men fanned out, grenades exploding in a symphony of destruction. The air choked with smoke and the stench of cordite.
The PKM fell silent, wisps of smoke curling from the red-hot barrel. Caban surveyed the wreckage of the small utility room, a twisted satisfaction blooming in his chest. "I told you to hide," he muttered. He tossed the machine gun to a waiting underling and stalked down the hallway.
Room after room lay in ruins, a testament to his fury. He reached the room where his six men had died. His men waited in the hallway as he forced a somber expression onto his face. "Rest in peace, brothers," he mumbled, turning to leave.
At the doorway, a man rushed up to him. "Boss! We can''t find the intruder''s body!"
"What?!"
A faint beep reached his ears. Half a second later, a deafening roar ripped through the air. The explosion, many times stronger than a grenade, engulfed the hallway in flames. Caban''s men died instantly, screams swallowed by the blast.
As the shockwave subsided, a thud echoed from the utility room.
"Damn¡ leg''s asleep," Thomas muttered, struggling to his feet and pounding his numb limb. That had been close. Wedged between the walls, just a meter below Caban, he''d felt the heat from the machine gun''s barrel. The [Silent] effect of his [Nightwalker] title had saved his life.
A crisp, mechanical voice resonated in his mind. "Survivor Thomas Smyth, you have eliminated Caban, The Butcher, and Mad Dog, leaders of three refugee factions. You have earned the achievement [Refugee Bane II]."A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Thomas''s eyes widened. His theory had been correct. Eliminating the three faction leaders had triggered a new achievement. But this wasn''t the time to celebrate. He sprinted up the stairs, silent as a ghost, and waited in the shadows.
Seconds later, four refugees from the ground floor patrol ascended the stairs. As they reached the fourth-floor landing, Thomas hurled a modified RGO grenade at their feet and dove for cover.
Boom.
"Survivor Thomas Smyth, you have single-handedly eradicated all refugee factions within the region during the First Calamity, fulfilling the requirements for a special title. The common title [Enemy of Refugees] has been upgraded to the rare title [Refugee Conqueror]. Regional Legend rating +1."
Thomas brushed dust and shrapnel from his clothes. Too close. If he hadn''t reacted quickly, the steel balls and fragments from his modified RGO would have peppered him. He swapped his black mask for a level 4 ballistic helmet, his AK-101 appearing in his hands. His gear shifted from stealth mode to CQB combat readiness.
The system notification had signaled victory, but he wasn''t taking any chances. He needed to be sure. With his tactical flashlight/laser combo activated, he descended to the fourth floor.
Four mangled bodies lay sprawled on the landing. One had been bisected by shrapnel. Thomas, hardened by the apocalypse, calmly delivered a headshot to each, a grim ritual. He repeated the process with the bodies at the end of the hallway, including Caban.
His caution proved justified. Two refugees, grievously wounded but still alive, lay among the carnage. One was even reaching for a pistol. Thomas eliminated the threat before it could materialize.
Still wary, he systematically cleared every room on the ground floor, checking behind furniture, under beds, even above door frames. Finally satisfied, he started towards the second floor, then paused. Returning to the first floor landing, he rigged several booby traps using grenades and tripwires, securing the stairwells.
Back on the fourth floor, he began the enjoyable task of looting. He paused, remembering the system notifications. He opened his status panel to examine his new achievement and title. He recalled something about improved loot quality from refugees.
[Refugee Bane II]
Type: Achievement
Requirements: Eliminate three refugee faction leaders.
Effects: +10% loot quantity from refugees, +30% loot quality from refugees, +5% chance of rare items from refugees.
[Refugee Conqueror]
Type: Title
Rarity: Rare
Requirements: Eradicate all refugee factions and their leaders within the region during the Novice Version, and possess the title [Enemy of Refugees].
Conditions: Kill at least one refugee leader (controlling 20+ followers) per week and display their body prominently as a symbol of your dominance. Failure to do so will freeze the title''s effects.
Effects:
-30% damage taken from refugees, +30% effectiveness of actions against refugees (including but not limited to damage, healing, intimidation, pacification).
Refugee factions hold you in awe.
5% chance to subjugate a refugee, converting them into a follower (opens recruitment panel).
Gain the [Intimidate] skill, usable once per day, only against refugees.
-40% chance of being detected when disguised as a refugee, +15% chance to subjugate a refugee.
Description: The legend of the Conqueror spreads among the refugees, inspiring hatred, fear, and even¡ worship.
Note: Title effects are active only when equipped. Only one title can be equipped at a time. Effects do not stack.
[Intimidate]
Type: Rare Equipment Skill
Effect: Dominates the target''s mind, forcing them to obey your commands for 300 seconds.
Note: Items that protect against mind control or individuals with exceptionally strong wills can resist or break the effect.
Impressive. The [Refugee Bane II] achievement was three times more effective than its predecessor. The [Refugee Conqueror] title, however, was on another level.
Comparing it to the [Nightwalker] title, Thomas understood the difference between common and rare titles. Beyond their potent effects, the key distinction lay in the conditions for equipping them. [Nightwalker] required a weekly ritual sacrifice. [Refugee Conqueror] demanded a weekly kill and a gruesome display of power.
It wasn''t just a title; it was a pact. The conditions were a form of ritual, granting the wearer access to unique abilities, or perhaps¡ authority. The title itself seemed to be a shorthand for a cluster of related powers.
This realization gave Thomas a new perspective on the apocalypse game. Rare titles seemed to touch upon its underlying nature. He''d always assumed the "gods" invoked in the cultists'' rituals were a fabrication, a tool used by Ghostface and his mysterious backer to control their followers. But now, he wondered¡ what if they were real?
"The First Calamity ends tonight," he mused. "Time to have a chat with Ben."
Ch. 46: The Butchers Secret Journal and a Shocking Collection
Thomas Smyth refocused, unequipping the [Nightwalker] title and replacing it with [Refugee Conqueror]. He meticulously looted every piece of equipment and every item from the refugees on the fourth floor. The combination of the [Refugee Conqueror] title and the [Refugee Nemesis II] achievement boosted the quantity and quality of his spoils by over 50% compared to his haul from the Trading Center.
"Looks like this title''s first effect also applies to loot from refugees," he mused.
Caban''s dropped items left Thomas speechless. "Did this guy pack his entire life savings when he ran last night?"
After fifteen minutes of gathering, Thomas climbed to the tenth floor and began a systematic search of each room, working his way down. Caban''s group hadn''t had time to loot anything, so Thomas found decent items in almost every room until he reached the eighth floor¡ªCaban''s former headquarters and presumably the Butcher''s personal quarters. The furniture and decorations were noticeably upscale.
Apparently, all refugee leaders had a penchant for displaying their possessions. Like Meat Dog''s wall of valuables, the Butcher had dedicated a wall to his collection, though his passion lay not in precious metals but in ammunition. Glass display cases showcased a variety of bullets, each accompanied by a card detailing its caliber, type, and effects. The maker, listed on every card, was invariably "Kolenty (The Butcher)."
Thomas was surprised. "Didn''t expect that ugly brute to be a gunsmith."
He swept the room clean, but before leaving, he began searching the furniture. Finally, he found a hidden button on the corner of the desk. Pressing it, the wall behind the desk rotated, revealing a hidden room.
"Just as I suspected," Thomas muttered.
The room was spacious, about 60 square meters. Several iron cages lined one side, and a separate, smaller room appeared to be a workshop. In the corner stood a two-meter-tall safe, requiring both a key and a combination. Thomas tried to store it directly in his inventory, but it was welded to the wall. He remembered a key among the Butcher''s belongings.
Rummaging through the Butcher''s bandolier, he found a long brass key and a small notebook. Inside the notebook, he found the safe''s combination along with some intriguing entries:
[Hannibal is blind to promote that idiot Meat Dog.]
[Where is the CBS Lab? What is Solon up to? 5 million Apocalypse Coins!!!]
[Too many Heretic Cultists lately! Damned fake god. If Solon hadn''t told me, I wouldn''t have known it was just a side effect of the CBS Lab''s failed serum. This is all Hannibal Zhou''s scheme.]
[Something''s off. Solon is trying to drive a wedge between me and Hannibal Zhou. What''s his angle? My gut tells me it''s connected to that lab. What does Solon know? Can''t act rashly, Hannibal has connections to the Rebel high command.]
[I can''t believe it!!! The lab is beneath the city! But why the explosion? What happened there? Damn it!]
[Where''s Hannibal gone? This is my chance. Solon said Hannibal''s idiot brother has the keycard to the lab. Unbelievable!]
[Ha! Black Dog is dead! Serves him right!]
[Solon''s mercenary group has a Wanderer? He''s getting more suspicious.]
[Idiot! Why did Saber go get the key for me? Now he''s gone too!]
[This is a golden opportunity. Who would have thought framing Caban would work? Meat Dog and him are at each other''s throats. Perfect!]
[Tonight''s the night. Since Caban is missing, Meat Dog will do. The White Tower District will be mine after tonight!]
Thomas finally learned the name of the man behind Ghostface: Hannibal Zhou.
"Hannibal, huh?" he mused.
As he opened the safe, his mind raced with the implications of the Butcher''s notes. He now knew of another faction in the Apocalypse Game: mercenaries. Refugees, Rebels, mercenaries, Wanderers, Heretic Cultists, and survivors¡ªthat made six factions.
No, wait. There was also the "Colonel" mentioned in the bloody letter, someone embedded within the Heretic Cultists. Not a Rebel, but perhaps part of another military force opposing the Rebels. That made seven.The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.
A sense of unease settled over Thomas. He now had a new target: Hannibal Zhou. He was clearly a key player, connected to the Rebels, the refugees, the Heretic Cultists, and the mysterious CBS Lab. Thomas mentally circled Hannibal''s name. He was a priority. Investigating him would surely uncover more secrets about the city and the Apocalypse Game.
The safe clicked open.
Thomas stared at the contents, stunned. "Holy¡"
The safe was filled with stacks of Apocalypse Coins, easily numbering in the millions. In front of the coins lay an exquisite rosewood box. Inside, five black coins shimmered¡ªCalamity Coins. Beside them were three blueprints and a book. A single glance at the title sent his heart racing: ]Bullet Theory and Practice].
Thomas returned to his hideout at 5:00 AM. Exhausted, he collapsed onto his cot, nestled amongst piles of supplies, without even bothering to wash up. He wasn''t the only one who hadn''t slept. The regional chat was still buzzing with speculation about the battles at the Trading Center and the Opera House. Some survivors near the Trading Center had even posted pictures, silencing the chat. Ben Walker was among those who saw the photos. His messages to Thomas went unanswered, confirming his suspicions.
Thomas finally woke up at 3:00 PM, his body aching. He had fallen asleep in his full combat gear. After shedding his equipment and showering, he ate a quick meal, restoring his hunger and thirst. He then noticed several messages from Ben:
[Ben Walker: Legend, was that you over the Trading Center last night? [Picture of the hang glider]]
[Ben Walker: What happened last night? Why were there battles at the Trading Center and the Opera House?]
[Ben Walker: Legend¡]
Thomas considered his reply.
[Thomas Smyth: Yeah, that was me. Recognize your gift? I have some questions for you too. Today''s the last day of the Calamity. We should exchange information.]
Ben''s reply was instant.
[Ben Walker: You just woke up? Makes sense, after last night¡]
Thomas answered some of Ben''s questions, confirming that he was the hang glider pilot and explaining that the battle had started when the Opera House refugees attacked Meat Dog. Ben was surprised. He knew who Meat Dog was from their previous conversation about the 4S shop. He immediately suspected Thomas of orchestrating the attack.
Thomas denied involvement, explaining how the Butcher had framed Caban, leading to the infighting. He claimed his presence at the Trading Center was unrelated, that he was there to retrieve an item and had been monitoring Meat Dog for that reason. He feigned ignorance about the battle''s outcome and the situation at the Opera House. The photos showed him still flying while the battle raged, providing a convenient alibi. Despite his trust in Ben, he kept the two rare titles a secret. His inherent distrust of human nature made him cautious.
After Ben''s questions were answered, Thomas posed his own:
[Thomas Smyth: What do you know about the world after the first Calamity, the different factions, and what we should watch out for?]
Ben wasn''t surprised by the question. He paused, seemingly weighing his options. Thomas waited patiently. Two minutes later, Ben replied:
[Ben Walker: Legend, a word of advice, something I hate to admit but it''s true, something the higher-ups kept from the public: After the first Calamity, trust no one, not even fellow survivors from Earth. Never reveal your hideout.]
[Ben Walker: There are traitors among us, many who have sided with the other races.]
[Ben Walker: As for the factions¡ the base knows little. Rebels, Revolutionaries, Refugees, Heretic Cultists. Even the intel we have comes from a Seed who got an Epic item that lets them send a 30-character message back to Earth after each Calamity.]
[Ben Walker: That''s all I know.]
Thomas was disappointed but not surprised about the traitors. He had expected as much. This confirmed humanity''s disadvantage against the other races. The mention of "Revolutionaries" validated his theory of a second military force.
Thomas sent one last message:
[Thomas Smyth: Gather flood supplies today. It might help.]
He closed the chat. Ben stared at the message, a shocking realization dawning on him. He suppressed the urge to ask for clarification, rereading the message, his eyes widening with excitement, hope, and elation.
[Ben Walker: Thanks, Legend!]
He immediately began his preparations.
Thomas smirked. "Let''s see how resourceful you are."
He then noticed a message from a Liam Brightman offering a [Thermostat] for 15 bowls of [Nourishing Mutton Stew]. It was sent at 9:00 PM last night, while Thomas was busy. He saw Liam''s location in the Depot district and understood. He scoffed, about to ignore it, but then changed his mind.
[City - Thomas Smyth: You mean this thing? Sorry, already got one. [Picture of a Thermostat]]
He blocked Liam.
The Thermostat was salvaged from the Butcher''s generator, which had been destroyed, leaving only usable parts. Thomas remembered asking Howie Wang to craft him some wooden boxes. Howie had delivered them immediately without asking for payment and hadn''t contacted him since. The boxes weren''t valuable, but they had been crucial. Howie was a stand-up guy, and Thomas valued their relationship.
He selected a complete set of equipment from his loot¡ªprimary weapon, secondary weapon, melee weapon, 5 grenades, level 4 body armor, level 3 helmet, and 300 rounds of ammunition¡ªand traded it to Howie.
Howie, busy crafting items in exchange for supplies, was stunned by the unexpected gift.
Ch. 47: The Butchers Blueprints, [Hideout Upgrade Blueprint - Expanded Escape Tunnel]
[Forest - Howie Wang: Legend... Legend Smyth, what are you doing? Did you send this to the wrong person?]
Howie Wang didn''t immediately accept the trade. Instead, he sent a message to Thomas. Thomas had truly startled him. How many survivors in the entire world channel could assemble such a set of equipment?
Howie could see clearly that the items Thomas offered weren''t junk; they were all high-quality weapons and gear.
* AKMN 7.62x39 Assault Rifle
* HK USP Pistol
* Tactical Axe
These three weapons alone showed that Thomas had carefully chosen equipment suitable for a survivor in the wilderness. Not to mention the AKMN was equipped with an XPS3-0 holographic sight. Howie dared to say that there were no more than five people in the entire newbie world who could offer such a set.
Although tempted, he still hesitated to click the "Confirm Trade" button. He was a bit panicked! What was Legend Smyth up to?
Thankfully, Thomas''s message arrived.
[City - Thomas Smyth: That''s right, it''s for you! Use it without worry. Let me know if you run out of ammo. You helped me a lot last night!]
Howie now understood why Thomas was giving him this equipment. He had initially wanted to refuse, as the wooden box hadn''t required much effort. However, the words of refusal wouldn''t come out, his eyes glued to the equipment.
"Ah... I really want it!!!"
Thomas seemed to see through Howie''s thoughts and chuckled inwardly. This guy still clung to the moral standards of the real world even in the apocalypse. It was a miracle he had survived this long.
[City - Thomas Smyth: Stay alive, Howie. Our real Apocalypse Game has just begun! Don''t die. If you find anything good, remember me!]
Seeing Thomas''s words, Howie instantly snapped to his senses.
Slap!
He gave himself a hard slap.
"At a time like this, what am I being sentimental for? Survival comes first!"
Immediately, he confirmed the trade. Looking at the complete set of equipment in his hands, his face bloomed into a grin. A thought flashed through his mind.
"The blue-staining boletes Cecilia brought yesterday seemed to be something Legend Smyth liked. I''ll have her find some more later. A little snow shouldn''t keep him indoors! Young people need to be tempered!"
Thomas, seeing Howie accept the equipment, chuckled softly. He suddenly remembered that he had forgotten to tell him about the great flood. He immediately sent Howie the same warning message he had sent to Ben, leaving it to them to understand as much as they could.
Seeing Howie''s message of gratitude, Thomas found it amusing. Ben Walker and Howie Wang, these two Wang brothers were quite interesting.
Having dealt with his social interactions, Thomas''s face completely fell. Looking at the mountain of supplies in his hideout and his backpack, he had a massive headache!
The equipment from Caban''s twenty-odd refugees shouldn''t have filled his backpack. But who would have known that the ten-story building at the opera house had a basement? It contained several rooms filled with military supplies, more than three times the amount in Mad Dog''s armory.
This had completely stuffed his backpack. He had finally managed to cram everything in only after abandoning some lower-tier supplies found in the rooms.
But now the problem was¡ how was he going to organize all this? He was probably the only survivor worried about having too many supplies.
Thomas focused on the spoils from the refugee leaders, Ghostface, and the others.
"Hopefully, there are blueprints to increase the hideout''s size!"
He first looked at the three blueprints found in the Butcher''s massive safe.
[Bullet Processing Workshop Construction Blueprint]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect: Allows construction of the special facility [Bullet Processing Workshop] in the hideout.
Construction Requirements: [Hideout Security] Level 2, [Generator] Level 2, [Ventilation] Level 2, [Lighting] Level 2, Lathe x1, Lead Ingot x3, Copper Ingot x5, Steel Ingot x3, Cutting Machine x1, Grinding Machine x1, 150,000 Apocalypse Coins.
Construction Time: 2 hours.
-----------------------------
[Shooting Range Construction Blueprint]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect: Allows construction of the special building [Shooting Range] in the hideout. The shooting range is extra space and does not occupy hideout area.
Construction Requirements: [Lighting] Level 2, [Bullet Processing Workshop] or [Weapon Modification Workshop] Level 1, Pile of Metal Parts x5, Nuts x5, Bolts x5, Tape Measure x3, Wire x1, Motor x1, Tool Set x1, Energy-Saving Light Bulbs x5, 200,000 Apocalypse Coins.
Construction Time: 3 hours
-----------------------------
[Calamity Coin Mine Construction Blueprint]
Type: Rare Blueprint
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.Effect: Allows construction of the special building [Calamity Coin Mine] in the hideout.
Construction Requirements: [Generator] Level 3, [Ventilation] Level 3, [Intelligence Center] or [Information Network Station] Level 1, CPU Fan x15, Power Cord x10, Power Supply Unit x10, Circuit Board x5, Socket x5, 900,000 Apocalypse Coins.
Construction Time: 36 hours.
Note: After constructing the [Calamity Coin Mine], you need a [Graphics Card] to activate the facility. The upper limit for [Graphics Cards] is ten.
-----------------------------
Thomas, seeing these blueprints for the first time, was stunned. Each one was amazing. The [Calamity Coin Mine] confirmed his suspicions about the secret Ben had told him regarding graphics cards and Calamity Coins. As he suspected, Calamity Coins were similar to Bitcoin, obtained through mining.
However, a new question arose. If Calamity Coins were mined, how did the physical Calamity Coins he already possessed come into being? This question would have to wait for a later answer.
Clearly, the Butcher''s blueprints wouldn''t solve his space problem. While the [Shooting Range] helped, it was a drop in the bucket.
Thomas took out all the dropped items from Ghostface, Mad Dog, Caban, and the two cultists, including Mad Dog''s small safe. The key was on Mad Dog, so Thomas easily retrieved the contents. He hadn''t expected that, although small, the safe contained high-quality items.
First, there were 3 [Calamity Coins]. Then, a map and two rare blueprints. One of them, as Thomas had hoped, was a hideout upgrade blueprint¡ªor rather, an advanced version.
[Hideout Upgrade Blueprint - Expanded Escape Tunnel]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect 1: Upon use, expands the hideout based on its type, increasing the area threefold. Choose between a single-story or multi-story structure. After the upgrade, you have one opportunity to rearrange hideout facilities.
Effect 2: Adds an extra escape tunnel leading to the outside. The survivor can choose the exit location.
Upgrade Requirements: [Hideout], Stone x500, Wood x200, Sand x100, Steel x300, Emulsion Paint x20, Energy-Saving Light Bulbs x20, Wire x30, Expanding Foam x40, Sockets x15, 600,000 Apocalypse Coins.
Upgrade Time: 10 seconds.
-----------------------------
Thomas was very satisfied with this blueprint. Mad Dog, as one of the three refugee leaders in the newbie area, indeed had good stuff. Although its functionality might not compare to the Butcher''s blueprints, this was exactly what Thomas needed.
He checked the upgrade materials. Stone, wood, sand, and steel all needed to be traded. He had the rest. Some were from previous trades, others collected last night.
Soon, a message appeared on the [World Channel].
[City - Thomas Smyth: Buying: Stone x500, Wood x200, Sand x100, Steel x300. Can trade [Nourishing Mutton Stew], various weapons, armor, medical supplies, food, and drinks. Serious offers only, message me with your price. No time-wasters!]
This message was like a thunderbolt. The materials Thomas sought were abundant in other regions, indicating he was building or upgrading hideout facilities, and on a large scale, judging by the quantities.
More importantly, he offered to trade weapons, armor, medical supplies, food, and drinks! Who else among the survivors could make such an offer? Speculation about Thomas arose again among the survivors.
It was then that Thomas noticed the number of survivors in the regional channel had dropped to 298. He fell silent. Last night, there had been nearly four hundred. The blizzard had claimed nearly a hundred lives. This was just the newbie stage, and the death toll was already at seventy percent.
"No, my current strength isn''t enough. I need to process these spoils quickly, upgrade the hideout facilities, and prepare new trump cards."
Urgency welled up in Thomas''s heart.
Just then, Howie Wang sent a trade request and a private message.
[Forest - Howie Wang: Legend Smyth, are you being too formal with me? If you need wood, just tell me! No need to go to the world channel. I''ve sent the trade. Accept it!]
Thomas suddenly realized his oversight. He had been so busy that he had completely forgotten about Howie!
[City - Thomas Smyth: Thanks, Howie. I was preoccupied. Let me know if you need anything.]
[Forest - Howie Wang: Need anything? It was just a few swings of the axe. Use it without worry, Legend Smyth. Let me know if you need more.]
Thomas didn''t put on airs and accepted the trade.
For the next half hour, Thomas was busy trading. The other survivors seemed to deliberately avoid trading for [Nourishing Mutton Stew]. As Thomas had expected, no survivor was foolish.
He didn''t mind. He had already acquired the key materials yesterday. These trades were mainly for weapons and medical supplies. By now, the survivors knew that after the first disaster, they would be merged into the real Apocalypse Game. The true test had just begun, and everyone was striving to improve their means of self-preservation.
Once all the upgrade materials were gathered, Thomas went outside his hideout to begin the upgrade.
"Hideout type is - Underground Bunker. Survivor, please select the hideout expansion structure."
A mechanical prompt sounded. A virtual panel appeared before Thomas, displaying several expansion templates for underground bunkers. There were single-story structures, long and narrow tunnel-like structures, U-shaped, and Z-shaped ones.
After reviewing them, Thomas chose a three-story structure. The template he liked had upper, middle, and lower levels, each 200 square meters. The entire hideout remained underground, the security door unchanged. A staircase in the upper left corner of the first floor connected to the second and third floors.
Next was the escape tunnel. Thomas didn''t think he would use it, but as a precaution, he placed it on the third floor, connected to a sewer manhole cover on the surface.
After selecting the template, the hideout began to upgrade. Ten seconds passed quickly.
Standing outside, Thomas looked at the hideout''s security door. It remained unchanged, perfectly blending with the surrounding walls thanks to the [Camouflage Coating Sticker]. Even the frost formed by the frigid air was automatically camouflaged and repaired.
Entering the hideout, Thomas opened the hideout panel. A 3D model of the three-story structure appeared. The previously fixed facilities now had draggable icons.
Thomas considered the layout. He moved the resting area and water collector to the bottom floor, designating it the [Living Area]. The generator, intelligence center, medical station, bathroom, kitchen, warehouse, and the planned [Calamity Coin Mine] were moved to the second floor, the [Functional Area].
He planned to place the future bullet processing workshop, shooting range, and explosive crafting station on the top floor, his [Weapons Lab].
After rearranging the facilities, the hideout felt much more spacious. The [Lighting], [Ventilation], and [Hideout Walls] had also been optimized and adjusted by the upgrade, perfectly covering all three floors.
Thomas toured the hideout. The bright, spacious area lifted the weight of the massive amount of supplies from his mind.
"No wonder rich people like big houses. There''s a reason!"
With the upgrade complete, Thomas began organizing his loot. He had to sort everything out today.
He went to the top floor¡ªthe Weapons Lab¡ªand used the [Bullet Processing Workshop Construction Blueprint]. He met the facility requirements, and he had brought all the necessary materials from the Butcher''s workshop.
As the [Bullet Processing Workshop] began construction, he went to the second floor and started building the [Calamity Coin Mine] next to the intelligence center. Thanks to the vast amount of Apocalypse Coins from the Butcher, he wouldn''t have to worry about them for a while. He realized that the rarer the facility, the more Apocalypse Coins it required.
Then, Thomas began to inventory his gains.
First were the Calamity Coins. Including the three from Mad Dog, he now had nine. One from Black Dog, five from the Butcher, and three from Mad Dog. This was an incredible number for someone still in the newbie stage.
Next came the main event: the rare books he had collected. Yes, [books]¡ plural.
Ch. 48: Thomass Shock, The Value of "The Art of Forgery"
[The Art of Forgery]
Type: Rare Book
Effect: After use, learn techniques and skills to create forgeries indistinguishable from genuine articles.
Requirements: Generator Level 2, Professional Knowledge Skill x1, Forged Item x15, 100,000 Apocalypse Coins
Description: A book written by a master forger, highly sought after in certain niche circles and considered a professional bible.
---
[On Precious Art and History]
Type: Rare Book
Effect: After use, learn to appraise precious items and understand their history.
Requirements: Precious Item x5, Regional Renown ¡Ý 1, Historical Artifact x3, 200,000 Apocalypse Coins
Description: A renowned work in the art world.
---
[Bullet Theory and Practice]
Type: Rare Book
Effect: After use, learn to craft various types of bullets with different models, functions, and categories.
Requirements: Generator Level 2, Bullet Processing Room Level 1, Explosives Skill x1
Description: Trust me, the importance of bullets on the battlefield far exceeds your imagination.
---
[Birth of a Gunsmith]
Type: Rare Book
Effect: After use, learn about gun modification, conversion, and crafting.
Requirements: Generator Level 2, Lighting Level 3, Gun Modification Room Level 1
Description: Gunsmith is the highest title for a firearms engineer.
---
These four rare books were obtained from Mad Dog, The Butcher, and Caban.
The other two were fine, but the two from Mad Dog''s safe, "The Art of Forgery" and "On Precious Art and History," truly surprised Thomas. He never thought such books would exist.
Moreover, their learning requirements were surprisingly consistent, both demanding a large number of Apocalypse Coins.
"It seems that art, whether real or fake, is not something the poor can touch!"
Thomas checked the requirements and found that the only book he could currently learn was "On Precious Art and History."
"Bullet Theory and Practice" required the Bullet Processing Room to be completed.
"Birth of a Gunsmith" similarly required a facility called the Gun Modification Room, but Thomas had learned his lesson.
Caban must have taken his collection with him when he fled from Mad Dog.
Among his dropped items were two blueprints.
One of them was the construction blueprint for the Gun Modification Room, corresponding to the rare book "Birth of a Gunsmith."
[Gun Modification Room Blueprint]
Type: Rare Blueprint
Effect: Allows construction of a Gun Modification Room in the hideout.
Requirements: Generator Level 3, Lighting Level 3, Hideout Security Level 3, Wood x30, Bolts x15, Nuts x15, File x1, Tape Measure x1, Tool Set x1
Construction Time: 2 hours
---
Confirming he had all the materials, Thomas immediately began constructing the Gun Modification Room next to the Bullet Processing Room.
"Perfect. In two hours, after both facilities are complete, I can start learning the skills!"
Thomas was very satisfied. It seemed the items dropped by the three refugee leaders were designed to be learned together, perhaps a bonus for new players, though the acquisition difficulty was rather high.
The Butcher specialized in bullet processing, Caban in gun modification, and Mad Dog in¡ fakes¡ no, [simulated] items. Thomas found the term too convoluted and simply called them forgeries.
Thomas looked at "On Precious Art and History." It was time to learn from this book.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
He hadn''t expected it to cost not only 200,000 Apocalypse Coins but also require Regional Renown ¡Ý 1.
Ridiculous.
He took five precious items from his inventory.
For the three historical artifacts, he used three Commemorative Coins, perfectly meeting the requirement.
[Commemorative Coin]
Type: Precious Item
Description: A commemorative coin issued by Sparrow City to celebrate the 80th anniversary of the city''s victory in the war. Rumor has it some people are collecting these.
However, when Thomas clicked to learn from the book:
"Item requirements not met!!!"
The book''s interface flashed a clear warning.
All conditions were met except for the five precious items, which remained grayed out.
Huh?
Thomas was dumbfounded.
Impossible!
Weren''t these the precious items he took from Mad Dog''s room?
Why wouldn''t they work?
They were clearly¡
"Holy crap¡"
A possibility flashed through Thomas''s mind, and disbelief spread across his face.
"I''ve been freaking played!!!"
"That bastard Mad Dog¡ could that entire wall of precious items be¡ fake?!"
He was instantly agitated.
He quickly took out all the "precious items" looted from Mad Dog''s room and compared them one by one.
The result¡
"Mad Dog, I''ll be damned¡ I¡ you son of a¡"
Thomas was utterly speechless. He had thought he''d hit the jackpot with a room full of precious items.
But in the end, apart from the three Calamity Coins in the safe¡
None of the other precious items were real!!!
This guy was a true "genius" (moron). A refugee leader with a passion for forgery. Thomas now understood why Mad Dog had "On Precious Art and History."
He purely wanted to make his forgeries more convincing!
But Thomas made a significant discovery.
He picked up a fake bronze lion sculpture and opened its panel.
[Bronze Lion Sculpture]
Type: Precious Item
Weight: 7.2kg
Size: 3x2
Description: An exquisite collectible bronze lion, very heavy. Can be used for display or sale.
---
"Indeed¡"
Thomas narrowed his eyes, a hint of shock and delight in their depths.
The game interface couldn''t distinguish forgeries. Only rare items could be identified.
Which meant these so-called forgeries could be sold as genuine!
Thomas looked at the fake lion sculpture again.
"Bah, what forgery? This is a genuine precious item, acknowledged by the Apocalypse Game itself. Who has proof it''s fake? Who?"
A faint smile played on Thomas''s lips. A crazy idea formed in his mind.
"The Art of Forgery" was a godsend!
Thomas took the opportunity to use "On Precious Art and History" to conduct a "quality check" on the forty-odd precious items looted from the Trading Center.
The results were as he expected.
None of the 43 precious items from the Trading Center were genuine.
"Damn it, that Mad Dog is ruthless! I was wondering why there were so many precious items in the Trading Center!"
"Turns out they were all fakes Mad Dog used to fool his subordinates, all meticulously copied from the pictures in ''On Precious Art and History.''"
"Genius isn''t enough to describe him! He''s a prodigy, wasted as a mere refugee leader!"
Thomas was truly at a loss for words.
He noticed a tiny, almost invisible dent on the front leg of the bronze lion sculpture pictured in "On Precious Art and History."
And without exception, all five bronze lion sculptures in front of him had the same tiny dent.
Thomas was completely exasperated.
Putting the forgeries aside, he took out the nine precious items collected from the theater. Even among these, two were fake.
Thomas nearly spat blood.
"What have I done to deserve this?!"
Fortunately, the remaining seven were genuine. He selected the five smallest.
Finally, he successfully learned "On Precious Art and History."
As the rare book vanished, a third skill appeared on Thomas''s skill panel.
[Precious Item Appraisal]
Type: Rare Knowledge Skill
Description: A skill requiring exceptional talent and resources, allowing appraisal of precious items from various angles, including authenticity, material, history, and past events. A difficult skill to master.
Effects:
* Increased success rate in judging the authenticity of precious items.
* Increased success rate in analyzing the material and craftsmanship of precious items.
* Increased chance and duration of tracing the history of precious items.
* Reduced chance of forged precious items being detected.
* Chance to transform forged precious items into genuine ones (10% for common, 1% for rare, 0.0001% for epic).
Max Level: 100% appraisal rate for common, 80% for rare, 5% for epic precious items; forgeries below epic level undetectable; significantly increased chance of transformation; can forge rare precious items.
Proficiency: 0/10000
Proficiency Gain: Collecting precious items; identifying forgeries; appraising rare and epic precious items; uncovering the history of precious items; successfully trading forged items as genuine.
---
"Wow¡"
Thomas raised an eyebrow, surprised by the skill''s description.
The amount of information it contained was substantial.
"Rare and epic precious items¡"
Thomas was no longer a novice. After obtaining a rare title and experiencing the forgery incident, he keenly sensed the vast gulf between rare and common items in the Apocalypse.
An insurmountable chasm.
Any item, if rare or above, possessed extraordinary abilities.
Whether books, blueprints, recipes, plants, or anything else.
This was the first time Thomas had heard of rare precious items, yet he hadn''t seen any during the first calamity.
That wasn''t his fault. It wasn''t that he looked down on other survivors.
If he hadn''t seen any, other survivors were even less likely to have.
"So, this level of precious item doesn''t appear in the first calamity at all!"
With this understanding, Thomas didn''t dwell on it. He would encounter them eventually.
Since he now met the prerequisites for "The Art of Forgery," he immediately began learning.
The 15 forgeries used as learning materials vanished, serving their purpose.
A fourth skill appeared on Thomas''s skill panel.
[Forgery]
Type: Rare Life Skill
Description: A near-lost art, easy to learn but difficult to master, requiring exceptional talent and resources. However, once mastered, it''s a profession that can easily get your hands broken. Proceed with caution!
Effects:
* Create forgeries based on physical objects or related information.
* Increase the realism of forgeries.
* Increase the success rate of forgery.
* Reduce the chance of forgeries being detected.
* Increase realism and reduce detection chance and crafting time by using the genuine article as a reference.
* Chance to transform forgeries into genuine items (10% for common, 1% for rare, 0.0001% for epic).
Max Level: Significantly increased realism; significantly reduced detection chance; significantly increased transformation chance; can forge rare items.
Proficiency: 0/10000
Proficiency Gain: Creating forgeries; learning knowledge skills; appraising other forgeries; appraising genuine items; successfully trading forgeries as genuine.
---
This skill was undeniably powerful, especially when combined with "Precious Item Appraisal."
The effect was explosive. The chance of transforming forged precious items into genuine ones reached 20%, a one-in-five success rate.
Unbelievable!
But Thomas never expected that even in the apocalypse, learning would be necessary to increase skill proficiency.
He shook his head helplessly.
Checking the time, the Bullet Processing Room and Gun Modification Room needed another hour. He couldn''t learn the other two rare books yet.
Thomas took out the remaining blueprints.
He had five blueprints and a map.
Ch. 49: The CBS Lab Map and Night Vision
Thomas examined the five rare blueprints before him.
One was the remaining blueprint from Mad Dog''s safe: the Hideout Trophy Display Case Blueprint.
Another was dropped by Ghostface: the Hideout Workbench Blueprint.
The third was Caban''s remaining blueprint: the Hideout Gym Blueprint.
The final two were from the two cultists killed at the Trading Center: the Hideout Facility Merger Blueprint and the Hideout Indoor Greenhouse Blueprint.
Thomas met all the hideout facility requirements for these five blueprints, lacking only a few common materials.
He quickly acquired these through a quick query in the world chat.
Without hesitation, he began construction.
The workbench and gym were built in the first-floor weapons lab area.
The trophy display case was placed on the third floor living area, directly opposite the fireplace.
As construction began on these three, Thomas turned his attention to the remaining two blueprints: the Hideout Facility Merger Blueprint and the Hideout Indoor Greenhouse Blueprint.
He then pulled out another blueprint he had acquired some time ago: the Hideout Well Blueprint.
He had obtained this blueprint along with the Hideout "Island" Inverter Air Conditioner Blueprint, the Gas Mask Crafting Diagram, and the Bloodstained Letter in a single trade.
The Gas Mask Crafting Diagram had already been added to the bathroom''s crafting list.
The other two blueprints, deemed non-essential, had been saved until now.
But now, Thomas had an intriguing idea.
He took the Hideout Facility Merger Blueprint and the Hideout Well Blueprint to the water collector on the third basement level.
The water collector, now level 2, had a purification function, but its source was still the city water supply.
He hadn''t thought much of it before, but looking at the two blueprints, a concern arose.
The upcoming calamity, the Great Flood, would submerge 98% of the land, inevitably contaminating the city water. While the water collector could purify water, it required filter cartridges.
If the water became heavily polluted, the effectiveness of purification and the availability and cost of filter cartridges would become major issues.
With the land submerged, the remaining supplies would be scarce.
Filter cartridges would likely be exorbitantly expensive, if available at all.
Not just one item, but all resources.
He had made up his mind.
Self-reliance was key.
He didn''t hesitate.
He retrieved the materials for the well and selected the Hideout Facility Merger Blueprint.
He chose the level 2 water collector and the Hideout Well Blueprint.
Selecting a corner in the living area, he initiated the merger construction.
The water collector was enveloped in a white light.
Construction time: 2 hours.
Thomas smiled, watching the construction in progress.
He didn''t know what kind of facility would result, but with two hideout facilities and the Water Purifier Blueprint used to upgrade the collector, a total of three rare blueprints were involved.
The merged facility couldn''t be useless.
Further speculation was pointless.
The die was cast; he would see the results in two hours.
Now, only the Hideout Indoor Greenhouse Blueprint remained.
After some thought, he decided to wait until the water source was complete. Water was crucial for planting.
He didn''t want to rush the greenhouse construction.
However, he could make some preparations.Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work!
He opened his private message list and searched for a specific contact.
[Thomas: Hey, you still alive?]
After thirty seconds with no reply, Thomas assumed the worst¡
[Andrew Jackson: Legend Smyth? Is the rare plant ready?]
The message suddenly arrived.
Thomas paused, then slapped his forehead.
"Crap¡ I forgot about the rare plant!"
It wasn''t intentional. His mind had been racing lately.
But it wasn''t too late.
[Thomas: Hey¡ yeah! Just contacting you about that. Want it now?]
He rushed to the resting area and checked the Breathing Pothos.
As expected, the aerial root had split, and a new one was two-thirds grown, ready to split in four or five hours.
Thomas breathed a sigh of relief.
Andrew''s message arrived.
[Andrew Jackson: That''s great, Legend Smyth! Send it over, thank you so much!]
Thomas didn''t waste time. He snapped off the mature offshoot and traded it.
Andrew, holding the Breathing Pothos cutting, was beyond excited.
He confirmed the plant''s information matched what he had seen before.
He finally relaxed.
His trade with Thomas had been a gamble, a bet on Thomas''s integrity.
He had been waiting since morning, starting to accept disappointment.
This was a pleasant surprise.
Not just for the rare plant, but for Thomas honoring his promise so readily.
Andrew''s impression of Thomas soared.
Then, another message from Thomas arrived.
[Thomas: Hey¡ you got any vegetable seeds, compost, "Miracle-Gro" fertilizer? And any of that rare plant nutrient solution left?]
Andrew''s curiosity piqued.
[Andrew Jackson: I have all of those, except the nutrient solution, which I only have two bottles left. Legend Smyth, you''re not planning on farming, are you?]
[Thomas: I''ll take those two bottles. As for farming, just a small experiment!]
Andrew''s eyes lit up.
Everyone knew how wealthy Thomas was.
And smart. A "small experiment"?
Andrew had tried farming many times. Ordinary methods wouldn''t work with this world''s seeds.
Perhaps only within specific rare facilities could they grow.
An idea sparked in his mind.
[Andrew Jackson: Legend Smyth, how about this? The nutrient solution is precious, so we''ll trade fairly for that. But the seeds, compost, and fertilizer are worthless. I''ll just give you those, how about it?]
[Andrew Jackson: Just¡ hehe¡ Legend Smyth¡ if you manage to grow any food or vegetables, could you share a little? I haven''t had fresh vegetables in three years!]
Thomas reread Andrew''s messages several times, including their previous chat logs.
Andrew seemed particularly enthusiastic about anything plant-related. Thomas recalled Andrew claiming to have no more nutrient solution when he inquired a few days ago.
Now, two bottles appeared.
Either Andrew hadn''t been truthful then, or¡ he could make the rare plant nutrient solution!
Thomas''s eyes gleamed.
If his hunch was correct, and Andrew could produce the Type I Plant Nutrient Solution, he could make at least one bottle a day.
A rare talent!
Thomas had a plan.
[Thomas: Sounds good. If I get anywhere with this, I''ll let you know.]
[Thomas: And if you find anything else related to rare plants, keep me in mind.]
[Andrew Jackson: Haha, will do, Legend Smyth! I''ll keep an eye out!]
They quickly negotiated a trade for the two bottles of Type I Plant Nutrient Solution.
One MP5 submachine gun, 120 rounds of ammunition, and a level 3 ballistic vest secured the deal.
By now, no one was asking about the Nourishing Mutton Stew anymore. Thomas didn''t mind; the kitchen continued production.
He could sell it to survivors in the frigid zones later.
Or save it for another cold snap.
He had the necessary materials for the Indoor Greenhouse.
Thomas continued sorting through the loot.
His gaze fell upon the map-like item from Mad Dog''s safe.
"Anything kept with two rare blueprints can''t be ordinary."
He unfolded the map. His mind went blank.
He double-checked, making sure he was reading it correctly.
"Holy crap¡ it really is¡"
[CBS Laboratory Functional Area Distribution Map]
Type: Rare Item
Description: A structural map detailing the functional areas of the underground CBS Laboratory, allowing for quick navigation.
Effect 1: When within the laboratory, displays your current location and escape routes.
Effect 2: Can be used to expand the rare facility "Intelligence Center" with a CBS Laboratory module.
---
The map clearly showed the three levels of the laboratory: basement levels one, two, and three.
Five colors divided the lab into five functional areas:
* Logistics, Warehouse, and Supply Zone
* Parking Garage
* Laboratory and Office Area
* Sterile Laboratory, Medical Support, and Quarantine Zone
* Administration and Recreation Zone
Each functional area was further subdivided.
For example, the Parking Garage was divided into:
1. Security Room/Parking Garage Gate Control Room
2. Parking Garage
3. Forecourt
4. Parking Garage Gate
---
In total, there were over forty functional areas spread across the three levels.
The largest areas were the Laboratory and Sterile Laboratory zones.
This confirmed Thomas''s suspicions: the CBS Laboratory conducted human experiments to research gene-enhancing serums.
Hence, the creation of the Son of the Ocean serum.
However, a black area marked "Containment Zone" puzzled Thomas.
The term made him uneasy.
Containment of what?
Failed test subjects?
Or something else?
He recalled the jelly-like substance found in Ghostface''s brain.
The [Incomplete Neural Bridge].
And what about the escape routes mentioned in the map''s description?
Did entering the lab require finding these routes, which might be numerous and ever-changing?
Or were specific conditions needed to leave?
That would explain the map''s value and rarity.
Thomas rubbed his temples, stopping his train of thought.
His head was starting to itch again.
He understood the map''s effects.
Effect 1 was essentially a weakened version of the virtual map.
Effect 2 was tempting.
But the Intelligence Center was still upgrading, and the first calamity wasn''t over yet. He knew little about the true apocalyptic world.
He decided to hold off on using the map for now.
He''d keep it and decide later.
He had finished sorting the most valuable blueprints and books.
Thomas spread the rare items collected last night on the floor.
He sat down, ready for the most enjoyable part: appraisal.
This haul of rare items was the most impressive yet.
Weapons, armor, and functional gear.
He was most intrigued by a head-mounted monocular device: a night vision scope.
Looted from Ghostface, the final boss of the tutorial, Thomas had high expectations.
[AN/PVS-14 Monocular Night Vision Device]
Type: Rare Item
Size: 1x1
Description: AN/PVS-14 Monocular Night Vision Device. A portable visual search device used by the Army/Navy, providing night vision up to 350 meters with a 40¡ã field of view and brightness adjustment.
Environment: Low-light
Usage: Handheld, head-mounted, weapon-mounted, camera-mounted
Field of View: 40¡ã
Magnification: 1-3x
Resolution: 64
Brightness Gain: 25-3000 (adjustable)
Diopter Adjustment: 2-6
Focus Range: 25cm-350m
Operating Temperature: -51¡ãC to 49¡ãC
Storage Temperature: -51¡ãC to 85¡ãC
Ch. 50: Priests Blade of the Heretic God, Decrypting the USB Drive
Along with the night vision goggles, Thomas found an AN/PEQ-15 illuminator attached to Ghostface''s precision rifle.
[AN/PEQ-15 Illuminator]
Type: Combined Tactical Device
Size: 1x1
Description: A tactical device combining a visible laser, an infrared laser, and an infrared illuminator.
Modes: Visible Laser / Infrared Laser / Infrared Illuminator.
¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª
At night, the AN/PEQ-15''s infrared laser, invisible to the naked eye, produced a small red dot on the target, indicating the point of impact. With the night vision goggles, Thomas could engage targets in low-light conditions using the infrared laser.
These two items significantly enhanced Thomas''s night fighting capabilities, extending his effective range from close quarters to short-medium distances, offering greater tactical flexibility and safety.
[HK417 Precision Rifle]
Type: Precision Rifle
Size: 5x2
Recoil: Vertical: 93; Horizontal: 258
Effective Range: 700 meters
Firing Modes: Semi-Automatic / Fully Automatic
Rate of Fire: 850
Accuracy: 1.53
Caliber: 7.62x51mm
Muzzle Velocity: 789 m/s
Magazine: HK 7.62x51 20-round Translucent Polymer Magazine
¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª
The rifle''s handguard was sleek, featuring a Picatinny rail on top, seamlessly integrated with the receiver''s rail. With quad rails, it could accommodate various tactical accessories. It was equipped with a UTG reflex sight.
¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª
[Priest''s Blade of the Heretic God]
Type: Rare Item - Melee Weapon
Size: 2x1
Description: A strangely shaped blade inscribed with cryptic symbols. Clearly used for some sort of ritual, but its uses don''t end there. It appears to have been modified to deliver toxins, so it''s best to avoid touching the blade.
Effect 1: Upon being struck, the target is infected with an unknown toxin that continuously burns their blood. This effect cannot be countered by an [Antidote Injector].
Effect 2: Upon being struck, the target becomes progressively paralyzed. The paralysis intensifies over time. This effect cannot be countered by an [Antidote Injector].
Effect 3: Can be used to conduct sacrificial rituals.
Note: Effects 1 and 2 can be used twice daily. Only the [Antitoxin Serum] from the CBS Laboratory can neutralize the toxins.
¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª
[HRT Combat Boots - Black]
Type: Rare Equipment - Feet
Material: "Sympatex" membrane, abrasion-resistant ballistic nylon
Puncture Resistance: 2
Water Resistance: Excellent
Breathability: Excellent
Stability: High (Oil-resistant, Anti-slip)
Fall Damage Reduction: +25%
Movement Noise Reduction: +30%
Description: High-performance combat boots suitable for most environments.
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[Meix Wear Gloves]
Type: Rare Equipment - HandsA case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Material: Fur, Special Nylon
Water Resistance: Excellent
Abrasion Resistance: Excellent
Insulation: Good
Grip Strength: +25%
Hand Stability: +20%
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[XCET 500BT Digital Headset]
Type: Headset
Size: 2x2
Performance: Distortion +0.2, Footstep Detection +40, Equipment Noise Detection +30, Pickup Range +20, Environmental Noise Reduction -25
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Ghostface''s loot replaced nearly half of Thomas''s current gear. Boots, gloves, headset, and even his melee weapon were all upgraded.
The Priest''s Blade of the Heretic God, in particular, exceeded Thomas''s expectations. A single cut, and the target was essentially doomed without the specific [Antitoxin Serum].
The paralyzing effect was similar to Thomas''s [Paralyzing Toxin], offering another tactical option.
The ritual aspect intrigued Thomas. Due to the [Nightwalker] title, he needed to perform a sacrificial ritual within seven days to avoid self-sacrifice. He wasn''t keen on finding out what that entailed.
Speaking of rituals, Thomas retrieved something resembling the previous [Encrypted USB Drive] from Ghostface''s loot. He checked the item information.
[Decrypted USB Drive]
Type: Rare Electronic Book
Effect: Can be read using an electronic device to learn specific knowledge.
Requirements: Heretic God Follower or Priest status, Electronic Device x1, Morphine Injector x1.
Description: A mysterious USB drive from the CBS Laboratory, containing hidden knowledge.
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"So this is the [Decrypted USB Drive]," Thomas muttered, producing a notebook marked with a large, symbolic eye. The pages were filled with cryptic symbols that made his eyes blur and his focus waver.
[Heretic God Follower''s Notebook]
Description: A notebook used by Heretic God followers to record important information. Requires specific knowledge or the Decrypted USB Drive to decipher.
Thomas had acquired the notebook on his second day in the Apocalypse Game, after killing a Heretic God follower who tried to ambush him at the Crimson Cabaret. He''d almost forgotten about it.
He hadn''t expected to find the [Decrypted USB Drive] on Ghostface, but it made sense in retrospect.
The [Intelligence Center] was still upgrading, so he couldn''t use the USB drive yet. He figured the [Nightwalker] title would fulfill the status requirement. After all, the title''s description stated:
¡ªThe old king is dead, long live the new king.
Like the previous Heretic God follower, Ghostface also carried a notebook filled with symbols. Thomas would decipher them later.
The last two items from Ghostface were completely unexpected.
[CBS Laboratory Keycard.Black]
Type: Laboratory Keycard
Size: 1x1
Use: Unlocks the door to the underground level 2 experimental area (G12).
Compatible Containers:
Simple Wallet: Yes
Key Organizer: No
Document Bag: Yes
Small SICC Bag: Yes
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[Anlute Museum Storage Key]
Type: Key
Size: 1x1
Use: Unlocks the door to the storage area behind the Anlute Museum.
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"A lab keycard!" Thomas now had two lab keycards: the [Laboratory Access Keycard] for one-time entry, and this black keycard.
He consulted the lab map, locating G12 in the bottom-left corner of the second underground level. G12 was next to a work area, the G11 experimental area, and the B12 server room. Stairs connected G12 and B12.
"G12 is quite large. I wonder what''s inside. Probably high-value loot."
"The Anlute Museum storage is probably Ghostface''s hideout!" Thomas recalled the key he''d found on Black Dog, which had led to a valuable stash.
He secured the keys, having processed all of Ghostface''s loot. Next were Mad Dog, Caban, and the Butcher''s belongings. He''d already taken their blueprints and books. Now, only their weapons, equipment, and miscellaneous items remained.
Mad Dog''s weapon was a Remington M870 shotgun, slightly better than his MP-133, but Thomas had no immediate use for it.
Then came the Butcher''s loot. Thomas was speechless when he saw the weapon.
[PR-Taran Baton]
Type: Rare Item - Melee Weapon
Size: 1x2
Range: 0.6 meters
Description: A PR-Taran baton with a side handle, used by law enforcement for self-defense and crowd control.
Effect 1: Striking an enemy using a firearm causes their weapon to jam.
Effect 2: Striking an enemy reduces their movement speed, turning speed, and attack speed by 90%.
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The weapon seemed downright cruel. A single hit would jam a gun and cripple the target''s mobility, leaving them vulnerable. Thomas was glad he''d used the [Remote-Detonated Emulsion Explosive] on the Butcher. The consequences of being hit by that baton... shudder.
The Butcher''s other gear was unremarkable, consisting of items found in the raided armory. His prized ammunition was already in Thomas''s inventory.
Finally, Caban''s loot. Two items caught Thomas''s eye.
[XOGB Cigar]
Type: Rare Item
Size: 1x1
Description: A prestigious cigar brand favored by the wealthy and elite, known for its invigorating effects.
Effect 1: Grants the [Invigorated] status, lasting 180 seconds.
Effect 2: Focus +10
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[PKM Light Machine Gun]
Type: Machine Gun
Size: 6x3
Description: A simple, reliable, and powerful weapon.
Recoil: Vertical: 132; Horizontal: 819
Effective Range: 750 meters
Firing Mode: Fully Automatic
Rate of Fire: 650
Caliber: 7.62x54R
Default Magazine: PK 7.62x54R 100-round Box Magazine
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Thomas had witnessed the PKM''s devastating power firsthand. The 7.62 rounds were brutal. The cigar''s [Invigorated] status was a pain reliever, but Thomas had plenty of those. He valued the +10 Focus more. With the [Ammunition Workshop] and [Weapon Modification Workshop] under construction, along with the [Explosive Production]... no, scratch that last one. He needed more focus for crafting.
The remaining items were trinkets. Among them, Thomas found a letter signed "The Mechanic." He opened it.
[Caban, when are you coming to pick up your PKP machine gun? If you don''t come soon, I''ll start charging storage fees! ]
[Also, I have news about the "Underwater Assault Rifle Blueprint" you were looking for. Come see me soon! Don''t forget your Calamity Coins.]
[As for the underwater assault rifle ammunition, I suggest you talk to the Butcher. I hear he knows a thing or two about ammunition. He might have what you need, no?]
A scrawled signature followed: Sergey Arsenye...
"Underwater assault rifle!" Thomas''s heart leaped. Such a weapon existed in this world! He knew how ineffective firearms were underwater. Bullets lost momentum quickly due to water resistance and cavitation. An underwater assault rifle... and the Mechanic implied the Butcher had clues about the ammunition.
Ammunition clues... Thomas''s eyes lit up. Besides the [Bullet Theory and Practice] skill book, what else could it be? He thought about the upcoming flood and his need for an underwater weapon.
"I have to find this Mechanic. But what was his full name? Sergey Arsenye... something."