Acid Rain Apocalypse: I, Reborn, Rule the World

I lay on the concrete ground outside the abandoned supermarket, my left leg bone piercing through my skin.

Acid rain stung my face like fine needles, each drop a burning pain. In March, Phoenix should have daytime temperatures in the early twenties. But that day it was only twelve. The sky was iron gray, and the air was thick with the smell of sulfur and metal.

I opened my mouth, wanting to catch some rainwater, even if it would burn my throat.

But I didn't even have the strength to lift my head.

Dehydration was causing my nervous system to fail. The world around me was distorted, and Dale Hoffman's smile replayed in my mind—it was five days ago, when he was drawing a map for me as I knelt in front of his trailer.

“Travis, there’s a huge abandoned warehouse supermarket about 30 miles to the west,” he said so sincerely, “someone has stockpiled a lot of water there. You could try your luck there.”

I clung to it like a lifeline, walking for a day and a night. The vehicles along the roadside were already beyond recognition from the acid rain. I wrapped my head in a rag, but the acid rain still seeped in, burning my scalp, neck, and arms.

When I arrived at the supermarket, I was almost completely exhausted.

Then I saw Rick Santos and two other men crouching by the door, like vultures waiting for their prey.

That's when I understood.

This is a trap. Dale has been lying to me from the beginning. He knew there was no water here, he knew there was an ambush, and he wanted me to die here.

Rick smashed my leg with a steel pipe. They took the last half-bottle of sewage from me, then dragged me outside the supermarket and dumped me in the acid rain.

“Enjoy it, Travis,” Rick said. “You’re such an idiot, believing everything people tell you.”

Before I lost consciousness, all I could feel was excruciating pain.

But when I opened my eyes again, all the pain seemed to have disappeared.

The Phoenix sun shone brightly on a June morning. The alarm clock on the bedside table showed 7:23 a.m. Outside, there was no acid rain, no radiation, and the sky was a clear blue. The television was broadcasting the weather forecast: "Today's high temperature is expected to reach 112 degrees Fahrenheit. Residents are advised to take precautions against heatstroke..."

I sat up, covered in cold sweat.

Looking down at my hands—no dry cracks from dehydration, no burns from acid rain.

I rushed to the bathroom, turned on the tap, and clear tap water gushed out. I scooped up the water and drank it down. The moment the coolness rushed into my throat, memories of my past life became as clear as if branded.

Then I suddenly vomited and retched while sitting on the toilet.

I sat on the floor, leaning against the cold bathtub, and it took me a full five minutes to catch my breath.

I'm back, reborn before the apocalypse. There are still nine months until the acid rain apocalypse.

I stood in front of the mirror, looking at my 32-year-old face. This face had been a mummified corpse in a past life, but it was still alive now.

I checked my phone. There was still a small balance in my bank account—not much, but enough for me to prepare properly. The property was still in my name—I could use it as collateral. My credit card limit wasn't maxed out—I could overdraft. This wealth was about to become worthless; I had to make the most of it.

In my past life, after the acid rains, I heard a dying homeless man mention it—he said there was a survivor camp in the east that survived thanks to a water purification device invented by a former Raytheon engineer. I think the engineer's name was...Marcus something.

I opened my laptop and went to the technical forum on an investment website. It took me twenty minutes to find a post Marcus had made three months ago: "Seeking investors for radiation water purification research. I have a complete technical solution, I only need start-up capital. If you believe this research has practical value, please contact me."

The comments section below the post was filled with mockery: "Another crazy scammer," "Radiation water? You've been watching too many sci-fi movies."

I registered a new account and sent him a private message: "Dr. Reeves, I have some money. Let's talk."

Five minutes later, he replied: "Are you serious? I'm even thinking of giving up on this research direction."

I typed: "I'm very interested in your skills. You'll find out why later."

There was a long silence on the other end of the screen. Then he sent an address: "Tomorrow at 2 PM. South Phoenix, the abandoned Apex chemical plant. Let's meet and talk. But I need to see your sincerity—this equipment is going to be scrapped, and we need to pay the warehouse management to keep it."

I shut down my computer and went to the window.

The trailer community on Grey Road is just 500 meters away. I can see Dale's trailer, clothes hanging on the roof swaying in the wind. In a past life, I knelt at his door begging for water. In this life, I will make him kneel at my door.

The following afternoon, I drove my ten-year-old Ford pickup truck towards the South Phoenix industrial area. This was the edge of Phoenix, filled with abandoned factories and bankrupt businesses. Acid rain hadn't arrived yet, but the area already resembled wasteland. The Apex Chemical Plant's sign was rusty, the gate was ajar, and the yard was piled high with scrapped pipes and corroded equipment.

I pushed open the door and heard footsteps coming from inside.

A middle-aged man walked out—around 48 years old, bald, wearing gold-rimmed glasses, with tired but sharp eyes. Behind him followed a young woman, Latina, with short hair, wearing work clothes stained with oil.

“Travis Hunt?” The man extended his hand. “Marcus Reeves. This is my assistant, Elena Vasquez.”

I shook his hand. His palms were calloused, the result of years of operating experimental equipment. He gave a brief introduction to the water purification technology, while his assistant demonstrated the purification process by operating the machine. I told him I would invest the entire amount and buy out the technology outright.

"Did you bring cash?" the assistant asked.

I took out my phone, opened the bank's app, and showed her my balance.

She glanced at it and frowned: "This amount of money is barely enough to buy one machine, let alone build a large water purification station."

“I can mortgage my property,” I said, “and I can also take out loans and other forms of financing.”

Marcus stared at me: "Other channels? You mean borrowing money from gangsters at exorbitant interest rates?"

"If necessary."

"But...why? Is there really a market for my technology?"

"The future. Your technology is the future."

I gave a meaningful smile.

Marcus pushed up his glasses: "What...do you mean?"

“You worked on Raytheon’s military water purification project, and I’ve checked your papers. If even you can’t do it, no one else can. It’s just intuition.” I looked him in the eyes. “Now, you just need to decide: whether to cooperate with me or wait for me to take the money and invest it in other people.”

Elena bit her lip and looked at Marcus: "Let's do it his way..."

Marcus remained silent for a long time. The only sound in the yard was the whistling of the wind blowing through the abandoned pipes.

Finally, he held out his hand: "Deal. But I need the money immediately—at least $3 million in seed funding."

“I’ll figure out how to raise the money by tomorrow. Also, I need your help to find other technicians: engineers, mechanics, and chemical experts. We need a complete team.”

Marcus nodded: "I know a few former colleagues who were laid off. They might be willing... if the money is right."

"There will be enough money. I'll give you as much as you need."

As I drove away from the Apex chemical plant, it was already dark. Outside the car window, the lights of Phoenix gradually came on. The city was unaware that nine months later, all those lights would be turned off.

As I passed through the Gray Road neighborhood, I saw Dale standing in front of his trailer, repairing a hole in the roof. He saw my car and grinned—a grin just like in my past life, a contemptuous, dismissive grin. In my past life, I thought it was just a sarcastic remark; now I know it was malice ingrained in his very being.

I didn't respond; I just stared at him coldly.

My phone rang. It was a text message from the bank: the mortgage application had been approved, the loan amount was $300,000, and the final signing was pending.

I parked the car on the side of the road and looked in the direction of the Apex chemical plant in the distance. It was pitch black there, with only the dilapidated outline visible against the night sky. But nine months later, it would become the only hope in this wasteland.