Chapter 2

The phone screen lit up abruptly—a private message from a backup social account.

I'd barely blocked Emily's number when she'd already switched channels. I opened it—a long, detailed settlement list.

"Coffee maker from when we lived together: $50. Birthday watch I gave you last month: $200. Transfer the money, and we're even."

Reading those words made my stomach churn. Outside, the world had turned into a slaughterhouse for monsters, and this woman was still scheming to squeeze out every last drop of my value.

Without hesitation, I swiped the account—along with that hypocritical past—straight into the blacklist.

The disgust drove me to close my eyes and sink my full attention into my mind.

Greenfield Manor's interface unfurled in my consciousness, expanding into a vibrant three-dimensional space. Golden wheat fields rolled in the wind; livestock in the barns were plump and strong; the towering warehouse doors radiated a reassuring solidity.

My gaze swept to the upper-right corner—the gold count sat at a dizzying cap: 999,999,999.

With a flick of thought, I opened the processing plant interface and selected the most basic baking option.

The moment the progress bar flickered, a scorching heat burst into my palm.

A massive, steaming loaf of rye bread materialized in my hand. The rich aroma of yeast filled the entire room; its coarse, hearty texture sent jolts through every nerve.

I tore off a chunk and shoved it into my mouth. Chewing the warm carbohydrates, my eyes stung.

In my past life, that skeletal programmer had survived like a stray dog on a few hard candies from a match-3 game. But this maxed-out save file—seven years of grinding day and night—was, in this broken world, an inexhaustible goldmine!

"Buzz—buzz—"

The phone on the table vibrated violently, shattering the rich scent of bread. The community group chat was scrolling at a speed too fast to follow.

The rules of awakening were being confirmed by survivors.

"My music player mutated! I shattered the downstairs window with a high-frequency blast!"

"Navigation apps work too! I can see red dots within three kilometers—are those monsters?"

Astonishment and excitement wove through the lines of text. The gamble of ability awakening gave this apocalypse a bizarrely carnivalesque edge.

The group chat kept rolling, but an unknown number cut through the screen.

I answered. Emily's deliberately sweet voice slithered through the speaker: "Jack, don't hang up! We're just worried about your situation."

"Cut the crap." I took a bite of bread, my tone cold.

"You useless bastard are pretty tough." A rough scuffle came through the speaker, and Mark's taunting voice pierced my eardrums. "Keep waiting to die with your weather forecast! Know what we bound?"

The sharp scrape of metal sliding from a sheath crackled through the phone.

"Shadow Fortress." Mark raised his voice, triumphant. "Tactical knife and riot shield! I'm a heavy-armor warrior now!"

He paused, his tone laced with naked calculation: "Open the door. We'll team up—I'll protect you, the weather-watching waste. In exchange, I manage all the food in your place."

"Protect me?" I gripped the remaining half of the bread, rage nearly scorching through my reason. "Save your shield for your own corpse."

I ended the call and blacklisted the number without a second thought. I tossed the phone onto the sofa, and the room fell back into silence.

But my heart was racing.

Mark's threat coiled around my neck like a viper. He'd been to this apartment; he'd seen those two boxes of instant food and water stacked against the wall.

Now they had lethal weapons. Why would those greedy hyenas let this chunk of meat go?

My gaze locked onto the flimsy security door, a prickling sense of danger crawling up my spine. It might hold back ordinary zombies—but not thugs with tactical knives.

I had to upgrade my defenses—now.

Sinking my consciousness again, I frantically searched through Greenfield Manor's vast warehouse.