Chapter 1

The warehouse had a distinct smell—a stomach-churning cocktail of dust-sealed cardboard, cheap machine oil, and the sour stench of human waste. I stared at Gregg’s face, which resembled an over-fermented lump of dough, watching his thick lips part and close, filling the air with an nauseating, bureaucratic stench.

"Jack, if you don't sign this overtime agreement tonight, you know exactly where to collect your termination letter tomorrow." Gregg’s tone was flat, carrying the casual indifference typical of those who have held power for far too long. Behind him, Supervisor Miller stood with his arms crossed, leaning against the shelves, spinning a heavy ring of brass keys. The crisp, rhythmic clinking of metal echoed through the silent back warehouse like a shivering omen.

I looked at the packet in my hands: “Voluntary Overtime Agreement.” The paper was as coarse as sandpaper; it was for the massive influx of winter supplies being rushed in to cope with the impending extreme freeze. My stomach cramped—from the fear of rent, and from the ache of the dignity I’d already lost. I trembled and signed my name. In that moment, I felt as if I weren't signing an agreement, but drafting a death warrant for my own soul.

"Good, Jack. Now, get into the freight elevator shaft and organize the backlogged inventory." Gregg patted my shoulder; his palm was damp and cold, like a dead fish pressed against my skin. "Don’t lose those orders during the storm—that’s your livelihood."

I stepped into the gloomy freight shaft—the warehouse’s blind spot. Ventilations ducts hung overhead like abandoned intestines, emitting a faint metallic wail. I buried my head in counting the backlog: broken heating blankets, useless plastic ornaments... Just as I reached the last crate of damaged antifreeze, a dull, rhythmic metallic collision echoed from above.

It was the heavy clang of the exterior gate slamming shut. Then, the soft "click" of the electronic lock engaging.

I snapped my head up, but saw only a sliver of light shrinking into nothingness. Through that sliver, I saw the cold, utterly indifferent eyes of Gregg and Miller. No pity, no hesitation—just the relief of having cleared away a nuisance.

"You’re a good employee, Jack," Gregg’s voice came through the thick steel door, distorted but chillingly clear. "No one will find you dead in that shaft. The insurance death benefit is enough to wipe out our shortfall. In your next life, don’t live so cheaply."

As their footsteps faded, I was abandoned to total darkness.

The oxygen began to thin. It wasn't a sudden suffocation, but like mercury being poured into my lungs drop by drop. The cold seeped up from the bottom of the shaft—a deep-freeze chill that could crack marrow. In my final moments, my life flashed before my eyes in a manic blur: my mother’s broken mirror, the heating cut off because I couldn't pay the bills, the endless sight of my own weary back wandering the streets in the dead of winter...

I gripped the contract until my knuckles bled, the ink blurring at my fingertips. It was my tombstone. I felt a sense of absolute withering; my heart, like glass shattered by hammers in an ice cellar, finally broke.

...

"Jack! If you don't pick your head up from that pile of trash, I’ll kick you out right now!"

The roar, peppered with spit, exploded in my brain like a thunderclap.

I jolted awake, my body arching with the violent vertigo of a backtrack. My heart hammered like a drum. I trembled, lifting my hand, but found nothing but cold sweat in my palm. I looked around: dust motes danced in the setting sun; Gregg’s greedy, wretched eyes were fixed on me with pure malice.

I was alive. I had returned to that decisive day.

In this moment, I felt no anger. I felt a chilling, absolute calm, like a frozen lake where reason flowed beneath the ice. I even smelled the scent of the coming apocalypse—ozone, rust, and death.

Gregg threw the contract in my face again. The edge of the paper sliced my cheek, leaving a stinging, burning sensation.

"Sign it, then get your ass to the freight shaft. Don't make me say it a third time! Your efficiency is a waste of the warehouse’s electricity!" He turned, whistling to Miller. "This kid’s gone completely dull-eyed. What a failure."

I leaned down and picked up the contract. I could hear Miller snickering, fiddling with that ring of master keys—his badge of "management authority."

I didn't look at the clauses. I stared at the intake of the paper shredder. Under the stunned gaze of the other employees, I shoved the thick stack into the machine. When the sound of tearing paper began, I felt an unprecedented rush of pleasure—the thrill of snapping the noose of fate clean in two.

"You piece of shit, are you losing your mind?" Gregg shrieked, charging at me, his bloated face purple with rage.

I looked up, meeting his eyes coldly. I didn't bow in apology like before, and I offered no excuses. I pulled a thumb drive from my pocket—something I’d conveniently copied from the security console just seconds ago.

"Mr. Gregg," I interrupted his roar, my tone as steady as if discussing the weather. "Instead of worrying about this scrap paper, look at these keys. Do you know that when the real freeze comes, the world outside will vanish, and this place will be the only fortress left?"

My gaze gave Gregg pause. He didn't see the usual cowardice in his subordinate’s eyes; he saw a cold, examining look—like one staring at a dead man.

Amidst the shocked silence, I brushed past Gregg and strode toward the main security console. Miller moved to stop me, but I didn't waste a breath. I grabbed a heavy-duty stapler from the desk and smashed it with precision and brutality onto the back of his hand.

"Aaaah!" Miller screamed and fell.

I crouched, plucking the brass keys from his trembling, pain-racked hand. The metal glinted with a dangerous chill in the light.

I swept my gaze across the massive warehouse where I’d scavenged for three years. Once, I was the lowliest ant here; now, I was the only rule. I stood up and walked toward the main gate. Every footstep landed in the heavy silence of their terror.

"This warehouse is now requisitioned," I said softly. "For the coming winter, you’d better pray I have the patience to leave you some scraps."

Outside, the first snowflake fell silently. The countdown to the apocalypse had officially begun.