Chapter Two

The day after the funds arrived, I began operating on two fronts.

At five in the morning, I drove to the logistics center in the industrial park. As a meteorologist for the Environmental Protection Agency, I have special procurement channels here—a secondary supplier of government emergency supplies, those obsolete or soon-to-expire "quasi-military" equipment.

"Dr. Ivan, another emergency purchase?" The warehouse manager, Jack, recognized me.

I handed him two different lists.

The first item was for the family: imported down comforters, German insulation materials, Swiss water purification equipment, and Italian canned food. Each item had lavish packaging and expensive price tags.

The second item is my actual needs: military MRE rations, heavy industrial-grade generators, bulletproof glass components, and a batch of "retired" AR-15 rifles.

“Jack, deliver the first batch to 15 Pine Street, and the second batch to 127 Oak Avenue.” I handed him a wad of cash. “Remember, deliver them separately, with at least two hours between each delivery.”

Jack nodded; he'd seen this kind of thing many times before. Lately, there had been a lot of apocalyptic enthusiasts like Dmitri going on a shopping spree, but ordinary people weren't paying any attention—after all, Montana winters always bring snow a few times a year, right?

At 10 a.m., the first batch of goods was delivered to my home on time.

Dmitry eagerly tore open the packaging: "This is the top-of-the-line equipment you were talking about? It looks pretty good!"

He picked up a sleeping bag and touched the smooth outer fabric: "This material feels really nice, and it's silver, so it looks very warm."

I sneered inwardly. It was a cheap sleeping bag made from recycled polyester fibers, coated with a silver paint that looked high-end, but its actual insulation performance was worse than a regular blanket. Below minus twenty degrees Celsius, the filling inside would freeze and harden.

My mother-in-law was inspecting the canned goods: "These are imported from Italy, each can costs twenty dollars! Ivan, you really know how to spend money on this family."

The canned goods were indeed made in Italy, but they were all old stock nearing their expiration date. More importantly, the cans were made of inferior alloys, which would become brittle and crack in extremely cold environments.

“And this water purifier,” my father-in-law said, patting a silver machine. “German craftsmanship, looks very professional. Dmitri, you have excellent taste.”

Professional my foot. That's a refurbished secondhand machine. The filter should have been replaced long ago, and the circuit board shows obvious signs of corrosion. I estimate it will only work properly for two or three days at most.

Natasha walked over and said somewhat timidly, "Honey, these things look so expensive. Do we really need to buy such nice things?"

“Of course,” I smiled gently, stroking her hair, “I’m willing to buy even the most expensive things for the safety of my family. You don’t need to worry about money.”

Gratitude flashed in her eyes as she hugged me tightly. If I hadn't known how she would betray me a few days later, I might have truly been moved by this tenderness.

Dmitry suddenly frowned: "Wait, Ivan, where's the heavy equipment? Like high-powered generators or industrial heaters?"

“The supply chain is tight,” I was prepared. “People on the forums are scrambling to buy these devices. I’ve contacted several suppliers, and the high-powered ones all need to be pre-ordered. The earliest delivery time is five days.”

"Five days?" Dmitry asked impatiently. "Is that enough time? The forum says the cold wave might arrive within this week!"

"Don't worry, I've already paid the deposit and the express fee." I patted him on the shoulder. "Let's use these medium-powered devices for now, and upgrade them when the big ones arrive."

The father-in-law nodded: "Ivan is very thoughtful. Xiao De, don't worry, leave the professional matters to the professionals."

Although Dmitri was still somewhat dissatisfied, he didn't say anything more.

In the afternoon, the movers began transporting supplies to the basement. My parents-in-law supervised from the side, occasionally pointing and giving instructions.

"Watch out for those boxes!" my mother-in-law shrieked. "Those are all imported goods; you can't afford to pay for them if they break!"

“Ivan, tell them to be careful,” my father-in-law said to me. “This floor is solid wood, don’t let them break it.”

I watched all this silently, my heart unmoved. Let them savor their last moments of superiority; soon they'll learn what reality is.

In the evening, I made an excuse that I needed to check on the installation progress of another batch of equipment and drove away from home.

127 Oak Avenue, this is a property I secretly rented yesterday. Ostensibly held through an offshore company, it's actually a safe house I've prepared.

This is where my actual equipment comes in.

Fifty boxes of military-grade MRE rations, each box sufficient to meet one person's nutritional needs for ten days. Two heavy-duty industrial-grade diesel generators, capable of stable operation even at -40 degrees Celsius. A complete set of bulletproof glass safe house components, sufficient to withstand attacks from small-caliber weapons.

And most importantly—twelve AR-15 assault rifles and three thousand rounds of ammunition.

I sat in the basement of the safe house, loading the gleaming yellow bullets into the magazine one by one. With each bullet I loaded, I was reminded of the humiliation of being tied to the snow in my past life.

This time, it's my turn to control life and death.

My phone vibrated. Natasha had texted me: "Honey, when are you coming back? I made your favorite steak."

I looked at the words on the screen and a cold smile crept onto my lips.

In five days , you won't have to worry about dinner anymore.

At nine o'clock in the evening, I returned to my home on Pine Street. Dmitri was in the basement fiddling with those cheap devices, looking quite satisfied.

"Brother-in-law, look at this water purifier. German craftsmanship is truly exceptional; it operates with almost no noise."

"Yes, it's pretty good." I nodded, thinking that by the time you realize it can't purify water at all, you'll probably be half-dead from thirst.

Natasha poked her head out of the kitchen: "Ivan, the steak is still warm, come and eat."

"Okay." I took off my coat and walked towards the restaurant.

My mother-in-law was already waiting at the dining table: "Xiao Yi, you've worked so hard these past two days. Seeing you running around taking care of everything, it breaks my heart as your mother."

“Of course,” I said, cutting my steak. “I’d do anything for this family.”

The father-in-law raised his glass: "Come on, to the shelter that our family is about to build, to Ivan's hard work, cheers!"

We clinked glasses, and their faces beamed with satisfied smiles. In their eyes, the future was bright—comfortable shelters, ample supplies, and even the possibility of making a fortune by helping their neighbors.

If they knew what awaited them a week from now, I wonder if they would still be able to laugh.

After dinner, Dmitry pulled me aside to discuss the renovation plan: "Ivan, I think we should install a combination lock on the basement entrance; that would be safer."

“Good idea,” I nodded in agreement, “A combination lock is definitely more secure.”

But in his heart he was thinking: a combination lock? I'll show you then that no matter how complicated the password, it won't save your lives.

“And another thing,” Dmitri continued, “shouldn’t we get in touch with our neighbors? I heard the Thomsons are also renovating their basement; maybe we could see if there’s anything we can do together?”

“We need to be careful about this,” I said, pretending to consider it. “Resources are limited, and it will be difficult to distribute them if there are too many people. Moreover, if we encounter unreliable neighbors, it will only increase the risk.”

“That’s true,” my father-in-law agreed. “Our family is the most reliable.”

Natasha nodded in agreement: "Yes, outsiders can't be trusted. In times like these, blood ties are the most reliable."

Blood ties? I almost burst out laughing. In my past life, it was precisely these "blood ties" that sent me to my grave.

It was late at night, and I returned to my study alone, turning on my computer to check the latest weather data. The Environmental Protection Agency's internal system showed that the polar vortex was accelerating southward and was expected to reach Montana in six days.

There hasn't been widespread media coverage yet; only a few apocalyptic forums are flooded with posts saying things like "The Arctic vortex has arrived" and "Temperatures will break century records." Dmitry is a regular on those forums.

In the entire community, very few families were actually hoarding supplies—the Thomsons did so because their son frequented doomsday forums, and the Smiths were simply following the trend. Most neighbors went about their lives as usual, and some even joked that Dmitry had "watched too many movies."

This is exactly what I want. The less prepared people are, the more scarce the supplies will be when a blizzard hits, and the easier it will be for chaos to spread.

I turned off my computer and went to the window to look outside. The streets were quiet, and a few TVs were still on, showing baseball games, not some doomsday warning.

In five days , this place will become another world.

And I will be the only God in this hell.