Chapter 3
I calmly looked away, shifting my focus back to the system terminal before me.
The assets they had prided themselves on had been drained dry, now transformed into tangible survival stockpiles, frantically filling my deep-sea ark.
The spatial transfer's pale blue light was like a greedy maw, ceaselessly swallowing and disgorging deep within the hold.
Heavy olive-green military supply crates slammed onto the metal floor with resounding thuds. Antibiotics, high-energy fuel, miniature generators—all bought with liquidated family trust funds and offshore money—and even defensive weapon components reeking of pungent machine oil were crossing space, crashing into my domain one after another.
Every crate that landed cemented my will to survive. Sweat ran down my forehead, dripping onto the heated control console.
[Farming zone and workshop modules upgraded.]
The mechanical notification cut through the roar of cargo teleportation. I grabbed a handful of system-supplied fast-growing vegetable seeds, strode toward the newly opened biocabin, and pressed them firmly into the damp cultivation soil. The neighboring workshop crackled with electric arcs, as massive 3D printers spat out fully formed bed frames and tables at astonishing speed.
Wiping the dirt from my hands, I returned to the main console. On the screen, the clock had ticked into the next day. The Winston Mansion, which had slumbered through the night, was now bathed in brilliant lights again; the decadent air in the banquet hall seemed to burst through the monitor.
My father stood at the head of the long dining table, flushed with pride, holding up a glass of still-bubbling champagne. The adopted son wore a bespoke tuxedo, the family pocket watch—once meant for me—now pinned to his chest like a true noble heir.
"To your 'new life'—cheers!" My father laughed heartily as he slid a velvet box toward the adopted son.
The lid flipped open, and a limited-edition diamond-studded watch flashed dazzlingly. My brother applauded enthusiastically and let out a sharp wolf-whistle.
My father waved a hand grandly, his voice ringing through the hall: "Remember this—from now on, this vast legacy is yours and your brother's domain!"
Watching them immersed in their hollow revelry, I raised a glass of freshly purified water and toasted the screen from afar. They still had no idea that the accounts under their names were already hollowed-out husks, drained of every vein.
The banquet revelry lasted until dusk; then the surveillance feed shifted to the quiet family dining room.
Silver cutlery clinked against fine bone china. But the relaxed dinner atmosphere was broken by my brother, frantically swiping at his phone.
"What the hell—is this news real?" My brother put down his phone, frowning at the screen. "All the top-tier warehouses at major deep-water ports have been sounding alarms over the past few days. Hundreds of tons of cold-chain meat, fuel, and stockpiled supplies have vanished into thin air. No transport records, no shipping logs—even the surveillance cameras only caught flashes of some eerie blue light."
My mother's knife froze mid-cut, scraping a sharp screech across the porcelain. Her face went pale, her voice trembling: "What's being said online?"
"The internet's exploding. People are saying gods are manifesting, making deals with humans through miracles." My brother swallowed hard, barely hiding the fear in his eyes.
"Nonsense!" My father slammed the table, rattling the wine in the goblets. "What gods? This is clearly some cheap trick from our competitors! Don't bring this drivel to the dinner table to spoil the mood!"
His roar was thunderous and commanding. But I zoomed in on the surveillance feed, fixing my gaze on his right hand. That coarse palm—the one that had just set down his silver knife and fork—was trembling uncontrollably.
He was afraid. The fear of an unknown power had already slithered like a viper into his self-proclaimed ironclad business logic.
I closed the zoomed feed and looked around the steel-and-metal space around me.
In just one day, this once-dead hold had undergone a stunning transformation. I walked to the farming zone; seeds sown only hours ago had already pierced the brown soil, and rows of tender green shoots stretched their leaves under the artificial sunlight.
Clear splashes came from the massive water-circulation tank beside it. Hundreds of newly purchased, highly active fingerlings darted in schools through the clear currents. The workshop's indicator light turned from red to green—a fully outfitted bedroom complete with a soft mattress, temperature-controlled wardrobe, and reading lamp took shape amid the retracting mechanical arms.
I walked to the new bed and pressed the springy mattress with my palm, feeling real support against my spine.
Time was racing toward the moment when the super tsunami would tear apart the horizon. The world outside was about to become a meat grinder. And my deep-sea ark was only just taking form.
