The next morning, the storm had passed, but the ground was still soaked. Texas heat baked the wet asphalt, leaving that smell of wet dirt and ozone I'd always associated with deployments in the Middle East.
I didn't sleep much. The voice was still there when I opened my eyes, hovering in the corner of my vision like an itch I couldn't scratch.
> [Tutorial Quest: 30 Days of Clean Water Progress – 0%]
I'd stared at it until sunrise. No matter how many times I blinked, it didn't vanish.
Hallucination? Then why did it keep updating when I counted the bottles in my fridge?
I wasn't ready to call it real. But I wasn't ready to ignore it either.
So I started the morning the way I'd started a hundred others since I retired: black coffee, a short run through the neighborhood, and push-ups on the back porch until my arms shook. Routine. Discipline. Familiar things to keep the unfamiliar from swallowing me whole.
By the time I finished, sweat stung my eyes and the sun had already baked the street dry. That's when I saw him.
A man about my age, maybe a little older, stepping out of the house two doors down. Strong shoulders, beard, the kind of posture that comes from years of labor instead of formal training. He was carrying lumber under one arm, tools in the other, moving like he'd done it all his life.
He noticed me watching and gave the smallest nod. Neighborly, polite, but cautious too.
I raised a hand. "Morning."
"Morning," he replied, his voice low, gravelly.
That was my first conversation with Joel Miller.
I didn't know much about him then, just the basics you pick up from quiet observation. Single dad. Construction work. Kept to himself. His daughter Sarah played soccer down the street, laughed too loud sometimes, always running late for the bus. Normal life. Almost enviable.
And for me? It was a reminder. A reminder of everything I didn't have.
I forced myself to look away, to focus on the system window that had followed me outside like a loyal dog.
> [Objective Reminder: Water Storage. Current Reserves: 2 Gallons. Recommended: 90 Gallons.]
Ninety gallons. Jesus. That wasn't something you just bought at Walmart without raising eyebrows. Not if you wanted to keep the neighbors from whispering about the weird ex-military guy stockpiling like it was Y2K.
I thought about Joel again. He didn't strike me as the type to gossip. Hell, he didn't strike me as the type to say more than three words if he could help it. But trust had to be earned, not assumed. I'd learned that lesson the hard way, in deserts and jungles, where trusting the wrong person could get your whole team killed.
So I started small.
That afternoon, I drove out past the main streets, thirty minutes down to a supply shop that still had old water drums in the back. Picked up one, strapped it in the bed of my truck, and drove home. I unloaded it quietly, rolled it down into my garage where no one could see.
The system chimed.
> [Quest Progress: 10%]
The sound — no louder than a thought — sent a chill up my spine. It was real. Too real.
I leaned against the drum, sweat dripping down my neck. If this was real, if that outbreak was truly coming in five years, then every choice I made from this day forward mattered.
Five years wasn't long. Not for what I'd need. Weapons. Food. Medical supplies. Plans. Places to hide when society started eating itself alive.
And water. Always water.
That evening, I sat on my porch with another cup of coffee, watching the neighborhood settle into its routine. Joel came back from work late, sweat-stained and tired, his daughter bouncing behind him with a backpack too big for her frame. She waved at me without hesitation, a bright smile cutting through the fading light.
"Hi, Mister!" she called.
I managed a smile. "Hey there."
Joel shot me a glance — protective, measuring — then nodded once more before ushering her inside.
Good man, I thought. Careful. The kind who survives.
The kind who'd be tested harder than anyone when the world broke.
As the sun dipped below the rooftops, the system whispered again.
> [Daily Evaluation Complete.]
Strength Training: +1% Progression.
Scavenging Potential: Average.
Recommended Focus: Resource Acquisition.
I sipped my coffee, the bitterness grounding me.
Maybe I was crazy. Maybe I wasn't. But either way, I wasn't going to wait around to find out.
The storm had passed, but something else was brewing. I could feel it in my bones, the same way I'd felt ambushes before they happened, the same way I'd smelled trouble in foreign alleys long before it found us.
Five years. That's what I had.
And when the end came, I'd be ready.