I died in the apocalypse.
Not in some heroic way—no flaming sword, no last stand. I just… ran out of time. After years of hiding, starving, watching the world burn, I finally collapsed beneath the weight of it all.
But I didn't die empty-handed. I had an ability.
Inventory.
That was what carried me through. My ability to store food, water, weapons—anything non-living. I lived like a rat in a basement, stacking rations, hiding from the sun when it scorched, and wrapping myself in blankets when the snowstorms came. When the floods rose, I hid underground. When zombies came, I stayed quiet and prayed they wouldn't find me.
And then, eventually… they did.
That was the end.
---
Or so I thought.
Because when I opened my eyes, I wasn't in the broken wasteland anymore. No flames, no corpses, no stench of death. Instead, I was back in my apartment. My bed. My walls. My desk.
The calendar on the wall read: Thirty days before the apocalypse.
I sat there in silence for a long time. My hands trembled, my breath uneven. I came back…? No. This… this can't be real.
But then I reached inside myself.
My ability was still there. Inventory.
Except—it wasn't the same.
---
I focused, and in an instant, I slipped into it.
The space inside was no longer a small, manageable void. It stretched out endlessly, a horizonless expanse.
And right at the center stood something impossible.
A pot.
Ten feet long, thirteen feet wide. Its surface gleamed with strange patterns, runes that seemed to shift if I stared too long.
I walked closer, each step echoing strangely. When my hand brushed against its surface—
Shhhh—
The pot shrank before my eyes, collapsing inward until it was no larger than two feet tall, small enough for me to carry.
I froze. "…What the hell?"
I picked it up cautiously. Heavy. Cold. Powerful. But I had no idea what it did.
---
I needed to test it. I checked my pockets.
A half-melted bar of chocolate.
"Guess you'll do," I muttered. I tossed it into the pot.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then—
Thunk! Thunk! Thunk!
The pot shivered, and suddenly hundreds of chocolate bars spilled out, flooding across the endless floor of the void.
My eyes widened. I stood there dumbfounded, then let out a laugh that cracked like madness. "You've got to be kidding me… This… this multiplies anything?"
I picked one up. It smelled the same. It tasted the same. It was real.
My heart pounded. My simple inventory—the ability that had only let me survive—had changed. It could now hold living beings, and in its depths sat this pot that multiplied anything I fed it.
---
I stepped out of the inventory, the pot shrinking neatly into my hand as I returned to my room.
I stared out my window at the ordinary city below. People walked, laughed, lived… completely unaware.
But I knew better.
First, the heat would come, burning the streets. Then snow, freezing everything solid. Then the floods, swallowing whole cities. And finally, zombies, feasting on what little remained of humanity.
I clenched the pot tightly. "This time… I won't die hiding in a basement. This time, I'll be ready."
The pile of chocolates stared back at me, like proof that my madness was real.
I sat down on the edge of my bed, running a hand through my hair. Alright… breathe. Think. Don't waste this chance.
I had one month. Thirty days.
And the apocalypse wasn't kind enough to come slowly. It would be fire, then cold, then flood, then zombies. No room for mistakes.
My first instinct was to hoard. Pack the inventory with food, water, weapons. Multiply everything until I could live like a king in the end times.
But I frowned. "That won't work… not yet."
Money. That was the problem. Back then, when it all began, I had almost nothing. That's why I was trapped in a basement. No resources, no contacts, no escape routes. Just scraps.
But now?
I looked around my apartment. Everything felt the same, but I wasn't the same. I knew what was coming, and I knew what I needed to do.
"…I'll sell the house."
---
The thought cut deeper than I expected.
The house my parents left me before they… vanished. No note, no clue, nothing. Just gone one day, leaving me with an empty home and unanswered questions.
It was the last piece of them I had left.
But sentiment wouldn't keep me alive.
If I cling to the past, I'll never survive the future.
---
The next morning, I met with the real estate agent. A cheerful woman with too much perfume and an over-bright smile.
> "So, you're really selling it?" she asked, flipping through her papers.
"Yes." My voice was flat.
"It's a big house, in a good area. You could wait, maybe the market—"
"I don't have time to wait," I cut her off.
She blinked at me. "Is there… a reason for the rush?"
I gave her a thin smile. "Let's just say I don't plan on living there anymore."
---
When we visited the house, I walked through it slowly, room by room.
The living room where my father used to read the newspaper. The kitchen where my mother used to hum while cooking. The silence felt heavier than ever.
The agent chatted endlessly beside me, but her words barely registered.
> "With a little renovation, you could even double the value. But if you're serious about selling quickly, I have a client ready to make an offer…"
"Sell it," I said, cutting her short again.
She blinked. "…Just like that?"
"Yes. Just like that."
---
Later, sitting in her office, she handed me the paperwork.
> "If we finalize this today, you'll have the money within the week."
I signed without hesitation.
The pen scratched against the paper, sealing away my last tie to the past.
The agent smiled. "Congratulations. You've just made yourself a very wealthy man."
I forced a chuckle. Wealthy? For now, maybe. But when the sky burns and the seas rise, money will be nothing but ash. Still… it's what I need right now.
---
Walking out of the office, I muttered to myself:
"One step done. "