Maybe it was the gnawing hunger, or maybe just the anticipation of using the system again—either way, Ethan barely slept that night. His rest was light, broken. Every cough from a nearby survivor jerked him awake, every rustle in the darkness made his hand twitch toward the knife at his side.
When he finally gave up on sleep, the world around him was pitch-black, silent except for the occasional wind whistling through broken highway signs.
With a thought, he pulled open the system interface.
Balance: $2
Sometime past midnight, the system must've auto-signed in for him. Another buck, just like clockwork.
And now—finally—another option had lit up in the mall.
Rice – $2 / pound (Available)
No hesitation this time. He tapped Buy.
A message blinked in his vision:
Purchase successful. Storage unlocked. Item placed in warehouse.
Then another:
Warehouse capacity: Medium (approx. 2–3 suitcases).
Ethan's heart skipped. Storage space.
He pulled the new interface open, and sure enough—a small, glowing grid appeared in his mind's eye. Inside it sat a single, neat pound of white rice.
He grinned despite himself. "Well, damn. I thought this system was a joke. But storage space? That's a game-changer."
No more lugging around an overstuffed, rattling backpack. No more worrying about food rotting in the heat. The system's warehouse didn't allow living things inside, which meant no bugs, no bacteria—his food would stay fresh forever.
He immediately dumped the contents of his real backpack into the digital storage: the mushroom crackers, cloudy water bottles, even that sad slice of moldy bread. Everything vanished into the warehouse with a flicker. The bag sagged almost weightless in his hand.
Ethan chuckled quietly. "Guess I just went hands-free apocalypse."
Still, one problem remained—his stomach.
He grabbed his "helmet." It was really just a battered steel cooking pot with a rope strung through the handles, doubling as both cookware and improvised armor when strapped to his head. Not pretty, but practical.
Keeping low, he walked a safe distance from the convoy's rest stop and crouched in the shadows. Using a bit of scavenged wood and a lighter he'd found weeks ago, he sparked a small fire.
From the warehouse, he summoned the rice and poured it into the pot, mixing it with some of the murky water.
For ten long minutes, the pot simmered. Then, slowly, the rich scent of cooked rice drifted up, curling into the night air.
Ethan swallowed hard, his mouth watering.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd smelled real rice. Not the stale crackers, not moldy bread—not junk scrounged from abandoned gas stations—but fresh, steaming rice.
Maybe it was just because he hadn't had a real meal since the world fell apart. Or maybe the system's food was just… better.
Either way, the aroma hit him like heaven.
His stomach growled so loudly he thought for a second the whole convoy might hear.
After ten long minutes, Ethan scooped up a bit of rice with a makeshift wooden stick and tasted it.
Soft, warm, fragrant. The grains melted in his mouth, and for a moment it was like stepping back into the old world.
The smell clung to the air.
"Hey… kid. You cooking rice?"
The sudden voice made Ethan stiffen. He jerked his head up.
A figure had crept closer, barely visible in the dim firelight. The man's face was hidden in shadow, but his eyes gleamed—hungry, desperate—locked on the pot like a starving wolf.
Ethan said nothing. His hand slid to the short survival knife strapped at his belt, knuckles whitening around the hilt.
The man froze, raising his hands a little."Hey… relax. I'm just looking. I don't want trouble…"
Ethan kept staring, silent.
After a tense moment, the man's eyes dimmed. He backed away slowly, melting back into the darkness.
Only when he was gone did Ethan exhale, his heart pounding.
A knife wasn't worth much against the monsters out there. But against people? People were often the bigger danger. Months into the collapse, only those who could defend themselves were still breathing.
Ethan looked down at the pot. It wasn't much—barely a pound of rice—but it was more food than he'd had in weeks.
Hunger clawed at his gut, yet he ate slowly, savoring each bite like treasure, until every last grain was gone. He licked the pot clean.
Warmth filled his belly. For the first time in a long time, he let out a quiet sigh of contentment."This… this is living."
By the time he finished, dawn was pushing over the horizon.
The convoy stirred awake. A rusted school bus rumbled to life at the front, belching smoke as its horn blared. Behind it came a lifted pickup with welded steel plates, a faded white van, two motorcycles, a cluster of bicycles, and a scattering of weary hikers.
More than a dozen survivors, moving on again.
There was no such thing as washing up. No brushing teeth, no fresh clothes. People shoved stale crackers, moldy bread, even handfuls of raw flour into their mouths as they walked.
Two hours later, a shout came from the bus roof:"Buildings ahead! A town!"
Instantly, the air shifted. The convoy straightened, eyes brightening with hope.
A town meant supplies.
But it also meant risk. Everyone knew that scavenging was life or death. Skip it, and you starved. Go in, and maybe you didn't come back.
Within minutes, they reached the outskirts.
The streets were silent. Houses sagged, windows shattered, cars abandoned at odd angles. Sunlight poured down, but the emptiness carried a chill that crawled under the skin.
Weird things avoided the sun, so daytime meant relative safety from them. But beasts… beasts didn't care about light.
And yet, the town was empty. Too empty.
That was worse.
The pickup's passenger door opened. A man in his thirties with a thick beard and a weathered face stepped out. All eyes turned toward him.
Marcus Kane—the backbone of the Horizon Team.
Without a word, he reached into his coat and pulled out three small throwing knives. He tossed them onto the truck's hood, where they clattered into place.
He studied how they landed, eyes narrowing. After a long pause, he spoke in a low, steady voice.
"Bad sign. Real bad. If we go in, we've got an hour. No more. Then we pull out."
A murmur rippled through the group.
Ethan, standing among them, watched Marcus carefully.
So that's his ability… divination? he thought. Every time I see him do it, it feels unreal.