Day 1: Dan's Kingdom
The sun crept through the broken apartment window, painting the dust suspended in the air with an amber color. I slept. I actually slept for the first time in a month. The broken mattress, the distant noises of the infected... none of that mattered. What mattered was the knowledge that my last package of instant noodles was now a lifelong supply. The end of scarcity gave me peace.
The first thing was water.
Hunger could wait, but thirst could not. The personal water bottle was still the jackpot, the only piece missing for total survival. I checked the small survival kit I had brought from the looting. I had found a multipurpose electric rice cooker that, luckily, still worked. The electricity was still on—a small miracle that wouldn't last. I had to find a generator and fast, but for now, power was my ally.
My plan was simple: establish this apartment as my first base.
I needed to reinforce every access point. Planks, screws, barricades… things I hadn't been able to get before. But the first obstacle was the street. I needed to feel secure before dedicating an entire day to construction. Tomorrow, I'd reinforce; today was for supplies.
I turned on my cell phone. I needed a charger; the battery was in the red. One more item for the list.
I opened Link, the stupid social network my college friends used. The screen was a wall of lamentations. Messages from old classmates asking for help, begging for a safe place. And then there were the "sycophants."
"If anyone has a warehouse, we'll give you everything. Just let us in, we have a lot to offer."
I laughed. How pathetic. "A lot to offer"? At this point, unless you were sleeping in a warehouse full of canned food, you had nothing I was interested in. Arrogance swelled in my chest. I, Dan Olsen, the loser who couldn't save his own family, was now the only man who could provide.
If I found someone who interested me, someone to my liking and with the necessary caution, maybe I wouldn't mind inviting her over. Company, or something more, would always be a good release.
I put the distraction aside and focused on my goal: a personal water bottle.
I knew I couldn't drink directly from the tap. The virus, or whatever it was, had affected the drinking water system. I had seen it in the supermarket: bottled water was worth its weight in gold.
With my steel bat in hand and my old backpack on my back, I left.
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The city was worse than the day before. The buildings on my street were a silent memory of normal life. I saw a couple of infected in the distance, wandering aimlessly, but if one made a noise, the whole street would turn against you. Caution. For now, my strength lay in my secret, not in combat.
I arrived at the supermarket. The atmosphere was dense. The few survivors looked at each other with wolf eyes, waiting for the other to blink before robbing them of their misery.
My target was the back, the employee area. Before, trying to enter there was guaranteed to get you beaten up. Now, no one risked leaving their guard post. I took advantage of the tension and slipped through the service door.
Inside, darkness. I found a body. A dead worker, not from a bite, but from starvation. There was nothing left. Desperation had taken everything.
I rummaged through some boxes. I didn't expect anything. But then, I found a small, hidden box. Jackpot!
The worker had saved his personal emergency items. Among travel shampoos and a toothbrush, I found what I was looking for: a personal water bottle.
—Store water bottle —I whispered.
The BEEP resonated in my mind. I checked my inventory.
DAN OLSEN'S INVENTORY
Personal Water Bottle: ∞
I let out a shaky sigh of relief. I had survived. Survival was guaranteed.
I collected the rest of the guy's things: soap, nail clippers, shampoo packets, a brush, and yes, a roll of toilet paper (the ultimate luxury item). All infinite.
Then, I saw a large, new black backpack tucked into a corner. Empty. It looked new. The worker was going to escape, but he didn't have the courage.
I stored the backpack in my inventory, and facing the lifeless body, I used one of the infinite copies. I threw away my old, small backpack and put a packet of noodles and a water bottle in the new one. Just for show. To disguise my abundance a bit.
I continued searching. I found loose planks and screws on the shelves. I stored a metal shelf, I stored a cardboard box. A wall? No. If it caused a loud noise or affected the structure, the infected would come. I would try that later, when I was safe.
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Now, a new plan. Trade.
Trade my noodles or my water for things I couldn't replicate: maybe some meds , or any tipe of fod that i wanted.
I strolled through the aisles. I saw an adult woman with her son. They looked exhausted, but not malicious. A good target for my first exchange.
I approached, keeping the bat visible, but not raised.
—Excuse me —I greeted.
The woman flinched. The boy hid behind her legs.
—Don't come closer. Get away! —she said, her voice strained.
—Calm down. I don't want trouble. I just want to trade. Do you have any food to exchange for a bottle of water? —I said, pulling a shiny bottle out of my backpack.
Her eyes were fixed on the water. Distrust fought against desperation. She looked at her son.
—I don't have anything equivalent. Only a small, unopened chocolate bar. I bought it before all this happened —she said.
I smiled. Chocolate works as an excellent calorie source for extra energy if I need it on a day of combat or tension. —It's okay. I'll trade.
She was surprised. —What's the catch?
—None. I just need the chocolate. No other intentions.
I rolled the water bottle across the floor to her feet. She threw the chocolate bar into my hand.
—Thank you —she murmured, holding the bottle as if it were glass.
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I put the bar away and continued my way down the central aisle, observing the people.
I ignored the people who were only begging and clearly had nothing to offer in return. I found a man in his forties.
—Trade? —I asked.
—I don't have any food, kid —he replied with a tired sigh.
I was about to leave when he remembered something. He pulled out an almost full pack of cigarettes and a lighter.
—Would you trade your food for this?
My eyes widened. This is interesting. Although I didn't smoke, cigarettes were solid gold. A vice, a currency, and the lighter was useful.
—Yes. I'll give you instant noodles or a chocolate bar —I said.
The man chose the bar. Instant noodles require water, which showed how valuable the liquid was. We exchanged.
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I kept searching and found a woman in her thirties. I showed her my offer: water, noodles, and chocolate. She hesitated.
—I don't have food, but I have this. It's very valuable. —She pulled out a small jar of vitamin capsules—. I need two bottles and a chocolate.
I was surprised. Vitamins and medical supplies were crucial. This is a good trade, I thought.
—I'll give you one bottle of water and two chocolate bars. It's the fairest deal.
She thought about it for a moment. Vitamins were useless without water or food.
—I accept —she said. We exchanged.
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I continued trading, trying to get useful items. At that moment, a young man called me, interrupting my thoughts.
—I saw you. You have valuable things. I have something worth at least four bottles of water.
I was surprised by how direct and brazen the kid was, although I understood that necessity eliminated formalities. I turned, keeping my expression neutral. —What do you have that's worth so much?
The kid showed me a bag. Inside, carefully packaged, there was half a kilo of eggs.
Protein. The quintessential protein. I was internally surprised so the kid wouldn't notice.
—You're right. It's very valuable. I'll give you three bottles and two chocolate bars. It's a fair deal for such a prized commodity.
—Deal done —the kid said—. I can't fry them anyway.
His comment made me think. Right, the pot at my base is only good for boiling. It was an instant revelation. If he can't fry them, it's because he has no means. And where would you get a fryer or an electric stove? In the appliance area.
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With that new necessity in mind, I decided it was time to change the scenario. I cautiously headed towards the appliance area. A tall, undernourished man guarded the entrance. There it is. I get it now. The kid was right, and now I understood why this place was guarded. If people managed to get food, they would come here. A group had taken control.
I approached the guard. —Excuse me. How can I get in?
—One portion of food. It's not fixed; you'll pay every time you return.
I showed him an instant noodle. He nodded and let me pass. Minimum payment, good.
Inside, I saw at least three people watching me and a woman behind a register, the boss, about thirty-something. They looked at me suspiciously.
I walked around and found what I needed: an air fryer (perfect for eggs if the electricity went out and it worked with the plug) and an electric kettle (faster than the rice cooker).
I wanted to store them in the inventory, but people were watching. If they disappeared, they would suspect. I'll have to be cautious. This secret is my life. I sighed.
I knew I couldn't leave without a plan. I couldn't come back here daily. I had to put something into action that would save me these trips and risks. I walked over to the woman at the register.
"Good afternoon," she said to me, with a strangely calm and professional voice. "If you need anything else, just ask." I was impressed. She's not just a thug. This person has vision and organization. There are brains here, not just muscles.
—It's not extortion —she told me calmly, as if reading my mind—. It's a business. We saw a need and the opportunity.
—I understand perfectly. —I said—. I wouldn't have thought of something like this. My mind only thinks about running away, not building empires.
—Of course. I work in business —she replied, with a tone of professional pride.
It was time.
—Don't you think the food you receive for entry is too little?
—Sure. Food is scarce; we can't overdo it or no one will come in.
—I understand that concept. That's why I offer you a deal. I can do business with you. I will give you five instant noodles and five water bottles a day, if you fulfill orders for me.
She and the guards gasped. I knew it. Abundance is the only power that scarcity respects.
—Are you kidding? —Irene asked.
—Not at all. My plan would fail on the first day if I didn't comply.
She caught my attention. —What do you want?
—It's simple. Have your men trade food and useful items with the people in the supermarket. Everything they spend on transactions—the noodles or water they use to buy—will be replaced by me the moment they deliver the items to me. They will tell me by phone.
She hesitated, her mind processing the logistics. —Taking it will be dangerous. You'll have to pay the courier who volunteers, once they reach your house.
—Agreed. —I asked her name—.
—Irene. It's a pleasure to work with you.
We exchanged numbers.
—One moment —Irene said, returning to business mode—. You must pay for the appliances.
—True. I almost forgot. Nothing is free in this world, not even the opportunity to do business. —I took out the new money—. I'll give you three water bottles, four noodles, and two chocolate bars for both.
—Thank you for your purchase. Come back soon —Irene said, with a hint of respect in her voice.
The tall guard told me "see you later" and lowered his guard. I smiled. Commerce was my new weapon.
I looked for the bathroom, making sure no one followed me. I went in and locked the door. Time to work my magic. Finally.
—Store air fryer —I said. BEEP. —Store electric kettle —I said. BEEP.
Both became infinite. Absolute power. Perfect logistics. I sighed with relief. I left with my backpack. There was no one else left to trade with. The sun was setting. It was time to return to my apartment.
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I arrived at my base without complications. I closed the door. And I faced a new unknown: the key. I needed to secure my base.
I searched for half an hour. If I had lived here, where would I hide them? In the drawer of a nightstand, I found a bunch of four keys.
I tried them. One opened the main door. Two others were for the bedrooms and one for the bathroom.
—Store bunch of keys —I said, feeling the euphoria.
Infinite copies. My base was sealed.
I took the fryer and the kettle out of my inventory. I put water from a bottle to heat. I cooked an egg in the fryer. In a small pot, I put the boiled water and the noodles. I added the chicken flavor packet. I placed the fried egg on top.
I took my first bite of a decent meal in a long time. Tears came to my eyes. I enjoyed every gram.
Then, an idea occurred to me. What if I can store the cooked food?
I boiled water again. I put the noodles and the flavor in a pot. I put two raw eggs on top, so they would steam inside. The perfect pot.
I took a deep breath. I concentrated. —Store Pot of Noodles with Egg.
[BEEP.]
DAN OLSEN'S INVENTORY
Pot of Noodles with Egg: ∞
I jumped for joy. I wouldn't have to cook ever again! The limit does not exist. If I found chicken, I could make the same recipe, store it, and have Infinite Chicken Noodles. The system had no end.
Happy, I checked my messages. Irene had written to me. "The day is over, no luck. Tomorrow I will send your workers out again to look for potentially useful things and keep you updated."
I replied, telling her to expect good news and that, if she couldn't find anything else, anything new was welcome, even gum.
I checked Link one last time. I saw a post. A girl, Jessy, very much to my liking: short, good proportions, but with a reputation for being difficult. Now she was begging for help. Desperate.
No one had replied to her.
It's time to test my social limits. I let my thoughts wander. I sent her a direct message:
"If you need urgent help, contact me. I can give you what you ask for, but in exchange, you will have to obey all my rules."
I left the message. A woman who valued her life wouldn't come at night.
I went to sleep, calm. The first day of Dan Olsen's apocalypse had been a success.