Chapter 2

At first, this so-called "life" felt absurdly liberating—like I'd shattered every taboo and was free to do whatever I wanted, no consequences.

The city was my massive warehouse, and the world was my own private kingdom.

I broke into the upscale supermarket—the kind where I used to stand in endless lines, weighing my budget before daring to step inside.

The fridges were dead, the air reeking with a sweet, rotten smell. But the shelves were stacked with canned goods, vacuum-packed meals, bottled water, and snacks by the crate—enough to keep me fed for years.

I pushed my cart down the deserted aisles, my breath echoing in the emptiness. Like a king on patrol, I grabbed imported chocolates and pricey liquor—stuff I never would've splurged on before—and tossed them in without a second thought.

The first time I did it, I felt a rush—nervous and excited, like I was sneaking around where I didn't belong. But that thrill didn't last; soon, I was just numb.

As for entertainment, everything was up for grabs—no limits, no rules, just me and whatever I wanted.

I strolled into the high-end cinema—the kind one needed a reservation and a thick wallet for—and took over the biggest screening room. With the controls at my fingertips, I played any movie I felt like watching.

Light flickered across rows of empty seats; I was the only one laughing, or just sitting in silence. At the largest arcade, every machine had its coin slot unlocked. I played until my fingers were sore, the "Game Over" screen blinking on and off, and all I could hear was the low hum of the machines.

Money was nothing but worthless paper now.

I once hauled stacks of brand-new bills straight from the bank counter—still smelling of fresh ink, so green they almost hurt my eyes.

They used to stand for dreams, stress, and the price of survival. Now, they were just fancy-printed paper.

One cold night, after the firewood in the fireplace ran out, I looked at the mountain of cash piled in the corner and couldn't help but laugh at the absurdity.

I set them on fire. The flames hungrily licked up those portraits of great men and the intricate security threads, filling the room with a strange, warm glow and an odd smell.

I tossed bundle after bundle of cash into the fire, watching the flames devour them—portraits and security threads curling, blackening, and finally crumbling into ash.

Maybe this wasn't so bad. I huddled in the fleeting warmth from the burning bills, my eyelids growing heavy.

Sure, I was the only one left—but that just meant the whole world belonged to me alone.

Solitude had its price, but the freedom to own everything without limits almost made up for it until the power went out.

It was just another ordinary afternoon. I was blasting a deafening symphony through a top-tier sound system I'd dragged home from the electronics store, trying to drown out the dead silence with sheer noise.

Then, out of nowhere, everything shut down. The music stopped, the lights blinked out, and every indicator on my gadgets faded to black. The UPS backup gave a few feeble beeps before dying, leaving nothing but silence.

Real silence—heavy, cold—settled over me again.

No electricity meant no light, except for the dwindling stash of candles and flashlights. Without refrigeration, food would rot even faster. And with the pumps down, tap water would soon dry up.

The city, once a precision machine, had lost its last bit of power. Now, its cold, rigid, and bare bones were starting to show, slowly decaying.

I had to come up with a new survival strategy.

Diesel generators—that was what I needed.

I remembered there were a few massive logistics warehouses and factories on the outskirts of town.

Maybe they'd have some fuel and generators stashed away.

A few days later, with my gas tank nearly dry, I made my way to an abandoned industrial park at the city's edge.

The huge factory buildings crouched in the dusk like silent monsters. I found a small shed that looked like it was for backup generators, the door hanging half open. Sure enough, inside was a medium-sized diesel generator, with a few barrels labeled "diesel" stacked nearby.

Suddenly, pure excitement crashed over me, blowing away all the gloom from the past days. With power, I could finally save whatever food was left in my apartment fridge, have light again, and at least watch movies or read books offline—even if the internet was dead.

While I was checking the generator, I heard something outside.

It wasn't the wind or the sound of animals scurrying around.

It was footsteps—clear, steady, and totally out of place in this silent world. And there were voices, low and tense, whispering just beyond the door.

There were other human beings out there?

My heart seized up, then started hammering wildly—way harder than when I first realized I was alone in the world.

An overwhelming, almost explosive surge of joy and hope burst inside me.

I was not alone! There were others in this suspended year with me!

I half stumbled, half crawled out of the generator shed, desperately searching for the source of the voices.

The sunset painted the rusted steel beams with a deep golden hue, and two shadowy figures in black stepped out from behind the corner of a warehouse in the distance.

They wore identical black uniforms, marching in lockstep, each gripping something in their hands. Their bodies were alert, scanning the surroundings with cautious, watchful eyes.

I yelled, my voice breaking from excitement. "Hey! Here! I'm here! There's someone else!"

The two figures in black whipped their heads around at the same time.

They were still pretty far off, so I couldn't see their faces clearly, but I could sense their movements stiffen instantly.

They didn't answer my call. Instead, they quickly raised their arms—the way they moved, I'd seen it in countless movies.

It wasn't a wave—they were aiming their guns at me.

"Wait! I'm not—" My survival instinct took over, and I dove behind a nearby concrete block.

The heavy gunshots tore through the evening silence. Bullets smashed into the concrete, sending sparks and debris flying.

A burning pain shot through my shoulder, and warm blood started spreading fast across my clothes.

I'd been shot. The shock and pain hit me so hard that everything went dark.

Why? Why were they shooting at me? Weren't we the only survivors left in this world?

The two figures in black started closing in fast, their footsteps echoing across the empty lot like death marching right at me.

I pressed my hand to my bleeding shoulder, trying to crawl backward, but the pain and blood loss drained my strength, leaving me helpless on the ground.