Chapter 2

Back then, I was living under this fake peace, holding onto my foolish anxieties and the last bit of trust I had in my family.

I drained all my savings from years of work, even borrowed some small loans, and bit by bit stashed supplies in our unused basement and attic.

And my mom and Jemma? They'd call me an idiot, all while 'carefully' bossing me around about what to buy and stock up on, claiming it was to stop me from wasting money.

But really, they just wrote out endless lists of stuff they wanted for themselves.

Of course, I was the one paying for everything.

And what happened in the end? I ended up spoiling them, feeding their greed and their guts, until they finally booted me, their so-called 'food supplier', out to fend for myself.

I dug my nails deep into my palm, the sting keeping me sharp and clear-headed.

They really thought I'd let them screw me over again, just because I had another shot? In their dreams.

This time, I'd make them pay back every last thing they took from me, with interest, and in the most painful way possible.

The moment that thought crossed my mind, a faint heat bloomed between my brows, as if a door had just been thrown open.

Right after, a strange awareness spread through me.

I could 'see' a hazy, boundless space, suspended in the depths of my mind.

With a flick of my thoughts, the pen in my hand disappeared without a trace, then appeared on the floor of that foggy realm.

With another thought, the pen snapped back into my palm.

Did I just unlock a storage space?

Was this a cheat for having a second shot at life?

After a moment of shock, wild excitement mixed with cold determination flooded my chest.

God really got my back this time.

I didn't rush into anything. Instead, I forced myself to sit on the edge of the bed and really think things through.

Back then, just for this so-called 'family,' I went all out, hoarding every kind of apocalypse supply I could think of.

I had bread, flour, oil, salt, all sorts of canned food, compressed biscuits, bottled water, meds, vitamins, thermal clothing, fuel, and even some basic tools and weapons.

There was so much stuff that every storage space in the house was packed full.

Most of it ended up in the basement, the attic, and the spare room next to mine that used to be for storage.

My mom and Jemma's rooms? No way they'd let me stash anything in there.

They thought all that stuff was filthy and wouldn't let a single piece of 'crap' near their space.

Right now, all the supplies I busted my ass for, enough to keep three people living well for at least two years of the deep freeze apocalypse, were basically all set.

Today was the day Mom said I was 'wasting money for the last time.'

The next day, the apocalypse would hit.

Time was running out.

I held my breath, straining to catch any noise from the hallway.

Mom and Jemma were out in the living room, glued to the TV. Laughter from some reality show and their voices drifted in now and then.

Sure enough, when dinner time came, they didn't even think to call me.

Well, that would be great.

I quietly got up and changed into my thickest, darkest clothes and sneakers, gear that let me move fast and stay out of sight.

Then I quietly turned the doorknob and cracked the door open just a sliver.

Light from the living room and the TV spilled in through the gap. They were still there.

I moved like a ghost, hugging the shadows along the wall as I made my way to the storage room next door.

The door wasn't locked, and the room was packed with cardboard boxes. I shut the door and locked it tight.

Not bothering with the lights, I let the dim glow from the street outside guide me as my hand landed on a box marked "ready-to-eat meal."

I zeroed in mentally.

Without a sound, the heavy, waist-high box blinked out of existence, as if it had never been there at all.

In my mind's eye, I watched it settle neatly into a corner of that foggy realm.

Without a second thought, my hands flew over the boxes, bags of flour, cases of bottled water, and barrels of cooking oil.

Everywhere I touched, not a trace was left behind.

Shelves, corners, even the piles of blankets and down jackets stacked against the wall, all of it got sucked straight into my storage space.

The whole process was eerily quiet, with only my quickened breathing betraying how excited and tense I was.

In just a few minutes, the room was empty, not even a scrap left behind.

Next up was the attic. I moved even more carefully. The stairs groaned under my feet with every step.

I practically tiptoed up, testing each one before putting my full weight on it.

The attic was even dustier and more chaotic than the storage room, but it was crammed with even more supplies.

There were all sorts of canned meats, fruit, dried veggies, vitamin supplements, batteries, radios, fuel tablets, and even a few jerry cans of gasoline.

I urged myself, adrenaline surging as I went on a mad hoarding spree.

It was like my mind had turned into a greedy, tireless hand, sweeping up every last supply and dumping it into that bottomless space that could never be filled.