Chapter 2
1203words
The survival instinct honed over ten brutal years had become hardwired into his brain. He instantly shifted into maximum efficiency mode.
He yanked a notebook and pen from the drawer and began writing furiously.
This wasn't a shopping list—it was the ultimate apocalypse survival guide, verified by ten years of blood and tears.
Page one: [Food and Water].
Drinking water—stockpile as much as possible. High-calorie, shelf-stable canned goods: Spam, beans, sardines. Military rations and energy bars. Salt, sugar, multivitamins—essential for survival during long periods without fresh food.
Page two: [Energy and Fuel].
Diesel generators—minimum two. Solar panels and battery banks—biggest possible. Gasoline and diesel in barrels—as much as storage allows. Fuel stabilizers essential—otherwise fuel goes bad within months.
Page three: [Weapons and Tools].
Top priority. Jack detailed every weapon model obtainable legally or through gray markets in California: AR-15 rifles, Remington M870 shotguns, Glock 17 pistols... plus mountains of ammunition. Also fire axes, crowbars, entrenching tools, high-quality survival knives—these "primitive" weapons often proved more reliable than guns when it mattered.
Page four: [Medications and Medical Supplies].
Antibiotics, anti-inflammatories, painkillers, bandages, suture kits, iodine... In his previous life, a single dose of penicillin had been worth its weight in gold.
...
He filled over a dozen pages, specifying each item down to brand and model. This list represented lessons paid for in blood during the apocalypse.
By the time he finished, dawn was breaking. Jack felt no fatigue. He grabbed the black Unlimited Credit Card and walked out of the rental apartment he'd never see again.
His first stop wasn't a bank or car dealership, but Costco—America's largest warehouse supermarket.
An hour later, Jack pushed three overflowing carts to checkout. No snacks or sodas filled these carts—just cases of bottled water, canned meat, compressed biscuits, bulk batteries, and first aid kits. These boring staples of peacetime now looked like treasure to his eyes.
Just as he prepared to pay, a voice he'd dreamed of silencing forever spoke beside him.
"Well, if it isn't Jack? What's up, man? Got laid off and playing doomsday prepper at home?"
Jack turned slowly.
Mark stood there in expensive designer clothes, a glamorous woman hanging on his arm. His cart overflowed with craft beer, imported steaks, organic produce, and luxury snacks Jack couldn't even identify.
He eyed Jack's three carts of "junk" with naked contempt, like a king observing a peasant's bizarre habits.
"Jack, take my advice," Mark said with fake sincerity, patting Jack's shoulder. "Stop wasting money on this crap. On your salary, survivalism is out of your league—that's a rich man's game. People like you should stick to ordinary lives."
The woman giggled behind manicured fingers, eyeing Jack with pitying amusement.
Jack stared at him, face blank.
In his previous life, he might have gotten angry or argued back. Now, he just found it amusing. Why argue with a walking corpse?
Without a word, he pushed his carts to the register and told the bewildered cashier: "Check out."
The cashier eyed the mountain of goods, then Jack in his modest clothing, doubt written across her face.
"Sir, this is... going to be really expensive."
"Card." Jack handed over the black card.
Mark crossed his arms, wearing the smug expression of someone about to witness a humiliation. He couldn't wait to see Jack's face when his card was declined.
The cashier swiped the card.
"Beep——"
A crisp sound.
Everyone, including Mark and his arm candy, instinctively looked at the terminal screen.
"APPROVED"
In massive green letters, crystal clear.
The receipt spooled from the printer, reaching an absurd length. At the bottom, a staggering total: $22,475.31.
The cashier's mouth formed a perfect "O." In all her years, she'd never seen someone drop twenty grand on survival supplies without even entering a PIN.
The smirk on Mark's face froze solid.
Twenty thousand dollars? That was nearly Jack's entire annual salary! How could he afford this? What was that black card? Had he hit the lottery?
Jack took back his card, ignoring the receipt. He pushed his cart past the stunned Mark as if passing a garbage can.
As they brushed shoulders, in a voice only Mark could hear, he said:
"Enjoy your remaining days, Mark."
Without looking back, he headed for the parking lot.
Leaving Mark and his date standing there like they'd seen a ghost.
Jack had no time to waste on insects. He rented a box truck and hit every supermarket, hardware store, and outdoor supplier in Sacramento, clearing out everything on his list available locally.
That afternoon, he rented a massive warehouse in the suburbs. As workers unloaded the truck, piling supplies mountain-high, Jack waited until they left. Then with a wave of his hand, everything vanished—sucked into his Dimensional Warehouse.
With phase one complete, Jack began his real "god-tier stockpiling" plan.
Back at his apartment, he fired up his old laptop and began a global shopping spree.
The Unlimited Credit Card gave him unlimited confidence.
First, he contacted a notorious Eastern European arms dealer through the dark web. Initially suspicious of FBI entrapment, the dealer's attitude changed dramatically after Jack transferred several large deposits through untraceable channels.
"Boss, no worries! Your shipment will arrive at the designated port within a week! Forget platoon equipment—I could get you a T-72 tank if you wanted!"
Without hesitation, Jack ordered enough American military hardware to arm fifty operators: M4A1 assault rifles, M249 SAWs, Barrett anti-materiel rifles, plus crates of grenades, flashbangs, and ammunition in various calibers.
Next, he contacted a specialized vehicle shop in Texas and commissioned—at a price they couldn't refuse—an "Apocalypse RV" built on a Ford F-550 chassis. The rolling fortress featured 20mm bulletproof plating, blast-resistant tires, a massive ram bar, and a weapons platform on the roof. This beast would be his mobile command center when hell broke loose.
Then came gold. He purchased hundreds of kilograms of bars and coins from multiple dealers at prices well above market. In the apocalypse, you couldn't eat gold—but when new societies formed, it would be the ultimate hard currency.
Cigars, premium whiskey, French wine... Jack stockpiled luxury items that would be worth more than diamonds after civilization fell. Survival came first, but why not survive in style?
Phone calls, emails, encrypted messages...
For days, Jack worked like a man possessed, directing astronomical sums in a global purchasing frenzy.
Containers from across the world arrived at his leased warehouse by sea and air.
One week later.
Jack stood in the vast, empty warehouse. The final container's contents had vanished into his Dimensional Warehouse.
He glanced at his phone.
The screen displayed debt collection warnings and fraud alerts from dozens of banks. His total debt had reached a figure no ordinary person could repay in several lifetimes.
Jack's face remained expressionless as he studied the numbers—as meaningless to him as random code.
He tossed the phone into a nearby trash bin.
Clang.
The sound echoed through the empty warehouse.
That sound marked his final farewell to a world on the brink of destruction.
From this moment on, the rules of the old world no longer applied to him.
He was about to welcome a new world—one that would belong to him alone.
