"Humming softly to himself, Miles switched on the television, his mood light. It was the twelfth day since the apocalypse began.
The civil news channel had vanished, leaving only a blanket of static. Every other major network was down as well.
With a slight sigh, he picked up his phone. Since the loss of television as a means of communication, officials had been reduced to posting sporadic updates online, urging citizens to remain calm. But the unstable network, continually dropping in and out, left many furious and desperate.
It seemed that even the infrastructure in these major cities could barely hold out any longer. After all, no matter how advanced technology might be, it still required people to maintain it.
Based on what Miles recalled from his past life, he estimated that the number of survivors in Chicago had dwindled to perhaps a million. While that might sound substantial, in a metropolis like Chicago—a city rivaling New York and Los Angeles with its population density—that number was staggeringly low. This city, once bustling with over thirty million people, now sheltered fewer than one million.
And at the current rate, within another couple of weeks, even that number would be decimated to a fraction.
He glanced at the group chat. It was complete chaos. The recent violence had left many exhausted and depleted, while those still hanging on were either starving or desperate.
"Why has the water suddenly stopped running?" one message read.
"Yes, what's going on here?" another demanded.
"My food ran out days ago, and I've been surviving on water alone. Now that there's no water, what are we supposed to do?"
"They even stopped broadcasting on the public news channel. If this continues, we're all doomed."
"Where is the government? The state? How can they just abandon us!"
Miles took a long drag on his cigarette, a bitter smile crossing his face as the smoke curled in front of him. At this point in his previous life, he had been just as desperate, staring anxiously at his phone, venting his anger toward an absent government like everyone else.
But now, he knew what was coming.
The authorities had long since exhausted their resources. For anyone to survive now, it would take sheer will and relentless determination. In three days, the zombies would emerge.
Today marked the true beginning of the apocalypse.
As the comforts of modern society crumbled, the threats ahead would only grow more severe. But Miles felt an overwhelming sense of gratitude. With his billion-dollar fortress and the near-endless supplies in his spatial storage, he was secure. He had more than enough to sustain him as long as the earth remained habitable.
And if the world did perish? Well, then he'd face the end alongside everyone else. He had already indulged in life far beyond most.
Suddenly, the group chat stirred again, now directing their anger at the property manager, Grant.
"Grant, didn't you say the storm wouldn't last long? What happened to that?"
Grant snapped back, clearly annoyed, "How is that my problem? That's what the officials told us. If they're gone now, what am I supposed to do?"
"Find a way to fix this!" another retorted.
"Yes, every year we pay you ridiculous fees, and this is the service we get?" another chimed in.
"You're no better than a leech, always after money, and now when there's trouble, you're useless!"
Meanwhile, Grant sat huddled in the property office's basement, surrounded by whatever food supplies he had managed to secure—milk, crackers, and a few basics. Compared to the icy indoor temperatures reaching -30 degrees, the basement was an unexpected refuge, insulated enough to stave off the bitter cold.
As he scrolled through the insults flooding the chat, Grant's face grew tense. His worry far outweighed that of the residents because, just a few hours prior, he had received an insider update from city officials. This disaster might never end.
He had even heard whispers that it could be the beginning of a new mass extinction event. Just like in the science fiction stories, Earth seemed to be entering an epoch of endless frost, a glacial age that could obliterate nearly all life on the planet.
In a hundred thousand years, perhaps some future archaeologists would unearth remnants of their lost civilization.
And it seemed some of the more connected residents were catching on, for the air in the chat had turned dark with fear.
"This is no ordinary disaster," one resident posted. "I've just learned this is a millennial global storm; every region is in turmoil."
"The infrastructure of every major city has already collapsed, and Chicago is no different."
"And LA's elite are long gone—they retreated to secure underground bunkers days ago!"
"If we don't start helping ourselves now, we're as good as dead..."
As panic spread, the group erupted, with accusations and demands multiplying.
Finally, the familiar voice of the wealthy neighbor, the "plump lady," chimed in: "Grant, didn't you store up some milk last month? I'll pay whatever it takes."
Foolish woman!
Grant read the message and felt a flash of fury. If she wanted to discuss food, couldn't she have sent him a private message?
Now, with the entire group aware, there was no way he could admit to it.
He gritted his teeth and sent a voice message: "Stop spreading lies! There is no stash of supplies. The property office ran out of food days ago!"
"You liar!" she retorted. "I saw those supplies myself—don't you try and deny it."
She had mentioned the supplies before, but back then, the residents had barely taken her seriously. They hadn't yet grasped the scale of the disaster.
But now it was different.
True or not, the mere rumor of supplies would drive these people to extremes.
Grant's heart pounded. Even sheltered in the basement, he could feel the encroaching threat, a chill more frigid than the biting cold outside.
He knew what happened yesterday. Miles had manipulated Andrew and the residents into fighting, leaving the grounds littered with bodies and nearly a thousand injured.
And now, the mob was on the edge once more, this time directed toward him.