Jonathan "John" Raymond listened carefully to the sounds outside the shop. It had been hours, and yet, there was nothing but silence. It was a stark contrast to the chaos of a few days ago—now, the entire street was like a ghost town. Even under the bright midday sun, not a single living soul was in sight.

The rogue soldiers had already swept through this district. John turned back to look at the small hardware store—once owned by a friend—that was now completely ransacked and left in ruins.

In fact, before everything fell apart, his friend had already taken his family and fled to the countryside. Since John had the key, he made a bold decision: when the situation reached its worst, he left the store's doors wide open, scattered the remaining supplies to make it look thoroughly looted, and even smashed the doors inside to make the destruction seem absolute. Then, he hid in the basement.

The situation deteriorated just as he had expected. As the government collapsed, the military splintered, and armed soldiers began indiscriminately killing, civilians also succumbed to madness. His store was ransacked in no time. But because it had already been stripped bare, no one returned to search it again. Some looters even tried setting fire to the place, but with little fuel left, the flames only blackened the exterior—making it look even more like a forgotten ruin.

Under these conditions, John had survived in the basement for five days. Finally, this morning, he cautiously approached the storefront and lowered the metal shutters. Only then did he let out a deep breath. For the entire morning, he remained still, listening to the sounds outside.

Nothing. Not a single voice.

Anyone who had been part of the chaos—whether as victims or perpetrators—was either dead, had fled the city, or was in hiding. The rogue soldiers had either killed each other off or had left the city in gangs. The population left in the city was now a mere fraction of what it once was.

John could have left earlier. As a retired special forces soldier, he had an instinct for danger. Half a month ago, when world leaders, high-ranking military officials, billionaires, scientists, and even celebrities had all mysteriously vanished, he knew something was wrong.

He saw the signs of an impending cataclysm, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

Why had the people who controlled the world suddenly disappeared?

It wasn't just their disappearance that was alarming—it was the disturbing rumors that followed. If even half of what was being said was true, then things were about to get much worse.

Lost in thought, John suddenly stiffened. A faint sound of footsteps echoed in the distance. His entire body tensed like a predator ready to strike.

Holding his breath, he reached for the Glock 19 hidden under the table. Just then, a soft quail call sounded from outside. John's heart skipped a beat before he let out a matching call in response.

A few calls were exchanged.

Only then did he finally relax. He rushed to lift the metal shutter. In the distance, near a pile of debris, a shadowy figure crouched low.

The figure reacted quickly. As soon as John opened the door, he sprinted forward like a panther, covering over thirty meters in just a few seconds before diving into the store. John immediately pulled the shutter down behind him. Both men exhaled in relief.

"Aiden, why are you scouting ahead? Where are the others?" John grabbed the young man and asked urgently.

Aiden Carter, barely nineteen, had sharp, experienced eyes that made him look far older. He grinned. "Boss, don't joke. I've been a scout for over a year now. Tyler and the others are still outside the city. There are still dozens of rogue squads in the city center. We could take them out easily, but gunfire might attract more of them. So, the team decided to sneak in at night. I came ahead to check if you were alive. If I didn't return, they'd assume you were gone."

John nodded. He didn't doubt for a second that Aiden would make it back alive. After all, the young scout was a member of the Black Star Unit. He may have been a rookie, but against the undisciplined chaos of rogue soldiers, his survival was never in question. If he didn't return, it only meant John was dead.

The Black Star Unit was practically a ghost in military records—so obscure that even the U.S. government barely acknowledged its existence. Unlike the SEAL Team Six or Delta Force, Black Star handled covert, off-the-books operations. They didn't fight for glory; they fought in the shadows.

John shook his head. "Stop calling me boss. I retired two years ago. I didn't even train you. Just call me John."

Aiden scoffed. "Tyler would punch me for that. And let's be real, if it weren't for you, we'd all be dead in the desert."

John smirked but didn't argue. He clapped Aiden on the shoulder. "Come on. Let's head to the basement, get you some clean clothes and a proper meal. When the others arrive, I'll explain why I called you here."

Aiden beamed and followed John through the wreckage of the shop. They reached a hidden hatch, and John pulled up a steel plate before slipping through. Aiden followed, eyes widening as he took in the sight below.

The basement was a hundred square meters wide, well-lit, and stocked with food, water, weapons, and even a laptop.

Aiden flipped over in excitement and dove at the nearest food crate. "This is heaven! After months in the desert, running for our lives, I almost forgot what a full meal felt like!"

John chuckled as he watched Aiden devour the food. But as he reached over to pat his shoulder, Aiden suddenly slumped over, sound asleep mid-bite.

John sighed and lifted him onto a cot. The kid had been through hell. It was no wonder he passed out the moment he felt safe.

With Aiden snoring softly, John returned to his laptop and typed in a command.

A set of coordinates appeared on the screen.

Beneath them, a simple message in English read:

"Project Noah: The Last Hope for Earth's Escape."

John stared at the screen, his expression unreadable, lost in thought for a long time.