The Westside Global Logistics Center was a behemoth of steel and concrete, stretching across the horizon like a sleeping beast.
Heat waves shimmered off the metal roof. The air smelled of diesel exhaust, dry cardboard, and burning asphalt.
Alex stepped out of the taxi, checking his watch. 2:48 PM.
He had wasted thirty-four minutes traveling. In the apocalypse, thirty-four minutes was the difference between finding a crate of antibiotics and dying of an infection.
"Time is life," he muttered, adjusting his sunglasses.
A balding, overweight man in a sweat-stained blue shirt waddled out of the main gate. This was Manager Wang. He looked at Alex—young, dressed in casual clothes, holding a briefcase—and frowned.
"You're the 'Mr. Alex' who called?" Wang wiped sweat from his forehead with a greasy rag. "Look, kid, I told you on the phone. This isn't a retail store. We deal in bulk. Shipping containers only."
Alex didn't waste breath on pleasantries. He kicked the briefcase.
Thud.
"Open it."
Wang blinked, then suspiciously unlatched the case. His eyes nearly popped out of his skull.
Inside were stacks of crisp, green hundred-dollar bills. The $100,000 sign-on bonus from Brother Scar.
"That's the deposit," Alex said, his voice cutting through the humid air like a blade. "I'm not here to rent space. I'm here to clear your inventory. Specifically, Warehouse A and B."
Wang's attitude flipped instantly. The suspicion vanished, replaced by the oily smile of a merchant smelling a whale.
"Oh! A big client! Please, please, come into the AC. It's too hot out here."
Inside the office, the air conditioner rattled noisily.
Alex tossed a list onto Wang's messy desk. It wasn't a shopping list; it was a survival manifesto.
"I want everything in Warehouse A: The imported rice, the canned beef, the dried vegetables. All 5,000 tons of it."
Wang nodded enthusiastically, tapping on his calculator. "No problem. Food prices are stable. We can arrange trucks to—"
"No trucks," Alex interrupted. "I'll handle transport. Now, look at the second page."
Wang flipped the page. He froze.
"Industrial electric heaters? Coal? Heavy-duty down jackets? Thermal blankets?" Wang looked up, confused. "Mr. Alex, it's July. It's 40 degrees outside. We have that stuff sitting in the 'dead stock' section, collecting dust since last winter. Why would you..."
He stopped, a realization dawning on his face. "Ah, I get it. You're exporting to the Southern Hemisphere? Or maybe a ski resort project?"
"Something like that," Alex replied, leaning back in the chair. "I want all of it. Every single heater. Every bag of coal. And I want the price at a 20% discount since I'm clearing your dead stock."
"Done!" Wang slammed the table. He was ecstatic. Those heaters had been rotting in the warehouse for two years. This rich kid was doing him a favor.
"Total comes to... $12 million," Wang said, handing over the invoice with trembling hands.
Alex didn't blink. He pulled out his phone and initiated the wire transfer from his new account.
Ding.
[Bank Alert: Transfer of $12,000,000.00 successful. Remaining Balance: $38,000,000.00]
Wang saw the confirmation on his computer screen. His jaw dropped. He stood up and bowed, shaking Alex's hand vigorously.
"A pleasure doing business! I'll have the boys start loading the trucks immediately."
"No," Alex said, pulling his hand back. "Give me the keys to the warehouses. Send your workers home. I have my own private logistics team coming tonight. They handle sensitive cargo. I don't want any of your staff watching."
Wang hesitated. It was irregular. But 12 million dollars was already in the bank.
"Okay. Standard procedure says no, but for a VIP..." Wang tossed a heavy ring of keys to Alex. "They're yours for 24 hours. The security cameras are... ah, 'under maintenance' if you need them to be."
Wang winked. He assumed Alex was smuggling something. He didn't care.
"Smart man," Alex said. "Get out."
Ten minutes later, Alex stood alone in the center of Warehouse A.
It was a cathedral of consumerism. Pallets of rice stacked ten meters high. Mountains of canned spam. Aisles of bottled water stretching into the darkness.
The air was still and silent.
"In three days, people will kill their own parents for one of these cans," Alex whispered.
He walked up to a pallet of premium Thai Jasmine Rice. He placed his hand on the plastic wrapping.
"System. Store."
Vwoom.
The air rippled like water disturbed by a stone.
In the blink of an eye, the massive wooden pallet vanished. No sound. No trace. Just empty concrete floor.
[System Log:] [Stored: Premium Jasmine Rice x 1 Ton] [Stored: Canned Luncheon Meat x 500 Cases]
Alex grinned. The rush of dopamine was better than any drug.
He began to run.
He sprinted down the aisles, his hands brushing against boxes, crates, and barrels.
Vwoom. Vwoom. Vwoom.
Entire rows of shelves were stripped bare.
[Stored: Industrial Space Heaters x 5,000] [Stored: Anthracite Coal x 200 Tons] [Stored: Arctic Parkas x 10,000]
He moved like a locust swarms, devouring everything in his path. The Dimensional Storage was a bottomless pit.
He paused at the "Dead Stock" section. It was filled with cheap, unsold chocolate bars and high-calorie energy biscuits.
"Trash food," Alex noted.
But then he remembered the face of his neighbor, a wealthy lawyer, begging for a moldy crust of bread in his past life.
"But in the apocalypse, trash is gold."
He swiped his hand. The chocolate vanished.
It took him four hours to empty a space the size of three football fields.
Alex stood in the center of the now-empty cavern. His breathing was heavy, sweat soaking his shirt, but his eyes burned with manic energy.
He checked the System interface.
[Storage: 15% Filled] [Food Supply: Sufficient for 1 person for 200 years.]
"Not enough," Alex shook his head. "I don't just want to survive. I want to live like a king."
He walked out of the warehouse, locking the heavy metal doors behind him. Inside, there was nothing left but dust. When Manager Wang returned tomorrow, he would find a ghost town. He would call the police, but by then, the world would have bigger problems than missing rice.
Alex stepped out into the twilight. The sky was a bruised purple—a sign of the atmospheric changes already beginning.
He checked his phone. Balance: $38 Million.
"Food is secured. Clothing is secured," Alex muttered, scrolling through his contacts. "Now I need a shell. A shell that can withstand a nuclear winter and a zombie horde."
He dialed a number labeled "Titan Security Construction."
"Hello?" A professional voice answered.
"This is Alex. I want to retrofit a penthouse," Alex said, walking toward the main road. "I need reinforced steel plating, bulletproof glass, and a ventilation system that can filter out biological agents. And I need it done in 48 hours."
"Sir, that kind of job takes weeks. And the cost would be triple for a rush order."
Alex smiled, watching the sun dip below the horizon.
"I'll pay quadruple. Cash. Get your crew to the Riverside Garden Apartments. Now."
[Cliffhanger Hook] He hung up. As he waited for a taxi, a notification popped up in the building's "Owner's Group Chat" on his phone.
[Property Manager Karen: @Everyone due to the extreme heat, the power grid is unstable. Please limit AC usage!] [Rich Kid (Neighbor): Screw that! I'm keeping mine at 18 degrees! Who are you to tell me what to do?]
Alex stared at the name "Rich Kid." That was Johnson. The man who had led the mob to break down Alex's door in the previous life.
Alex typed a reply, his thumb hovering over the send button.
"Don't worry. It's going to get cold soon. Very cold."
He hit send. Let the games begin.