Apocalypse Tutorial System

Chapter 4 : The Butcher's Request

Rendi fumbled with his belt, his fingers still tingling from the residual electricity of the System’s remodeling. He stared at the blue interface hovering near the kitchen bin, his heart rate spiking again—not from the System’s coercion this time, but from pure, unadulterated stress.

“A hundred gallons, System? A hundred? You’re high-key bugging,” Rendi hissed, pulling a baggy hoodie over his new, alarmingly dense frame. “That’s not a supply run. That’s a whole-ass horror movie set. People are gonna think I’m trying to summon an ancient CEO.”

[ REMAINING TIME: 23 HOURS 42 MINUTES. THE HATCHING REQUIRES A SPECIFIC BIOLOGICAL CONDUCTOR. ANIMAL BLOOD IS THE MOST ACCESSIBLE CATALYST. ]

“Accessible? For who? Dracula?” Rendi grabbed his phone, his thumb hovering over a maps app. “I live in the city, fam. I can barely find a grocery store that sells fresh kale, and you want me to pull up with a tanker truck for cow juice?”

[ LOCAL SLAUGHTERHOUSE ‘MAMAT’S FINE CUTS’ DETECTED WITHIN 4.2 KM. PROCEED IMMEDIATELY. ]

“Mamat’s? That place is super sus already,” Rendi muttered, heading for the door. “If I walk in there asking for a hundred gallons of blood, they’re either gonna call the feds or offer me a job in the back room. Neither is a W.”

He stepped out into the hallway, moving with a strange, fluid grace that felt entirely alien. Every step felt like he was spring-loaded. As he reached the sidewalk, he ducked his head, avoiding the glare of the afternoon sun.

“Yo, focus up,” Rendi whispered to himself. “Get the liquid. Don’t look crazy. Mission start.”

*

At the edge of the industrial district, the smell of iron and sawdust hung heavy in the humid air. Rendi stood in front of a corrugated metal gate, looking at a man in a stained apron who was currently smoking a cigarette with the boredom of a thousand lifetimes.

“Ayo, Bang Mamat?” Rendi called out, trying to sound casual. “You the man in charge of the leftovers?”

The butcher looked up, squinting through the smoke. “We’re closed for retail. Come back tomorrow for the ribs.”

“Nah, I’m not here for the meat, bruh,” Rendi said, stepping closer. “I’m on that... high-yield fertilizer grind. Organic stuff. I heard you guys usually just wash the excess liquid down the drain?”

“Fertilizer?” Mamat grunted. “You look like a student. What are you fertilizing? A dorm room?”

“It’s for a startup, no cap,” Rendi lied, the words flowing with surprising ease. “Sustainable urban farming. We need animal blood. Like, a lot of it. For the nitrogen levels. Very tech-heavy, very complicated.”

“How much is 'a lot'?”

“Maybe... a hundred gallons?”

Mamat choked on his smoke. “A hundred? Boy, you trying to grow a beanstalk to the moon? That’s four large drums. I gotta charge you for the transport containers too.”

“Say less. Give me a price. I’ve got the Venmo ready.”

“It’s messy business,” Mamat said, looking Rendi up and down. “And weird. But money is money. I’ve got some stock in the back we were about to purge. Five million rupiah.”

“Five million? Bang, that’s a literal scam!” Rendi balked. “I’m essentially doing you a favor by taking your trash! Give me the loyal customer discount.”

“You ain't a customer yet,” Mamat countered. “Four million. And you move it yourself.”

“Three million and I’ll give you a shoutout on my next viral clip,” Rendi bargained, throwing a desperate hail mary.

“I don’t know what a 'viral clip' is, kid. Three-point-five. Take it or leave it.”

“Bet. Three-point-five. Let’s get these drums in the truck.”

[ FINANCIAL TRANSACTION REGISTERED. STOCKPILING PHASE: 25% COMPLETE. ]

Rendi groaned as the blue box shimmered. “I’m literally going broke for a ritual. System, you owe me big time.”

As Mamat began rolling out the heavy blue plastic drums, a flash of blue and red light flickered at the end of the alley. A police patrol car slowed down, its engine humming ominously.

“Oh, great. Absolute peak timing,” Rendi whispered, his sweat turning cold. “System, tell me I have a skill for ‘not getting arrested for bio-terrorism’.”

[ STAY CALM. DISGUISE THE SCENT. OVERWHELM THE SENSORY PERCEPTION. ]

“How am I supposed to—yo, Officer! Good afternoon!” Rendi called out as a tall policeman stepped out of the vehicle.

“Everything alright here?” the officer asked, his eyes lingering on the dark, viscous spills around the base of the drums. “That’s a lot of liquid for a Tuesday.”

“Just moving some... beet juice, Officer!” Rendi said, his voice climbing an octave. “For the festival! You know, the healthy living expo? High-stakes juicing?”

“Beet juice?” The officer walked closer, his nose wrinkling. “Smells like a hospital in a blender.”

“It’s the iron supplements, bruh! No cap, it’s super concentrated!” Rendi gestured frantically at the drums. “We’re trying to optimize the community’s vitality levels. Very forward-thinking.”

“And why is Bang Mamat here selling it to you?” the officer asked, looking at the butcher.

“I’m the distributor!” Mamat grunted, catching Rendi’s desperate gaze. “Vegetable-based distribution. Side hustle.”

The officer hovered for a second, his hand resting on his belt. “Beet juice. Right. Don’t spill it on the asphalt. It’s a pain to wash off.”

“Understood! Total cleanliness! Five stars!” Rendi watched the car roll away, his knees nearly buckling. “That was almost a total L. Bang, get these in the back before the FBI pulls up.”

*

Two hours later, Rendi was back at his apartment complex, specifically the small, dingy garage unit he used for storage. The drums sat there like four ominous monoliths.

“Okay, System. They’re inside. I’m exhausted. Can I go play Minecraft now?”

[ PREPARATION COMPLETE. STANDBY FOR HATCHING INITIALIZATION. WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED OBSERVERS WILL CAUSE INTERRUPTED CALIBRATION. ]

“Unauthorized observers?” Rendi looked at the garage door. “Bruh, I live in a city. There are people everywhere.”

“Rendi? Is that your truck?”

Rendi jumped, nearly knocking over a drum. He turned to see Adit standing at the garage entrance, his phone held aloft like a holy relic.

“Adit! Man, you’ve gotta stop spawn-camping me!” Rendi shouted, positioning himself in front of the drums.

“Spawn-camping? My guy, you’ve been missing for hours!” Adit stepped inside, sniffing the air. “Bro... what is that smell? Did you forget to throw out the garbage again? Or did something die in here?”

“It’s... cologne! The new scent!” Rendi stood wide, arms outstretched. “It’s called 'Industrial Grustle'. Very niche. Go away, Adit.”

“'Industrial Grustle' smells like a slaughterhouse, Rendi,” Adit said, his thumb tapping the record button. “Wait... are those drums? Blue drums? Yo, are you making 'Breaking Bad' content? Is this the sequel? 'Fixing Good'?”

“It’s not 'Breaking Bad'! It’s... supplies! For the game!”

“The Real Game?” Adit’s eyes lit up. “Let me see inside one! The comments are dying for a reveal! They think you’re a secret agent or something.”

“Adit, back off!” Rendi hissed as Adit lunged for the nearest lid. “You can’t see it! It’s literal poison!”

[ ALERT: DETECTION PROBABILITY 90%. ACTIVATE ‘STEALTH LITE’ PROTOCOL? COST: 5 AGILITY POINTS. ]

“Yes! Do it! Use the points!” Rendi screamed internally.

Suddenly, the space between Rendi and Adit seemed to shimmer. Adit blinked, his vision blurring.

“Wait... where did the drums go?” Adit asked, rubbing his eyes. “Rendi? Why are you standing next to four giant stacks of... yoga mats?”

“Yoga mats?” Rendi looked back. To his eyes, they were still drums, but Adit was staring at a pile of colorful, rolled-up foam. “Oh! Yeah! The mats! For the... yoga ritual!”

“Bro, I could have sworn they were plastic drums a second ago,” Adit muttered, sounding confused. “I think I’m getting a migraine from that scent. You really need to buy some Febreze.”

“I’ll get right on that, fam! Now leave! I need to... align my chakras!”

“Weirdo,” Adit grumbled, turning around. “But hey, the 'Shadowbox' video just hit a hundred thousand views. People are calling you 'The Wind-Breaker'. Not the best name, but it’s moving!”

“Get out, Adit!”

As the garage door creaked shut, Rendi collapsed against the cold plastic of the drums.

“I’m losing my mind,” Rendi whispered. “System, tell me the mats-thing is permanent.”

[ STEALTH LITE HAS A DURATION OF FIFTEEN MINUTES. USER RENDI MUST COMPLETE THE DEPOSIT BEFORE EXPIRATION. ]

“Deposit? You mean I have to pour these out? In here?”

Suddenly, the floor beneath Rendi’s feet groaned. It wasn't the sound of old concrete settling. It was deep, rhythmic, and resonant.

Thump.

A small crack spider-webbed across the garage floor.

“System... tell me that’s a nearby train,” Rendi said, his voice trembling.

[ THE HEART OF THE GRID HAS DETECTED THE CATALYST. ]

Thump.

The ground shook again, harder this time. A tool fell off the shelf nearby.

“Ayo, is that an earthquake?” Rendi grabbed the edges of the drum. “Or is the garage actually alive?”

[ HATCHING COMMENCING IN 3... 2... 1... ]

The floorboards didn't just crack; they buckled upward. From the darkness beneath the concrete, a massive, obsidian-colored tendril curled into the air, sniffing the iron-rich scent of the drums.

“Bruh,” Rendi whispered, his eyes wide with horror. “That is high-key not a yoga mat.”