Hoarding Resources In Apocalypse

"What are you doing, Sarah?" Ciro's blurry vision instantly flew wild with hazy confusion as he watched his girlfriend throw him out of his own safe house into the deadly grip of the freezing cold.

"I thought I made that obvious enough—killing you, of course. Remember when you promised you would die for me? Congratulations, baby, today is your lucky day."

Everything else happened fast, and Ciro's vision went foggy.

Day forty-seven of the Glacial Apocalypse—the day he was drugged by the people he protected and loved the most.

A metal rod crashed into his skull, held firmly by Marcos, his supposed best friend, and a smirk spread across Sarah's face as she tugged the scarf he had made from his own clothing to protect her from frostbite when the apocalypse first started.

"Please," Ciro gasped, a crust of frozen blood covering his lips and face. "Sarah, please, I gave you everything."

"And those resources are gradually running out. Between sharing with you or my actual boyfriend, I would rather choose him."

The words hit like a low blow to Ciro's gut as the realization struck—the man he thought was just his best friend was her main boyfriend, while he had played the servant.

The snickers from the neighbors, the restraints, the late-night sounds excused as blizzards—it all made sense now.

Marcos stepped forward and raised the pipe again with a ruthless glint in his eyes.

"Nothing personal, man. It's just survival."

The pipe came down one final time and Ciro felt his skull cave in. The world exploded into white light and unbearable pain.

But it was nothing compared to the pain of regret that exploded throughout his body, the bitter aftertaste lingering in his soul.

His last thought before the darkness swallowed him was that he'd warned them six months ago when the scientists first predicted the freeze. They'd laughed at him and called him paranoid, and now they were killing him for the supplies he'd gathered to save their lives.

Sarah's face was the last thing he saw, smiling down at him, beautiful and cruel.

His fist balled with rage.

If only he could get another chance to start all over again and not be so stupid as to love others more than he loved himself.

And with that, he blanked out.

Ciro's heart slammed against his ribs and his breath came in short gasps. For a moment he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't process what he was seeing, because Sarah was supposed to be standing over his corpse laughing and this apartment was supposed to be frozen solid and buried under ten feet of snow.

But instead he felt warmth, and an innocent Sarah sleeping right beside him.

His phone sat on the nightstand, glowing softly with the time displayed in white numbers: 3:47 AM, November 12, 3019.

Twenty-nine days before the Glacial Apocalypse.

Twenty-nine days before the world froze over and humanity died screaming in the streets.

Realization hit Ciro like a moving truck—he had been reborn days before the apocalypse started.

Warm flickers of joy exploded throughout his body. But only for a moment, as the betrayal came rushing back in cold, brutal waves.

His eyes boiled with rage, and watching the seductress sleep right beside him caused his stomach to churn with irritation and the bitter aftertaste of disdain.

He reached toward her jugular, his only intention to rip it from her throat, but he stopped himself.

For what she had done, death was not going to be an escape, not a punishment.

A little patience, and he was going to watch her feel the same torment that he did.

Just then, a translucent hologram flickered across Ciro's vision like a video game interface, and blue text scrolled across his field of view in crisp digital font:

[ Resurrection Protocol Activated ]  

[ You're Back ]  

[ Regression Complete: 47 Days Reversed ]  

[ New Ability Unlocked: Void Storage ]  

[ Countdown To Frostfall: 28 Days, 20 Hours, 13 Minutes ]  

[ ???? ]

Excitement burned deep into Ciro's face. He had not just gotten a second chance at life—he had also gotten a new ability.

Ciro's gut clenched tightly, gritting his teeth to control the raging urge to end Sarah right there.

The Void Storage interface pulsed gently in his peripheral vision, waiting for him to acknowledge it. Ciro stared at his reflection in the mirror, studying the dark circles under his eyes that were already gone in this timeline and the hollow look that hadn't set in yet because he hadn't watched the world end.

He picked up his toothbrush from the counter and held it in his palm, focusing on the interface with a thought: store this.

The toothbrush dissolved into particles of light and vanished, and the interface updated with new text:

Void Storage Capacity: 0/∞  

Stored Items: 1  

Toothbrush (Blue, Oral-B, Medium Bristle)  

Capacity Used: 0.00001%

A chair went into the storage space next. He added a bag of frozen fish that was supposed to defrost in thirty minutes, but after retrieving it from the void storage it was exactly the same.

A smirk spread through every fiber of Ciro's being.

"This is perfect," he muttered to himself.

"Heading to work already?" A disdain-filled tone shot from behind.

A tone he would never have noticed in his past life, being Sarah's lapdog.

"We need to talk," she muttered, the words like a chore she couldn't avoid.

"We need to break up."

The words came with subtle venom as she watched for Ciro's reaction—for him to kneel and start pleading like the goddess she thought she was—but he only stood, his expression unreadable.

She pushed further.

"My parents don't approve of—"

"Sure. When are you leaving my apartment?" he said flatly, the question knocking her off balance.

The scene from the past played clearly in his mind—how he had begged her, become depressed for weeks and spent his two million dollars in savings on her just to get her approval.

But now, he knew better.

"Take your things and leave. I've got a lot of things scheduled."

With those words, he slammed the door and left a starstruck Sarah by herself.

He was right when he said he didn't have a lot of time. The apocalypse was in less than a month. He needed to stockpile resources and build a fortress strong enough to keep him alive to the end of it all.

And this time, his two million dollars in savings was going toward the right cause.

He met his own eyes in the mirror and spoke aloud for the first time since dying: "Twenty-nine days."

His reflection stared back, cold and calculating and alive.

"Twenty-nine days to make them pay."

His phone beeped loudly enough to cause a headache, with one glaring message: You're late for work.

He worked at one of the largest depot warehouses where he earned a decent salary and nothing more. The work safety was terrible, working conditions were far worse, and his boss was an asshole.

Ciro tossed his phone into his pocket. He wasn't going to skip meals anymore for a job he wouldn't be needing in a few months' time. Especially when he had always craved to shove his boss's attitude right back at him.

What he needed right now was a good meal and the treat he had avoided giving himself just to save for a future. But he knew better now—soon hard currency would only be useful to warm bodies, and the world would revert to more primitive methods.

Ciro drove downtown to Alessandra's, the Michelin-starred restaurant with the year-long waiting list, and walked up to the host stand. "Reservation for one tonight. I want meals made from the freshest and finest ingredients."

The host raised an eyebrow. "Tonight? Sir, we're booked for the next eight months."

Ciro pulled out three hundred dollars cash and set it on the counter. "I understand. But I'd really appreciate it if you could make an exception."

The host looked at the money and then at Ciro, and something shifted in his expression. "Let me see what I can do."

Five minutes later Ciro had a reservation for 7:00 PM. Fine dining meals rolled across his table in waves—the orderly placement of the shimmering candlelights, the trumpeters that played as the meals melted on his tongue with a burst of flavors.

Other guests stared. Others took photos. Ciro didn't care.

Then a name flashed on his screen, delivering just the right amount of disgust to spoil the moment.

Ciro, is it really you? Sarah's text was laced with false care as she continued. Where did you get the money to eat at…

Ciro ignored her message, savoring his meal and taking every bite to his soul—an apology for not treating himself right in the past.

Ciro??? His phone chimed once again with messages floating with the stench of desperation and entitlement.