The Apocalypse's Safe Zone Minimarket

"Seriously, Rio, if I have to scan one more expired pack of instant noodles, I’m going to lose my mind," Arman said, leaning heavily against the checkout counter.

"Hey, at least you’re getting paid," Rio’s voice crackled through the cheap phone speaker. "Some of us are completely broke and sitting at home in the dark because we couldn't afford to buy electricity tokens."

"Paid? You call this pocket change 'paid'?" Arman scoffed, sliding a barcode under the red laser. Beep. "I’m working a twelve-hour graveyard shift for what? Barely enough to cover my rent and a single decent meal. Look at this place. It's three in the morning. I haven't eaten since yesterday at noon, Rio. My stomach is literally eating itself right now."

"Why don't you just write off a box of crackers as damaged? Or a cup noodle?" Rio suggested, his tone casual. "Nobody checks the inventory logs until Tuesday anyway."

"And get fired? No way, man. You know how Mr. Hendra is. He’s a hawk," Arman sighed, rubbing his tired eyes. "He’d notice a single missing peanut and deduct it from my paycheck. I’m starving, but I'm not stupid."

"So what are you going to do? Just starve until eight AM?" Rio asked.

"I’ve got my eye on the last carton of chocolate milk in the cooler, actually," Arman said, a small grin finally breaking through his exhaustion. "I bought it with my own money right before my shift started. I put it all the way in the back behind the plain milk so nobody else would buy it. I'm just waiting for my official break at four to chug the whole thing."

"Nice. Chocolate milk, the ultimate breakfast of champions," Rio laughed. "Man, you really have simple pleasures. Anyway, I'm going to sleep. Don't die of boredom out there, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah. Go to sleep. I'll see you tomorrow at the campus," Arman said. "Don't forget to bring my notes."

"I won't. Bye, man," Rio said, and the call disconnected.

Arman tossed his phone onto the counter and let out a long, heavy breath. "Just four more hours. I can do this. Just four more hours."

The automatic sliding glass doors suddenly hissed open with a soft chime.

"Welcome to—" Arman started, but the words died in his throat.

He stared at the small figure standing in the doorway. It was a little boy, maybe six or seven years old. He was wearing an oversized blue t-shirt that hung down to his knees, and his bare feet were covered in dirt. His face was streaked with tears and soot.

"Uh, kid?" Arman came out from behind the counter, frowning. "What are you doing out so late? Where are your parents?"

The boy sobbed, clutching his stomach. "Mister... please. I need help."

"Hey, hey, don't cry. Tell me what's wrong," Arman said, kneeling down to his level. "Are you lost? Is your house nearby?"

"My... my sister is really sick," the boy stammered, his small shoulders shaking violently. "She's burning up. She keeps crying and asking for something to drink. We don't have any water left. Our pipes are dry, and the front door is locked from the outside. I managed to squeeze through the bathroom window."

"Wait, your parents locked you in?" Arman asked, his brow furrowing. "That's... that's not right. Do you want me to call the police?"

"No! Please, no police!" the boy cried, stepping back in panic, his eyes wide with fear. "They'll take us away to the shelter again. We just need something to drink. Please, mister. Do you have any milk? Just a little bit?"

Arman reached into his own pocket, his fingers wrapping around a single crumpled ten-thousand rupiah note. It was literally all he had left for his bus fare home.

"Look, buddy," Arman said, trying to keep his voice gentle. "I can't just give away the store's stuff. My boss will make me pay for it, and I don't have any money. Do you have any coins? Anything at all?"

"I don't have anything," the boy wept, wiping his nose with his sleeve. "But she's so thirsty. She's going to die. I promise I'll pay you back when I grow up. I'll come back and clean the windows for you. I'll do anything. Please."

Arman looked back at the cooler. He could see his carton of chocolate milk resting on the top shelf, cold and inviting. His stomach gave a violent, painful squeeze, reminding him of his own hunger.

"I have some tap water in the back," Arman offered weakly. "I can fill up a big cup for you. How about that?"

"She can't drink water," the boy sobbed, shaking his head. "She's throwing up everything. She kept crying for chocolate milk. She said it’s the only thing that doesn't taste bad. Please, mister. Just one carton."

Arman groaned, rubbing the back of his neck. "Of course it has to be chocolate milk. Of all the things in this damn store, she wants the one thing I bought for myself."

"Are you sure she's just sick?" Arman asked, his practical mind searching for a loophole. "Maybe I should call an ambulance anyway. I can tell them not to call the cops."

"No! She'll get scared!" the boy pleaded, grabbing Arman's sleeve with his tiny, dirty hands. "Please, mister. You're the only store open. Everyone else chased me away. They told me to get lost. Please."

Arman stared down at the boy's desperate, tear-stained face. He looked at the tiny, trembling hands clutching his sleeve.

"Alright, alright. Stop crying," Arman sighed, gently pulling his sleeve away. "Just stay right here. Don't touch anything, okay? Seriously, don't even think about grabbing those candy bars."

"I won't! I promise!" the boy called out, wiping his eyes.

"Alright, let's see here," Arman muttered, walking over to the coolers. He opened the glass door, the wave of cold air washing over his face, and reached for his chocolate milk. "Where are you, my beautiful chocolate milk... Ah, there you are. Goodbye, my sweet prince."

He walked back to the front, knelt down, and pressed the cold carton into the boy's hands. "Here. Take it. It’s chocolate. It’s got a lot of sugar, so it should give her some energy. But you have to promise me you'll go straight back home, okay? No more wandering around in the dark."

The boy stared at the carton, his eyes shining with disbelief. "For free?"

"Yeah, for free. Don't tell my boss, or I'll be washing these floors for the rest of my life," Arman said with a weak, self-deprecating chuckle. "Now go on. Take care of your sister."

"Thank you, mister!" the boy cried, hugging the carton tight. "You're the nicest person in the whole world! I'll never forget this!"

"Yeah, yeah. Just make sure she drinks it slowly," Arman said, waving him off. "Go on, get out of here before it gets any later."

"I will! Thank you!" the boy shouted, turning and running out through the sliding doors, his small figure disappearing into the darkness of the street.

Arman stood up, stretching his aching back. "Well, Arman, you've officially reached peak stupidity. Giving away your only food to a kid. You're going to pass out before your shift ends."

He walked back behind the counter and slumped into his chair. "At least I did something good today. Even if my stomach wants to murder me."

Suddenly, a strange, low hum filled the air. It didn't sound like a normal machine. It sounded like the ground itself was vibrating.

Then, the sirens started.

Waaaaaah! Waaaaaah!

"What the hell is that?" Arman muttered, sitting up straight. "An air-raid siren? In the middle of the city? That doesn't make any sense."

His phone on the counter began to vibrate violently. The screen lit up with Rio's caller ID. Arman snatched it up.

"Rio? Are you hearing this?" Arman asked. "What's going on with those sirens?"

"Arman! Oh my god, Arman!" Rio screamed, his voice completely hysterical. In the background, Arman could hear the sounds of car crashes, screeching tires, and people screaming in terror.

"Rio? Calm down! What's happening?" Arman demanded, standing up and walking toward the front window.

"Look outside, man! Look at the sky! It’s bleeding!" Rio shrieked.

Arman pressed his face against the glass. He looked up at the sky.

The familiar dark night sky was gone. In its place, a thick, swirling fog of deep, unnatural crimson light was rolling over the city, casting a bloody red glow over everything.

"What the... is that a chemical explosion? A fire?" Arman asked, his heart hammering against his ribs.

"No! It's not a fire! People are... oh god, they're changing, Arman!" Rio sobbed, his voice cracking. "My neighbor, Mr. Salim... he was just walking his dog. He fell on the ground and started shaking. Then he... he grew these horrible claws! He just tore his wife's throat out, Arman! There's blood everywhere! He's jumping on cars!"

"Rio, stop it! That's not funny!" Arman shouted, his grip tightening on his phone. "Mr. Salim is a seventy-year-old retired teacher! He can barely walk!"

"I'm not lying! I swear to god I'm not lying!" Rio screamed. "They're everywhere! People are turning into monsters! Arman, lock the doors! Lock the doors right now and don't let anyone—"

A loud, metallic crash echoed from Rio's end of the line, followed by a wet, guttural roar and a final, sharp scream. Then, the call cut to static.

"Rio? Rio! Answer me, man!" Arman yelled into the phone. "Rio!"

Nothing but static.

"No, no, no. This is a joke. It has to be a joke," Arman whispered, his hands trembling.

Outside, a sharp, terrified scream cut through the sirens.

"Help! Somebody help me!"

Arman looked out. A young woman was running down the street, her clothes torn and stained with dark blood. She stumbled, falling onto the pavement right in front of the store.

"Hey! Get inside!" Arman shouted, grabbing the handle of the sliding door to pull it open. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Before he could open the door, the woman suddenly stopped screaming. Her body stiffened, and she arched her back at an unnatural angle.

"Miss?" Arman called out, freezing. "Are you okay?"

Snap. Crack.

The sound of bones breaking echoed clearly through the quiet street. The woman's neck twisted violently, her head tilting to the side at a grotesque angle. Black, pulsing veins began to spread across her pale skin, visible even under the red light of the sky. Her jaw unhinged with a wet pop, stretching far wider than humanly possible, revealing rows of sharp, jagged teeth.

"Oh my god," Arman whispered, stepping back. "What is that... what did she turn into?"

The creature's eyes turned pitch black. She locked her gaze directly onto Arman through the glass.

"Lock the door. I have to lock the door," Arman panicked, his hands shaking so violently that when he reached for his keys, they slipped from his fingers and clattered onto the floor. "No! Come on, not now!"

The creature lunged forward with terrifying speed.

Slam!

She crashed face-first into the glass door, her clawed hands scraping against the pane with a horrific screech.

"Stay back! Get away from me!" Arman screamed, scrambling backward on the floor, kicking his legs to push himself away from the entrance.

The creature roared—a sound that was a mix of a wild beast and a dying human—and slammed its head against the glass again. A massive web of cracks instantly spread across the door.

"It's going to break! It's going to break!" Arman wept, his back hitting the bottom of the checkout counter. "Please, someone help me!"

Suddenly, the entire world seemed to fall silent. The roaring of the monster, the wailing of the sirens, and the sound of cracking glass all faded into a dull, echoing hum.

Time slowed to a crawl.

Right in front of Arman's wide, terrified eyes, a bright blue, translucent rectangular box materialized in the air, glowing with an otherworldly light.

Arman blinked, his breath catching in his throat. "What... what is this? Am I finally going crazy?"

He stared at the glowing white text forming on the floating screen.

[System Directive Activated: Prime Directive Fulfilling...]

[Analyzing Host Actions...]

[Selfless Sacrifice Detected: Host chose empathy and shared his final resource with a child of the old world before the descent of the crimson fog.]

[Hidden Qualification Met: 'The Last Savior.']

[System Integration: 10%... 50%... 100%]

[Welcome to the Apocalypse, Arman Pradana. Your survival kit is now generating.]

Crash!

The glass door shattered completely, and the creature stepped through the ruined frame, its black eyes locked onto his throat.