World of the Apocalypse: Kane’s Evolution System

The Cataclysm struck, and civilization crumbled to dust.

Frozen ground lay carpeted with corpses; derelict cities drowned in deathly silence. Mutated beasts roamed the wastelands, and grain became the most valuable hard currency. In the unregulated zones where all order had collapsed, human nature proved far bloodthirstier and crueler than any abomination.

Three hundred kilometers west of Sector 7 stretched a dilapidated neighborhood reeking of rot. Twenty-three-year-old Kane pulled his grimy, tattered coat tighter, tugged his cap low over his eyes, and hurried through piles of crumbled masonry. His rugged 185-centimeter frame, calloused palms and unshaven jaw bore the marks of a man scraping by to survive in the wasteland.

He had staked every last possession on this trip, all to buy an official residency permit for Sector 7 and a position on its police force — to flee this lawless purgatory that devoured people whole.

At a crossroads, a ragged woman suddenly grabbed his sleeve, her greedy eyes masked beneath a facade of misery. “Young man, just a bowl of rice to save my three children.”

Kane wrenched his arm free with cold indifference, long since seeing through the true nature of wasteland humanity. Mercy held no place in this world; every display of weakness was merely a ruse to rob others.

Staring at his retreating back, the woman twisted toward the alley’s end and whispered a signal: “He’s got a full sack of white rice tucked against his chest — prime prey.”

Half an hour later, inside a partially collapsed six-story condemned building, only Kane and his closest friend Rook held this structure, their sole safe haven amid the wastes. Kane pulled out his hidden sack of white rice, about to rest, when thunderous footsteps suddenly erupted from the floors below.

Dozens of starving settlers swarmed up the stairs, children in tow, led by a bald brute whose eyes blazed with malice. “We saw your hidden grain. Hand over half, or we’ll tear this building down and kill you.”

The children surged forward to block his path, used as living shields for the adults’ plunder. Kane tightened his grip on his dagger, trapped with nowhere to turn. He could bring himself to fight off ravenous grown men, yet he could not cut through a wall of innocent children.

As the standoff wore on and shoving erupted in the chaos, one child slipped past rusted railings and plummeted straight toward the ground far below.

A shrill, piercing scream split the air, and an instant hush fell over everyone.

Yet only two seconds passed before utter moral decay smothered all traces of guilt. No one moved to save the child, no one showed the slightest flicker of compassion—nothing remained but ravenous, unhinged greed.

"The kid brought this on himself! Hand over the grain!" the bald brute roared, charging forward with his mob close behind.

Luke stepped forward and blocked Kane. "Don’t push back hard. I’ll give them a bowl of rice to send them off."

Kane grabbed his wrist in a tight grip, his voice cold. "If we give in even once, it’ll only stir up more greed."

"They’ve only got a single short blade, but there are dozens of starving men out there. Do you really think you can fight them all?"

Luke shook his arm free. "Half the grain belongs to me, and I call the shots here."

Mid-argument, Luke forced out a bowl of rice. The burly man took the grain yet refused to leave. He tore up their agreement right in front of everyone and shouted that he would seize all their stored food.

The second the mob closed in to break down the door, Kane dragged out a large-caliber revolver he’d hidden away, chambered a round smoothly, and leveled the gun steadily at the crowd.

"You can cling to life for a few more days on an empty stomach, but stealing grain gets you killed instantly."

A gunshot cracked open. Blood bloomed across the brute’s chest, and he dropped dead on the spot.

The entire crowd froze rigid, none daring to make a reckless move. Kane retrieved the bowl of white rice with a cold face, his gaze piercingly frigid. He never took pleasure in killing, yet in a desperate dead end, only unflinching brutality could keep one alive.

Downstairs, a mother who had lost her son collapsed to the ground, wailing. Kane paused, left the rice porridge beside her, and warned in a low voice, "They’ll come down soon. Hide well."

Night draped the wastelands. Kane pushed half of their supplies toward Luke and spoke with finality, "We split up."

"All because of what just happened?" Luke’s eyes brimmed with confusion.

"You hold onto your moral lines, but I don’t." Kane’s stare was unwavering. "Soft-heartedness is a death sentence in the wasteland. Traveling together will only drag each other down. I’m heading for Sector 7. From now on, our paths diverge—we each survive on our own."

He turned and set off alone, marching toward the sole glimmer of hope three hundred kilometers away.

No one knew that soldiers in the garrison outpost of the distant sector had heard the gunshot moments earlier. A veteran waved it off lazily yet quietly marked the source of the shot. Anyone wielding a standard large-caliber firearm in the unregulated zone was no ordinary refugee.

Deep within the black night, a pair of eyes had already locked onto Kane as he headed for the sector, undercurrents stirring silently in the shadows.