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11 : Resources Gathering

  **Chapter 11: Gathering the Resources**

  Alex stared at the tattoo on his arm, the intricate lines blurring as he focused. The TRI UI interface shimmered into existence, a translucent overlay on his vision. *Vitality Absorption: Locked. Body Strengthening: Level 1. Subspace: Level 10 (Capacity: 1 item).* He scrolled through the information, his mind racing. One week. Seven days. Forty-two hours until the world changed forever.

  He had to be efficient, ruthless. His “modern man” sensibilities were a liability now. He needed to think like a survivor. He had one advantage: knowledge. He knew what was coming. He'd *seen* it.

  His first move was financial. He emptied his meager savings account—a little over a thousand dollars—not even enough for a month’s rent. That wouldn’t cut it. He needed real money, fast. The banks were the first stop. He applied for personal loans, maxed out his credit cards, and signed up for new ones.

  He visited three major banks, dressed in his best business casual attire, a fake story rehearsed for each application. "I need the loan for a startup," he told one banker, a nervous tic developing in his left eye. "Home renovations," he told another, his palms sweating beneath the crisp fabric of his shirt. He feigned confidence, showed fabricated expense sheets, and signed documents with steady hands, a cold knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. The approval rates were slow, but the money trickled in—five grand here, ten grand there.

  The online lenders came next. High-interest rates didn’t matter when the world was about to end. He filled out forms, fabricated reasons—“medical emergency,” “home repairs,” “business investment.” It was a gamble, but desperation worked in his favor. The money flowed within 24 hours, deposited into his accounts in large sums.

  Then came the more dangerous sources. Loan sharks. Back-alley lenders who didn’t care about paperwork, only about repayment. His first meeting was in a rundown pawnshop on the city’s outskirts. A burly man with tattooed arms listened as Alex explained his "business needs," his voice barely a whisper. A briefcase of cash was placed before him with a warning: "Two weeks. No delays."

  His second meeting took place in the back of a smoky bar. A middle-aged woman in a sharp suit sat across from him, sipping whiskey, her eyes like chips of ice. "I don't loan to desperate men," she mused, a plume of smoke curling from her lips. Alex kept his voice even, his gaze unwavering. "I'm not desperate. I'm investing in my future." A moment of silence. Then she slid an envelope across the table—twenty thousand in crisp bills. "Thirty percent interest. Miss a payment, and we find you."

  The final loan was the riskiest. A local crime syndicate. Alex had no choice but to meet their contact in an abandoned warehouse. Three men, all with dead eyes, listened as he made his case, the only sound the dripping of water from a leaky pipe. No small talk, no pleasantries. Just business. The leader tossed a duffel bag at his feet—fifty thousand dollars. "You miss a payment, we take collateral—starting with fingers."

  Within 48 hours, his bank accounts swelled. Tens of thousands of dollars. It was nowhere near enough to last forever, but enough to start. Enough to prepare.

  With cash in hand, Alex moved fast. The first priority was land. He scoured property listings, avoiding real estate agents who asked too many questions. The Midlands—less populated, better for long-term survival. He found a remote plot of land, a desolate patch of scrubland that no one wanted. Cheap, isolated, defensible. He paid in full, cash, no paper trail.

  Then came the supplies. He started with the essentials:

  - **Food:** Bulk orders of canned goods, dried meat, rice, beans, and MREs. He bought them wholesale, sometimes under fake business names to avoid suspicion.

  - **Water:** Industrial-grade water barrels, purification tablets, a portable desalination unit. A rainwater harvesting system.

  - **Medicine:** Antibiotics, painkillers, antiseptics. Black-market insulin and EpiPens. He bribed a pharmacy tech to “misplace” certain items, the guilt a dull ache in his chest.

  - **Clothing & Shelter:** Thermal blankets, boots, gloves, military-grade tents.

  Security was next. He started small—barbed wire, cement bricks, steel plates. Then, the real weapons. Bows, knives, crossbows—silent, reusable. But he needed firearms. He knew a guy. A black-market dealer who didn’t ask questions. The meeting was tense, cash exchanged in a dark alley. He walked away with a duffel bag—handguns, rifles, ammunition. He wasn’t a killer, but he wouldn’t be defenseless.

  Finally, power and communication. He bought solar panels, gas generators, deep-cycle batteries. A high-powered radio transceiver—his emergency link to the world.

  He stored everything in a warehouse attached to the largest supermarket in the city. It was a strategic choice—easy to buy supplies without raising suspicion. The warehouse was massive, stacked high with everything imaginable except weapons. Every trip, he loaded up more essentials, filling the space with goods he knew would be priceless when society collapsed.

  With his stockpile secured, he turned his attention to his abilities.

  He accessed the TRI UI again. His stomach was full from a quick, cheap meal—his satiety points were maxed out at 100%. He clenched his fists. *Time to test Body Strengthening.*

  He activated it, and his body immediately responded. A surge of power coursed through his muscles, his limbs thrumming with newfound energy. His legs, the first part he had strengthened, felt solid, spring-loaded with strength.

  The interface displayed the consumption rate: **1% Satiety per minute.** He had an hour at full charge.

  He sprinted down an empty street near his warehouse, pushing himself to his limits. His speed increased. His stamina held strong. His heart pounded, but he wasn’t winded. The world blurred past him—he was faster, stronger. **But it wasn’t permanent.**

  A new interface appeared:

  *Body Strengthening (Legs) Progress: 1% toward permanent upgrade.*

  So that was it. **He had to fill an experience bar before permanently strengthening any part.** Just using the ability wasn’t enough—he had to push it, test its limits, work it to the bone. He can strengthen his ability 1% for every hour he uses it and one part the body can only be strengthened once a means 1% and 1 part body gets strengthened everyday and now he had to grind.

  Gritting his teeth, he launched into another sprint. He needed every advantage. The world was ending, and he refused to be weak when it did.

  The warehouse loomed ahead as he slowed, his satiety bar ticking down. He was burning through energy fast. He’d need food, lots of it, to sustain his training.

  *One week left.*

  He exhaled sharply, wiping sweat from his brow. The clock was ticking, and he had a long way to go.

  Stolen story; please report.

  Alex knew that gathering supplies was only half the battle—he needed people. Skilled, resourceful survivors who could help him build a future once the world fell apart. He couldn’t do it alone. And if he wanted to get them on board, he had to move fast. The apocalypse was only days away. These weren't just random people; they were the cornerstones of the most successful settlements he'd witnessed in his previous timeline. He knew their strengths, their weaknesses, their potential. He'd seen what they were capable of.

  His first targets were those who had been indispensable in his past life—the ones who had either saved him or built something worth protecting. He had a list, faces burned into his memory: Ben, the engineer who had designed the sturdiest shelters; Dr. Emily Hart, the trauma surgeon who had held a settlement together; Malik, an ex-military survivalist who had trained scavengers; and even Sunny Torres, the bully turned warlord, whose ruthlessness had made him a necessary evil.

  He started with Ben. Finding him wasn’t difficult—he was still working in a small workshop downtown, repairing machines and electrical systems for scraps, his brow perpetually furrowed in concentration. Alex approached him cautiously.

  “Ben.”

  The man looked up, confused. “Do I know you?”

  Alex forced a small smile. “Not really. But I know *of* you, Ben. I know what you’re capable of. And I know you’ll be one of the most important people in the world soon.”

  Ben scoffed. “That’s a hell of a pickup line.”

  “I’m serious,” Alex said. “I know what’s coming. The world’s about to fall apart, and I need an engineer. Someone who can design shelters, power grids—hell, even fortifications. I saw what you built, Ben. It saved lives.” He let the weight of that statement hang in the air. “You did it before. You can do it again.”

  Ben frowned, setting down his tools. “You sound insane.”

  “Maybe,” Alex admitted. “But I

  ...“Maybe,” Alex admitted. “But I’m prepared. I have land, supplies, and money. I just need people who know how to make it all work. People like you.” He hesitated, then added, “And I’m paying upfront.”

  That got Ben’s attention. “How much?”

  “Enough to make you listen,” Alex said, handing him an envelope filled with cash. It was an investment—Ben’s knowledge would be worth more than any amount of money in the days to come. “Think about it. Meet me at this address in three days if you want to survive. And if you want to build something that lasts.”

  Next was Dr. Emily Hart. Convincing her was harder. She was always skeptical, even in the future.

  “I don’t have time for nonsense,” she said, barely glancing up from her desk at the clinic, her face etched with exhaustion. “If you’re not injured, get out.”

  Alex took a deep breath. “Dr. Hart. I know you. I know what you did. You kept people alive when everything collapsed last time. I know what’s coming, and I know that people are going to need you… more than ever.”

  She finally looked at him, her eyes narrowing slightly. “You keep saying ‘last time.’ What are you talking about?”

  “I’m offering you a chance,” Alex said, ignoring her question. “I have supplies, a safe location, and resources you won’t get anywhere else. You’re going to be overwhelmed soon. Hospitals will collapse, supplies will run out. You can either be swallowed by the chaos, or you can be ready for it. You can be the difference between life and death, like you were before.”

  She studied him for a long moment, her expression unreadable. “And why should I trust you?”

  “You shouldn’t,” Alex admitted. “But you should trust the fact that I have antibiotics, painkillers, and surgical tools stocked in a secure location. I also have a generator, a water purification system, and a dedicated medical bay. You’ll have everything you need to do your job, to save lives. And I’m willing to share.”

  That made her pause. He’d appealed to her pragmatism, her dedication to her profession. “You’re serious?”

  “Completely.”

  She sighed, a flicker of weariness crossing her face. “I’ll think about it. But I’m not making any promises.”

  That was the best he was going to get for now. He knew she’d come around. She always did.

  Then came Malik. Finding an ex-military survivalist wasn’t as easy as looking up a clinic or workshop. Alex had to dig through old connections, pay off a few informants, and track down rumors before he finally found him at an underground fight club. Malik was a ghost, moving from place to place, always one step ahead of anyone looking for him.

  Malik was in the ring, effortlessly taking down a man twice his size, his movements precise and deadly. When the fight ended, Alex waited until he was alone before approaching.

  “You fight well,” Alex said.

  Malik wiped the sweat from his face, glancing at him. “Who the hell are you?”

  “Someone who knows what you’re capable of. And someone who *saw* what you built, Malik. You trained an army of survivors. You can do it again.”

  Malik raised an eyebrow. “That so?”

  Alex nodded. “I need a trainer. A survivalist. Someone who knows how to fight, hunt, and keep people alive. Someone who can build a fighting force from the ground up.”

  Malik laughed, a dry, humorless sound. “And why would I do that? I’m done with that life.”

  “Because I’m paying,” Alex said, offering another envelope of cash. “And because I know what’s coming. You can keep fighting for scraps, or you can prepare for the real war. A war you’re uniquely qualified to win.”

  Malik stared at the money, then at Alex. Finally, he smirked, a glint of something akin to excitement in his eyes. “You’re either crazy or brilliant. Either way, I’m in.”

  Finally, there was Sunny Torres. The part Alex dreaded the most. Sunny had been a force of nature in the future, a brutal but effective leader. But he was also a bully, and Alex still felt the sting of past humiliations.

  Sunny was still an arrogant bastard, working at a construction site, barking orders at workers like he owned the place, his voice booming across the site. Alex watched him for a while, the familiar knot of resentment tightening in his stomach, before approaching. He remembered the sting of Sunny's fists, the casual cruelty in his eyes. But survival trumped old grudges. He needed Sunny’s ruthlessness, his ability to command.

  “Sunny,” Alex called out, his voice neutral.

  Sunny turned, smirking when he saw him. “Well, well. Look who it is. What do you want, Carter?”

  Alex kept his face neutral. “I need someone strong. Someone ruthless. Someone who isn’t afraid to make the hard choices.”

  Sunny laughed, a harsh, grating sound. “And you think that’s me?”

  “I *know* it’s you,” Alex said, meeting his gaze. “You bullied people because it gave you power. You commanded respect, or fear, whichever worked best. That power is going to be real soon. And if you want to be on the winning side, you’ll listen.”

  Sunny’s smirk faltered slightly. “You’re serious.”

  “Dead serious.” Alex stepped closer, the memory of past humiliations fueling his resolve. “I have resources. A safe place. I’m building something bigger than you or me. Something that *needs* someone like you.

  You can either join me now, contribute your… *talents*… or you can fight for scraps later, maybe even end up under someone else’s boot. Or worse.” He let the unspoken threat hang in the air. He knew Sunny understood the language of power.

  Sunny studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. Alex could see the calculation in his gaze, the weighing of options. Then, finally, he smirked, a flicker of the old arrogance returning. “Fine. But don’t think I’ll take orders from you.”

  “You will,” Alex said, his voice hard. “Or you’ll be left behind. This isn’t about old grudges, Sunny. It’s about survival. And I know you understand that.”

  Sunny’s smirk faltered again, a hint of uncertainty crossing his face. But he said nothing, just nodded curtly.

  One by one, the pieces were falling into place. The supplies were secured. The people were coming together. The apocalypse was approaching.

  And Alex was ready. He had a score to settle, a world to rebuild, and he wouldn't let anyone, not even Sunny Torres, stand in his way. He knew what these people were capable of. He'd seen it. And he was betting everything on them.

  Alex stood at the edge of his new base, sweat pouring down his face as he stared out at the clouds gathering above. There was no time for hesitation, no time for weakness. The clock was ticking, and every minute brought him closer to the inevitable—60 hours until the meteorite hit the ocean. The weather had already begun to change; the winds were picking up, and a storm was brewing on the horizon. He could feel the pressure mounting, and it was almost suffocating.

  His tattoo buzzed on his arm as the TRI UI interface flickered to life. The system’s voice echoed in his mind, reminding him of what was at stake.

  “Time Remaining: 60 hours.”

  He clenched his fists, his mind racing. The meteorite wouldn’t just cause destruction—it would bring the X Genome, a virus so virulent that it would wipe out entire populations within hours. Once the rain started, the infected would begin their spread. The coastal cities, the islands, the territories around the world—they would fall, one by one, devoured by the infection.

  Alex had seen the news reports, the warnings flashing across every screen, but it had always seemed so distant—until now.

  He had no intention of being one of those swept away in the chaos.

  His body had already been through a transformation since the Rain of Awakenings, but now he needed to push it further. The stakes were too high. He wasn't just building walls around his survival; he was preparing for something far worse.

  Training Schedule:

  * **Strengthening:** One hour of full-body strength training, focusing on his legs. He needed to be fast, adaptable. The infection spread quickly, and mobility would be key to evading the hordes of infected.

  * **Combat Drills:** His fists were becoming lethal weapons, but it wasn’t enough. He needed precision. He focused on hand-to-hand combat, knowing that there might not always be time to draw a weapon.

  * **Endurance:** His Satiety was already fueling his strength, but he needed to maintain a balance. One hour of running with a weighted vest, followed by sprint drills to build explosive power. Every second counted.

  ...With each round of exercises, Alex could feel the burn, but he ignored it. Pain meant growth. He knew that once the storm started, there would be no going back. He needed to be stronger, faster, and more resilient than ever before. The infection would spare no one.

  When the first drops of rain began to fall, signaling the start of the infection's spread, Alex was still training. His hands were raw, his muscles screamed for rest, but he ignored them. The rest of the world might fall apart, but he was going to survive. He had no choice. He *had* to survive. Too much depended on it.

  As the final hours counted down, Alex felt the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. He wasn’t just preparing for his own survival—he was preparing to lead others. Mrs. Kim, Ben, even Sunny Torres—his old bully—he had to protect them all. He'd seen what they could become, the crucial roles they played in the future he knew. He was gambling on their potential, on the hope that they could rise to the challenge again. He knew their strengths, their weaknesses, how they worked under pressure. He'd witnessed their triumphs and their failures, and he was using that knowledge to build a team he could trust, a team that could survive what was coming. He was building a future, brick by painful brick.

  The rain grew heavier. The infection had begun its advance. The first distant screams echoed on the wind, a chilling reminder of what was to come. The sky darkened, the wind howled, and the first flashes of lightning illuminated the desolate landscape around him, the flashes mirroring the chaotic thoughts in his mind. The storm was upon them.

  “60 hours,” the voice in his mind echoed again, the words now tinged with a sense of finality, a countdown to oblivion. The TRI UI, his constant companion, the source of his power and knowledge, was about to go silent. He’d have to rely on his instincts, his training, and the people he’d gathered. He’d have to trust his memories of the future, even as the present threatened to shatter everything he knew. And then the system shut off, the translucent interface vanishing from his vision, leaving Alex with nothing but his resolve and the ticking of the clock….!!

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