"Ah..."
Fallon Bennett woke up abruptly, sweat trickling down her forehead. She looked around, her eyes filled with amazement and despair.
Her hazy consciousness struggled to process the scene before her. Wasn't this the apartment she had lived in before the apocalypse?
Ding dong, ding dong...
A series of text message alerts rang out. She reached for her phone on the bedside table. The date read: September 14, 2029, 9:32 AM.
Over a dozen unread messages filled her screen, all about the upcoming super tropical cyclone, "Hurricane." It was expected to make landfall on the 17th, bringing wind speeds between levels 16 and 19, along with days of torrential rain.
Fallon was stunned. Wasn't she dead? Hadn’t she perished in that horrific, cannibalistic post-apocalypse?
Could it be that her unwillingness to accept death was so strong that she had plunged into a nightmare at the brink of her demise?
Ding dong.
Another emergency alert arrived. The timestamp read 9:37 AM.
Gritting her teeth, Fallon pinched her arm—hard. The sharp pain shot through her, confirming the impossible.
This wasn’t a dream.
She had really been reborn.
And she had returned just three days before the arrival of the super tropical cyclone that marked the beginning of the apocalypse. No—more precisely, she had only two and a half days left.
Yet, contrary to what one might expect, Fallon didn’t feel joy. Instead, an immense weariness settled in her bones.
Tropical cyclones, torrential rains, floods, extreme heat and cold, earthquakes… Each disaster was a descent into purgatory. What was worth reliving?
And yet… she was back.
Did she return just to die again?
No. Never!
She splashed cold water on her face, staring at the girl reflected in the mirror—young, beautiful, untouched by the desperation of the apocalypse. Her skin was full of life, her features unmarked by suffering. Everything seemed so… pristine.
Her gaze fell upon the jade pendant around her neck, an object she had possessed since birth. Abandoned at the hospital as a baby, this was the only thing left with her. Years later, Alex Johnson had tried to take it—to gift it to the school beauty, Susan Walton.
In the three years of the apocalypse, Susan had remained delicate and radiant. Her clothes were spotless, her skin fair and flushed, as if she had never suffered like the rest of them.
Once, on the brink of starvation, Fallon had seen Susan take an ice cream stick out of the pendant and lick it.
A memory resurfaced.
Heart pounding, Fallon grabbed a blade and made a small cut on her finger. A drop of blood fell onto the pendant.
A blinding light erupted.
When she opened her eyes again, she found herself standing inside an apartment with no front door.
There was running water and electricity, but no furniture. The two-bedroom space was roughly 80 square meters, with a 3-meter ceiling. Next to the balcony, a 10-square-meter garden of black soil stood waiting.
A holographic clock floated in the living room:
01 hour 56 minutes 13 seconds.
Fallon’s heart pounded.
Was this Susan’s secret? The reason she lived in luxury while everyone else starved? Had she swindled it from her?
Leaving the space, Fallon could now sense its existence within her mind. With a mere thought, she could perceive everything inside.
To test its functions, she experimented with boiling water. Everything except the balcony and the garden had preservation properties—stopping time for stored items. The countdown would only begin when she entered.
But there was no time to dwell on the mystery.
She had a second chance at life. And with this space in hand, she had to seize the opportunity to change her fate.
---
Stockpiling for Survival
In her past life, Fallon had only survived for three years. She had been clueless about the unfolding disasters, but now, with knowledge of the future, she quickly searched the internet for natural calamities.
The sheer length of the list nearly made her collapse on the spot.
Living was truly hard.
Shoving aside her emotions, she grabbed a pen and paper and began listing essential supplies.
Growing up in an orphanage, Fallon had learned that despite its outward peace, competition was fierce. Over time, she had become self-reliant, wary of being taken advantage of.
She had always been practical and hardworking—selling and collecting waste paper in elementary school, taking part-time jobs in junior high, and tutoring students for money. If it paid, she did it.
Top-ranked in both high school and university exams, Fallon had entered medical school. Even in her second year, she juggled five tutoring jobs, charging $200 per session.
A money-maker at heart, she had sold insurance, done business, and taken any legal opportunity to earn. Over the past decade, she had saved $200,000, intending to put down a deposit on a house after graduation.
Now, none of that mattered.
She had a major class in the afternoon and tutoring sessions at night, but neither was relevant anymore.
She quickly messaged the parents of her students:
"I'm hospitalized and won’t be able to tutor for a long period. Please find a replacement. Also, kindly settle any outstanding fees."
Most of the parents were well-off. Two even sent her $500 each as a "get well soon" gift. Her account balance increased by $6,000.
She also reminded them of the upcoming super cyclone, urging them to stock up on supplies.
Then, she sent a photo of a three-page-long list of medical supplies to her childhood friend, a pharmaceutical salesperson.
"A wealthy new customer needs these urgently. Delivery tonight. Give me a discount."
Nathaniel replied almost instantly:
"Received."
Within five minutes, he called.
"Fallon, this list is really strange. Are you sure you're not messing around?"
Fallon didn’t waste words.
"I already transferred the money. They want the goods tonight."
Without hesitation, she sent $50,000 over.
"If there's a difference, we’ll settle it later."
The amount of supplies she needed was overwhelming.
She grabbed her keys, ready to head out, when her gaze landed on a pair of limited-edition Nike sneakers.
Her stomach twisted. She wanted to smash her head into a wall.
How had she been so blindly in love with Alex?
She had sacrificed so much for him—rented an expensive apartment near campus, waited in line overnight for those sneakers.
Her own shoes had never cost more than $300, yet she had spent $8,000 on a pair for him.
And what did she get in return?
He accepted her gift but never gave her an answer. Then, on the night of the cyclone, he had a candlelit dinner with Susan, using her stockpiled food.
During the apocalypse, he had done nothing to help her.
When she was attacked and brutalized, he stood by and watched.
If she had known, she would have fed those shoes to a dog instead.
But this time…
She wanted to see how well Alex and Susan could survive—without her stockpile, without her space.
She returned the $8,600 sneakers, rented a van, and invested the money into survival supplies.
She custom-ordered stainless steel security doors, bulletproof glass, and triple-latch locks.
Let them knock. Let them smash.
This time, no one would dare take advantage of her.
