The morning sky burned with streaks of red and orange as the world crumbled. Tilus sat motionless, eyes fixed on the television. Collapsing buildings, thick plumes of smoke, and broadcasters straining to keep their composure flashed across the screen. Every new scene twisted his gut tighter.
He glanced out the window, half-expecting the ground to crack open or the city to split in two. Outside, desperate people scrambled with armfuls of supplies, clinging to whatever they could salvage. His hands still trembled from the horrors of yesterday—after all, the warning had been right.
Attempts to call home had proved futile. No one could reach their parents, yet the signal within the city remained strangely intact. It had to be the barrier—a translucent shield, barely noticeable unless you knew to look. If it weren't for the airplane that crashed into it last night, many might still be oblivious.
Beyond the barrier, no one knew what was happening. Communication networks had collapsed, leaving survivors in a void of rumors. Most cities were now cut off, with no way to leave or receive updates. The world outside had become a distant mystery, reduced to whispered tales of other lands wrestling with the same chaos. But one truth was certain: the infected—both inside and out—remained a constant threat.
Then, as if to puncture his spiraling thoughts, Tilus's phone buzzed. A message appeared on the screen:
"Like I told you, right? Do you believe me now?"
(Smirking emoji)
The emoji did nothing to ease his irritation. He tapped back quickly, his fingers trembling:
"Who are you? Why did you help me?"
A long pause. Outside, explosions rumbled and faint screams echoed—a grim reminder that chaos was closing in. Tilus had never expected a reply from X, the enigmatic figure who'd predicted all this and then vanished into silence.
But the answer came swiftly:
"Because I need your help."
His breath caught. With shaking hands, he replied,
"What do you need help with?"
The screen flashed again:
"You'll know soon. Focus on surviving first."
Anger mixed with confusion. How do I know you're not just manipulating me? The reply, cold yet oddly reassuring, read:
"You're free to think whatever you like. Just know that only I can help you survive."
Before he could type another word, a knock on the door pulled him back to reality.
"Tilus, we need to talk."
William's calm, steady voice sliced through the tension. Tilus sighed, dropping the phone onto his desk, and ran his hands through his hair. As he reached for the doorknob, a new alert popped up—a PDF file notification. With a furrowed brow, he opened it.
"This is…" he whispered.
Inside was a journal—a meticulously detailed account of the unfolding nightmare: sketches of monsters, battle plans, maps, and cryptic strategies. The elegant handwriting was unmistakably not his. It was as if someone had been chronicling the apocalypse in advance.
Without a second thought, Tilus cracked the door open enough to shout,
"William, grab supplies from the kitchen. I'm not coming out for a while!"
For three long days, Tilus devoured every line of the journal. The words painted a dire picture: a world where infected roamed both inside and beyond the barriers, where survival was a game of constant strategy, and where mysterious forces—Verismon, whispered as the true orchestrator—had begun reshaping reality. He didn't read every single word, but enough to grasp the gravity of the situation, the looming disasters, and the secret truths about the monsters and the chosen few.
By the fourth day, the weight of knowledge settled like a stone in his chest. Finally, he was ready.
Descending the stairs with a heavy heart and a knot of hesitation in his chest, Tilus stepped into the dining room. To his surprise, all his housemates were gathered at the table. Even though the city's barriers had locked everyone in, escape was not an option.
"Look who finally decided to join us," Leon teased as Tilus entered.
"Sorry, I got caught up," Tilus mumbled, taking his seat. "What's for dinner?"
Leon's grin widened. "For someone holed up for almost four days, you look surprisingly fine."
Tilus barely touched his food, his mind still adrift on the journal's cryptic warnings and the horrors yet to come. Leon's voice broke the silence:
"Tilus, what do you think?"
Tilus blinked, confused. "Huh? About what?"
Leon rolled his eyes. "The C-virus, man. Have you even read the news? We're on day four—there are still a few days left for those Pill of Life supplies, but what happens when they run out? Think we'll turn into monsters? Maybe I'll grow a tail and fur." His laugh was strained, belying the unease that lurked beneath.
A heavy tension filled the room as William, ever the composed leader, interjected:
"We need to gather all the information we can. The barriers show one thing clearly—escape isn't an option. And we can't rely on outside help anymore."
Ben, arms crossed and frowning, challenged, "How do you know that? The military's still patrolling, right?"
William's irritation was evident. "They are, but the situation could spiral at any moment. We need to prepare for the worst."
Jasmine, ever warm yet outspoken, added, "Food prices are insane now. A pack of noodles is 100,000 VND. And they say if you don't take the pills, you could die—or worse."
Tilus knew the grim truth all too well. The Pills of Life were a temporary reprieve; without them, the infected progressed from having wild, red eyes and eerie personality shifts to death—and then a grotesque resurrection as mutated monsters.
Should he warn them further? Would they even believe him?
The blaring news in the background—stories of overrun hospitals, makeshift wards in stadiums, and exhausted volunteers fighting uphill battles—painted a grim, undeniable picture. Social media overflowed with images of empty streets and looted stores. The world outside was collapsing faster than anyone could brace for.
Tilus scrolled through his texts from X, the journal's warnings echoing in his mind. Then, William laid out a grim plan:
"Tomorrow morning, we head out early. We need to secure a convenience store before things get worse."
Ben snapped, "Are you serious? We don't even know what happens after midnight. You want us to risk everything?"
Jasmine tried to mediate, "Maybe we could get supplies from the army. They were handing out rations earlier—"
"They're not handing out anything anymore," William cut in. "A mob attacked the last supply truck today. The army stopped aid after that."
Leon sighed, his tone grim: "If we go out there, we could die. People are desperate."
After a heavy silence, Tilus finally spoke up, "Alright, but first, let's understand the tool given to us." He raised his hand for attention. "First things first—you all need to learn how to use the system."
One by one, their expressions shifted as personal screens materialized before them:
[ STATUS WINDOW ]
Name: Tilus Chu Title: None Level: 1
Status: Normal
• Health: 50/50
• Mana: 5/5
• Magic: 5
• Aura: 4
• Strength: 5
• Vitality: 6
• Dexterity: 4
• Luck: 4
• Coins: 225
"These stats decide how well you fight, how fast you move, and how much damage you can take. There's no right or wrong way—just pick what works for you."
Leon immediately invested his stat point in Luck. "I refuse to believe this is useless."
Ben flexed, boosting his Strength with a smug grin—muscles were his pride.
Jasmine, with a determined frown, placed her point in Dexterity. "If I get hit, I'm dead."
William, ever the skeptic, chose Vitality. "Better safe than sorry."
Tilus nodded. "Alright. Now for the shop."
[ SHOP ]
• Basic Healing Potion (Restores 30 HP) – 50 Coins
• Stamina Recovery Pill – 50 Coins
• Random Weapon Chest – 100 Coins
• Random Armor Chest – 100 Coins
• Pill of Life – 500 Coins
"There's also a skill shop where we can buy and upgrade skills—but we won't be able to use it yet since we don't have enough coins," Tilus explained.
Leon groaned, "We're broke."
Tilus replied, "Yeah, but we won't be for long."
They exchanged determined glances. There were several ways to earn coins—by killing infected (even infected animals), completing sub-stages (like when William and I saved you guys), and other methods yet to be discovered. For now, they were in Stage 0—a tutorial phase of survival.
"In this situation, we can't really level up by grinding, because the system forces us to focus on hiding and surviving. The infected are stronger in raw power. But coins aren't limited—kill an infected, complete a rescue, and you earn them. There's more to it, but you won't get that right now."
Jasmine asked, "You mean… we need to kill the infected?"
Tilus sighed, "That's the only way we'll get stronger. I know a place that should be safe for now. If we take things slow, we can earn coins, level up, and buy gear."
Ben cracked his knuckles, "Then what are we waiting for?"
Tilus took a deep breath and pulled up another section on his screen:
[ WORLD TRANSFORMATION RATE - WTR ]
Zone: Sector 10
• Current WTR: 1%
• Threat Level: Low
• Infected Activity: Minimal
• Forecasted Increase: +5% per 24 hours
William leaned in, reading aloud, "What does that mean?"
Tilus tapped the screen, "This number measures how much an area has changed due to the virus, disasters, and... whatever else is coming. The higher the WTR, the more dangerous it gets. It's not just about the infected—zones with a high WTR can spawn even worse things. And if it gets too high..." His voice trailed off.
Jasmine frowned, "What happens if it gets too high?"
Tilus admitted, "Nobody knows for sure, but according to the journal... at 30%, the infected start mutating into stronger forms. At 50%, expect something worse than just zombies."
Ben clicked his tongue, "And at 100%?"
Tilus looked grim, "...The zone is considered uninhabitable."
A heavy silence fell over the group as the implications sank in. They were, in essence, living on a ticking time bomb.
Leon forced a laugh, breaking the tension, "So, you're saying we're basically on a ticking time bomb?"
Tilus nodded slowly, "Pretty much."