Chapter 2: Getting Started

With two years, he has a lot of time to prepare before the calamities arrive. But, as he was walking down the street, he remembered something. His footsteps slowed, then came to a complete halt right in the middle of the crowded sidewalk.

Pedestrians flowed around him like water around an idle stone, a few tossing annoyed glances in his direction as they skirted past, their chatter and the rumble of distant city buses blurring into a dull, muffled hum.

Julius looked down at his feet.

He lifted his right foot, shifted his weight, and pressed his sole firmly against the pavement.

For the past eight months of his former life, the only thing beneath his feet had been the scratchy linen of a hospital sheet and the numb, dead weight of limbs that refused to answer his commands.

He closed his eyes, and the memories rushed back with violent clarity.

The suffocating smell of disinfectant and cheap hand sanitizer. The rhythmic, maddening hiss-click of an oxygen regulator trying to force air into lungs that were steadily drowning in fluids. The gnawing, agonizing fire of cancer eating away at his spine and ribs until even the heaviest dose of morphine couldn’t take the edge off. In those final months, the simple act of rolling onto his side had required two nurses, twenty minutes of agonizing preparation, and left him drenched in a cold sweat, gasping for breath as if he had run a marathon.

He had watched his body wither into a hollow cage of dry skin and sharp bones. He had watched his mother’s eyes hollow out with helpless grief, counting down the days until his heart simply gave up.

And now...

Julius drew a deep, unobstructed breath.

The autumn air surged into his chest—sharp, brisk, smelling faintly of roasted coffee and wet asphalt. No tubes in his nose. No metallic taste of chemotherapy lingering in the back of his throat. No burning, suffocating ache deep within his ribcage.

His lungs expanded fully, effortlessly, pulling in life with a vitality he had forgotten existed.

He took another step. Then another.

He felt the flex of his calf muscles, the smooth articulation of his knees, the steady, rhythmic balance anchored deep within his core. It wasn’t just functional; it was whole. He was alive, unburdened, and entirely free of the rot that had killed him.

A faint, trembling breath escaped his lips, quickly blooming into a small puff of white vapor in the chill air.

The other four hundred and ninety-nine players were likely obsessing over their explosive firepower, panicking over survival leaderboards, or worrying about how they’d murder their way through the coming apocalypse. But to Julius, standing on that ordinary city sidewalk under the grey sky, the greatest miracle wasn’t the infinite fortune resting in his pocket.

It was this.

Two sound legs beneath him. Two healthy lungs within him. A second chance to actually live—not tethered to a beeping monitor, but walking under an open sky.

Julius looked down at the sleek black card clutched in his hand, then up toward the glass-and-steel towers piercing the clouds above. His grip tightened, not out of fear, but out of a fierce, unyielding resolve.

Cancer had taken his first life while he was helpless to stop it.

This second life? He wasn’t going to let monsters, calamities, or god-like competitors take it from him. He had two years, a healthy body, and the limitless resources of an entire planet at his disposal.

Time to plan.

And where’s the best place to plan? A coffee shop.

A warm, inviting scent drifted across the sidewalk, cutting cleanly through the crisp autumn chill, rich, dark espresso mingling with toasted hazelnuts and warm pastry butter.

Julius followed the scent with his eyes and found a cozy corner cafe nestled between two towering brick brownstones. A weathered wooden sign swung gently above the entrance: The Roasted Bean & Book.

A soft brass chime rang out as he pushed the heavy oak door open, washing him in an immediate wave of comforting warmth. Inside, soft jazz hummed from ceiling speakers, accompanying the quiet murmur of laptop keys and the steady hiss of a steam wand. It was the picture of mundane, peaceful civilization—something he hadn’t experienced in what felt like a lifetime.

He walked up to the polished wooden counter, drinking in every detail.

"Hi there! What can I get started for you today?" the barista asked with a bright, welcoming smile.

Julius looked up at the chalkboard menu, though he already knew his answer by heart. During those endless, agonizing months in the palliative care unit, his strict diet had been reduced to clear broths, nutrient bags, and tiny sips of lukewarm water through a bent plastic straw. He used to lie awake at three in the morning, craving just one real, piping-hot drink.

"A large caramel macchiato, please," Julius said, his voice steady and rich. "Extra shot of espresso, oat milk, and a pinch of cinnamon on top."

"You got it," the barista tapped the touchscreen register. "Anything else with that?"

Before answering, Julius’s eyes drifted toward a small merchandise shelf resting beside the pastry case. Alongside branded ceramic mugs and bags of roasted beans sat a display of stationery: thick, leather-bound planner journals, heavy embossed fountain pens, and brass-tipped bookmarks.

In a digital age, smartphones had note apps. But Julius was about to architect the logistics of an entire doomsday campaign. Some things were meant to be inked by hand, away from digital eyes and satellite networks.

"Actually, yes," Julius gestured toward the display. "I’ll take the dark brown leather planner, the black ink pen, and an almond croissant as well."

"Sure thing! That’ll be thirty-four dollars and fifty cents."

Julius casually reached into his coat and produced the matte black titanium card. He tapped it against the small card reader on the counter.

Beep.

The terminal didn’t hesitate for even a millisecond. A green checkmark flashed across the screen with a cheerful chime: [APPROVED - TRANS-ID: #994821].

The barista blinked, momentarily taken aback by the sheer weight and sleek, unbranded aura of the card in Julius’s hand. She cleared her throat with renewed politeness. "Receipt will print right here, sir. We’ll have that coffee and pastry ready at the end of the bar in just a couple of minutes."

"Thank you," Julius said with a nod, taking his new journal and pen.

He found a secluded booth tucked into the far corner of the shop, shaded beneath a warm pendant light and flanked by a tall bookshelf. Settling into the deep leather seat, he ran his fingertips across the rough grain of the journal’s cover.

Moments later, the barista brought over a large ceramic mug steaming with rich, frothy foam, accompanied by a golden, flaky croissant on a porcelain plate.

Julius cradled the warm mug between both palms. He closed his eyes and breathed in the sweet, decadent aroma of caramel and roasted espresso beans before taking his first sip.

The heat bloomed across his tongue—bold, bitter, perfectly cut by the creamy oat milk and sweet ribbon of caramel syrup. It tasted real. It tasted like life.

Setting the mug down, Julius flipped the leather-bound planner open to its very first crisp, cream-colored page. He uncapped the heavy pen, the smooth metal resting comfortably in his grip.

At the very top of the page, he wrote a single heading.

[The Plan for Apocalypse]

Then, he started listing down the things he needed before the apocalypse.

Territory: A Private Island

Must be far away from crowded cities. Cities will turn into chaos first.

Deep in the ocean, but with safe ground.

Needs to have rocky hills so he can build a massive underground bunker.

Thick steel doors, air filters, and clean water systems.

Geothermal energy and solar panels so he never runs out of electricity.

Food and Water: Total Self-Sufficiency

Enough canned and dried food to last ten years.

Indoor greenhouse and fish tanks so he can grow fresh vegetables and meat without sunlight.

Giant water tanks and machines that turn ocean salt water into clean drinking water.

Large stocks of medicine, vitamins, and medical machines.

Weapons and Defense: High-Tech Security

Cannot rely on superpowers, so he must rely on machines.

Automated turrets, radar towers, and flying surveillance drones.

Anti-air missiles and sea mines to keep monsters and other players away.

]

He looked at the list. In his old life, doing even one of these things would cost millions of dollars and take a lifetime of hard work. But now? Money was just a number that never went down.

He pulled out his phone again and opened the browser. He typed in: Buy private islands international listings.

Dozens of websites popped up right away. There were islands in the Pacific, in the Caribbean, and near Europe, ranging from fifty million dollars to half a billion.

For the other players, fifty million dollars was impossible. For Julius, it was nothing.

He picked up his pen and wrote one more note at the bottom of the page:

Phase 1: Buy the island by next week. Hire the best construction team on Earth.

Julius smiled, closed the planner, and finished his coffee. It was time to start spending.