Survival in the last days of America

In a pitch-black room.

Brian's eyes snapped open. He shot upright in bed, one broad hand pressed against his chest, gasping for breath. He sat frozen, staring blankly into the dim shadows of the room, his mind slow to return from whatever nightmare had gripped him.

After a long moment, he turned his head toward the window. The sky outside was beginning to lighten. Instinctively, he touched his face, recalling the vivid scene from his dream. For some reason, he felt a strange sense of déjà vu.

But the memory slipped away, becoming hazy and indistinct. When he tried to grasp it, it dissolved completely—nothing remained.

He sighed in frustration and gave up for now. Throwing off the blanket, he stepped out of bed and walked straight into the bathroom. He turned on the faucet, cupped his hands under the cold stream, and splashed water onto his face. The icy shock jolted him fully awake.

Wiping the droplets from his skin, he looked up at the mirror. A young man of eighteen or nineteen stared back—sharp black hair cut short, strong and handsome features, and a light stubble growing along his jaw and chin.

He peeled off the sweat-soaked white tank top, revealing a lean, muscular torso. He grabbed a towel from the rack and began drying himself off.

After cleaning up, he stepped out of the bathroom, hung the damp tank top on the balcony, and pulled a fresh one from the closet. He pulled it on and walked over to the living room table, picking up a notice lying on top.

Notice:

Sergeant Brian is required to report to the F-Zone Management Center on June 4, 2019, at 8:00 a.m. for an external supply retrieval mission.

—Quarantine Zone Management Center

Seeing he still had time, Brian rubbed his tired, aching eyes and lay back on the bed, planning to rest his eyes for just a few more minutes.

It had been exactly five years since the outbreak of the cordyceps fungus virus. Not only had the quarantine zones changed beyond recognition, but the outside world had undergone a complete transformation.

In the second year after the outbreak, the leader of the Atlanta Quarantine Zone government—the former mayor of Atlanta—died from illness. He was succeeded by the deputy mayor, who became the new leader of the Atlanta Quarantine Zone. From that moment on, the once-thriving zone began its downward spiral.

Just months after taking office, the new leader issued a controversial order that sparked unrest across the zone. Due to the massive consumption of resources in the research for a cordyceps fungus vaccine—and the fact that progress had been nearly nonexistent—he announced the complete abandonment of all vaccine development. The saved resources would instead be redirected toward improving welfare and security within the quarantine zone.

The decision split the population in half. Protesters argued that giving up on the vaccine simply because it was costly meant surrendering all hope for humanity. They would be trapped in the quarantine zone forever.

Supporters, however, believed that after years of zero progress, continuing the research was a waste. Redirecting those resources to benefit the residents was a rational and practical decision.

The unrest lasted for six months. While many regretted the loss of the vaccine, they gradually accepted it when they realized their daily lives were unaffected.

Two years passed. As people grew accustomed to life inside the zone, the false peace and stability allowed the ambitions of those in power to swell unchecked.

At first, fearing exposure, they restrained themselves, careful not to steal too openly. But slowly, they realized their military status granted them near-total impunity. No one was watching.

One man began embezzling, and others, envious, followed his example. Corruption spread like wildfire. Even those with a sense of justice who tried to file formal complaints found their reports intercepted. The whistleblowers were swiftly punished for "false accusations" or expelled from the zone.

As an old saying from the previous world went: "When corruption becomes the norm, integrity becomes a crime." And so, decay spread rapidly through the government and military of the quarantine zone.

Overseer soldiers oppressed ordinary residents, extending labor hours and intensity. Factory managers exploited the overseers, and the regional management exploited the factory managers—each level feeding off the one below. Even the supplies gathered from external missions were heavily confiscated by the upper echelons. Only a tiny fraction reached the hands of civilians. The value of supply cards continued to drop, reducing what people could actually exchange for.

Residents sharp enough to realize they could no longer rely on monthly supply cards immediately sought alternatives. Digging secret passages to the outside and gathering their own supplies became their top priority.

Over time, these groups grew in size. Just as Brian had predicted, they began bribing corrupt officials with supplies from the outside, exchanging them for weapons and ammunition. The military turned a blind eye, pretending to see nothing.

They even established a black market, where they sold food nearing expiration—food they couldn't consume themselves—in exchange for bullets or supply cards. Everyday items like clothing were also traded. Some even captured wild animals—stray dogs, rats—and sold them. If the animals were still alive, they could fetch an even higher price.

Within a short time, it became the largest black market in the entire quarantine zone. Of course, none of this was public. Without a guide, you couldn't enter. Those who lived in this gray zone became known as—smugglers .

As time passed, the upper echelons of the quarantine government grew increasingly oppressive. They no longer saw ordinary residents as people, but as slaves providing endless resources.

The entire quarantine zone became their personal dictatorship. Their methods of control grew bolder and less concealed. The military became their weapon. Anyone who disobeyed was killed or expelled on the spot.

The result? The elite lived in luxury, while the lowest-level residents survived on supply cards, barely exchanging them for the bare necessities, struggling through life with endless labor.

This situation lasted nearly a year. Then, after a brutal case of military overreach, someone finally snapped. A civilian attacked a soldier in broad daylight. The onlookers, filled with long-suppressed anger, joined in. The two soldiers were beaten to death.

It was like poking a hornet's nest. A massive military force was deployed. Everyone present was arrested, regardless of involvement, and thrown into detention.

The government elite realized the growing discontent among the lower classes. But instead of seeking reconciliation or reform, they were furious at what they saw as rebellion from their "slaves." They ordered harsh punishments to serve as a warning, hoping to crush any future resistance.

The ringleaders were sentenced to death. Participants were given three years of hard labor—the most grueling, dangerous, and dehumanizing work. Even bystanders who had done nothing but watch were sentenced to one year of forced labor for failing to intervene.

The verdict shocked the entire zone. The seed of rebellion quietly took root in the hearts of many.

In the following months, acts of resistance began to occur more frequently. Each time the military arrested someone, the punishment grew harsher.

Finally, after realizing the elite didn't care whether they lived or died, a group of determined individuals secretly gathered. They formed the first resistance army within the quarantine zone.

For months, they made contacts, acquired weapons and ammunition. When the government believed the situation was under control, the resistance launched a surprise attack on the zone's checkpoints, attempting to seize control.

Even months later, no one could forget that day. Smoke choked the air. Gunfire, explosions, and screams of agony echoed through the streets. Everyone hiding in their homes trembled in fear.

Though the rebels captured several checkpoints, their equipment was severely lacking. They were quickly crushed by the arriving military forces. Most were killed. Only a few managed to escape.

The resistance realized they couldn't overthrow the government in the short term. Some chose to go underground within the zone, recruiting new members. Others contacted smugglers, paid resources, and fled to the outside, where they established a hidden base.

To maintain communication, they relied on smugglers.

Most smugglers refused outright. Their livelihood depended on the quarantine zone. Its destruction would benefit them not at all.

Only a few, lured by the massive profits from the conflict between the two sides, chose to help.

And so, the resistance army remained in the shadows—gathering weapons, recruiting fighters, growing in silence. Whenever they found a military ammunition depot, they destroyed or seized it. Supply convoys were ambushed whenever possible. Small, constant actions.

Thus began the war between the Resistance Army and the Quarantine Zone Government.