Kane didn't waste a second after returning from the city. The echo of the bank's security alarms still lingered in his mind, a sharp reminder of the risk he had taken… and the window of opportunity that was rapidly closing.
The world hadn't yet started to crumble, but he knew the clock was ticking. Sixty days would pass faster than most could imagine — and when they were gone, so would the fragile order of civilization. The cities would burn, the streets would drown in screams, and the skies would never again be free of the stench of rot.
He refused to wait for that day to come.
By noon, Kane was seated in the corner of a discreet, upscale café, his laptop open and his burner phone resting beside it. He was scrolling through contacts, searching for someone reliable — someone who could help him build what he needed without asking too many questions.
It didn't take long to find the name: "Morris Industrial Projects." They were known in the underground for their speed, discretion, and willingness to work on remote or unregistered sites. Kane had read about them before — a construction company that specialized in greenhouse systems, aquaponic fish farms, water treatment setups, and other off-grid sustainability infrastructure. Exactly what he needed.
He dialed the number.
The voice on the other end was deep and measured."Mr. Wylder, we've been expecting your call."
Kane smirked faintly. "Then you know this won't be a small job."
"We specialize in big jobs."
He didn't waste time explaining everything. Instead, he outlined the essentials:
A large-scale greenhouse capable of producing enough vegetables and medicinal plants for a small community.
A self-sustaining fish farm, connected to a closed-loop aquaponics system.
Water purification units powered entirely off-grid.
Backup power generation from wind, solar, and biofuel.
Cold storage for long-term food preservation.
Fabrication equipment for drone assembly and maintenance.
The voice paused for a moment before responding. "That's… an extensive request. Especially on an island."
"I'll cover all the equipment costs," Kane said flatly. "And I'll pay your laborers double their rate. You'll also have forty days to finish everything — no more."
There was silence for a moment, as if the person on the other end was weighing whether Kane was insane… or just loaded.
"That's an impossible deadline for most clients," the man finally said.
"I'm not most clients," Kane replied. "I have the cash ready. In hard bills. No questions asked, and no records kept. We start the moment you agree."
By the end of the call, arrangements were in motion. A full crew would be flown in discreetly — no company logos, no identifiable uniforms — and supplies would arrive in staggered shipments to avoid suspicion.
Kane leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowing.
The island was already his — purchased that very morning with a suitcase of cash in a quiet office near the docks. A secluded stretch of rocky shore and forested hills, far from prying eyes. A place where his plans could take root while the rest of the world blindly marched toward its own funeral.
But there was another matter to deal with before construction began — the gold bars and valuables from the bank's underground vault. They couldn't just sit in his storage forever; they were worth millions, and he'd need liquid funds for the speed and secrecy he demanded.
That meant contacting someone who could move them without triggering alarms in the financial system. Someone with underground connections.
He already had a name in mind.
Kane closed his laptop, finished the last of his coffee, and stood. The café's warm chatter and soft music felt alien to him now. Every second wasted in places like this was another second closer to the collapse.
Forty days.
That was all the time he had to turn an empty island into a fortress of survival.
The city's night air was thick and cool when Kane slipped from the shadows onto the cracked pavement near Dock 17. The industrial port sprawled before him, a labyrinth of rusting cranes, stacked containers, and silent warehouses bathed in the flickering glow of sodium lamps. A faint salty breeze carried the distant hum of freight ships and the occasional call of unseen seagulls. This was a place forgotten by most, where the law's eye seldom lingered—a perfect stage for clandestine dealings.
Kane's pulse remained steady, his breathing measured. Years of military discipline held the frantic thoughts at bay, but beneath that calm surface simmered a sharpened urgency. Forty-two days were left before the apocalypse would begin its relentless march, and he had no intention of being unprepared. Tonight, he would convert the mountain of gold and valuables stored invisibly in his system into usable currency, the lifeblood needed to forge his fortress of survival.
The glow of his phone screen lit up in his palm, a brief message blinking: "Meet at Dock 17. Midnight. Come alone." The warning was clear. No distractions, no witnesses. Kane pulled his hood tighter over his face and stepped forward into the darkness.
From the shadows emerged a tall, lean man with a hawk-like gaze and effortless confidence. The man's voice was low and smooth, laced with decades of experience in the underground. "Wylder," he said simply.
Kane nodded. "Rico."
"You've got quite the haul," Rico remarked, a faint grin breaking his otherwise unreadable expression.
"Enough to fund a small army," Kane replied, his tone steady but with an edge of urgency.
Rico chuckled softly, the sound echoing faintly off the silent containers. "I've seen bigger scores. But the way you moved it? Not many could pull that off without setting off every alarm in the vault."
"Not many are me," Kane said with a hint of dry humor.
They began to walk side by side, their footsteps muffled against the cracked concrete and scattered gravel. The harbor's distant waves crashed rhythmically against pilings, a natural percussion to their whispered conversation.
"I need discretion," Kane said, breaking the silence. "Fast liquidation. And a clean cut on the profits."
Rico's gaze sharpened. "You're not selling to banks or brokers. My buyers operate in shadows: hidden markets, offshore vaults, financiers who handle cash with no questions. We don't do paper trails."
"That's the only way," Kane agreed, his voice low.
"How soon do you want this moved?"
"Forty days. That's the island construction deadline," Kane said, glancing at his watch as if the very seconds ticked louder in his mind.
Rico nodded thoughtfully. "Gold doesn't just vanish overnight, but I've got connections. I'll move as fast as possible. Your cut will be clean, and discreet. You'll hear from me soon."
The two men clasped hands briefly, sealing their unspoken pact.
The gray light of dawn had barely broken when Kane arrived at the island. The fresh salt air filled his lungs as he stepped onto the rocky shoreline, the silhouette of the rugged land stark against the faint morning horizon.
The island was raw, wild—dense with forest and dotted with rocky outcrops, yet there was promise here. Untouched by modern civilization but ripe for transformation.
A team of workers and engineers had already assembled near the crumbling dock. Their faces were lined with fatigue and determination, a mix of contractors, surveyors, and foremen brought in by Morris Industrial Projects, a company known for handling projects where secrecy was as important as skill.
Kane met the foreman, a grizzled man with steel-gray hair and eyes that missed nothing. The man's handshake was firm, and his posture spoke of decades in unforgiving environments.
"Forty days. That's your deadline. No excuses," Kane said, his voice cold but clear.
The foreman nodded. "We'll start with clearing and foundation work immediately. Equipment's staged and ready."
Machines roared to life, chainsaws biting into thick trunks as trees fell under the relentless precision of the crews. Surveyors in reflective vests scanned the land with laser tools, their equipment humming softly. Modular panels for greenhouses and solar arrays were offloaded carefully, stacked neatly beside rugged all-terrain vehicles.
Every morning, Kane walked the site, his gaze sharp and calculating. He envisioned the future here—greenhouses bursting with rows of leafy vegetables and medicinal herbs, fish tanks alive with swimming stock connected to self-sustaining aquaponic systems, solar panels soaking up sunlight even under overcast skies, wind turbines spinning quietly through the night.
It was a vision of survival, one that could endure the chaos yet to come.
Back in the mountain house, the rhythm of life was quieter but no less intense.
Lena and Mara remained unaware of Kane's full plans. They assumed his long absences were tied to arranging supplies and negotiating contracts—routine logistics for someone intent on preparedness. Kane was careful, sharing only as much as needed, guarding his secret powers closely.
Reina's sleep deepened, her small form sometimes twitching as if responding to dreams unknown to others. Kane sensed the faint pulse of energy around her, a subtle hum that grew stronger each day. He had yet to tell Lena or Mara, wary of revealing more than necessary before the time was right.
The days blurred into a relentless cycle of movement and thought.
Kane divided his waking hours between overseeing the construction on the island and coordinating shipments of equipment and supplies. Prefabricated greenhouse modules, solar panels, water filtration units, and fish farming tanks arrived in staggered shipments. Each crate was carefully inventoried before being stowed in his Infinite Storage, hidden from prying eyes.
He pushed the construction teams hard, offering generous pay and incentives to accelerate their work.
"Double their normal wages," Kane instructed the foreman during a site meeting. "No corners cut. This has to be finished in forty days. If you need more labor or equipment, ask. I'll pay."
The foreman, a pragmatist hardened by years on tough jobs, gave a curt nod but didn't argue. Such a deadline was almost unheard of for a project of this scale and complexity.
Kane's mind was always racing, planning contingencies. He reviewed blueprints for the greenhouses—fully automated climate control, humidity regulation, and irrigation systems that recycled water efficiently. The fish farms would run on closed-loop aquaponics, with nitrogen filtration and temperature controls designed for minimal human intervention.
Backup power would come from a hybrid system: solar panels on the rooftops, wind turbines placed along the ridges, and biofuel generators to cover cloudy or windless days. A cold storage facility would ensure food and medicinal plants could be preserved for extended periods.
For drone manufacturing, Kane arranged for secure prefabricated workshops to be erected, complete with assembly lines, 3D printers, and supply caches for raw materials. This would allow him to expand his small drone fleet into a formidable force.
Despite the high costs, Kane's financial position remained secure. The value of the gold and other valuables was steadily converting into liquid assets through Rico's networks, albeit more slowly than Kane would have liked. But every day, more cash flowed into the accounts Kane controlled, allowing him to maintain the aggressive pace.
One evening, as Kane returned from the island after a long day, he found Lena and Mara waiting for him. Both wore expressions of concern tinged with curiosity.
"You've been gone a lot lately," Lena said gently. "Everything okay?"
Kane forced a tired smile. "Just logistics. Lots of moving parts. We're getting there."
Mara nodded, glancing at the piles of new supplies stacked in the corner.
"We trust you," Mara said softly. "Just... don't forget to take care of yourself."
He felt the weight of their trust and the responsibility it carried. Keeping his secret—the Infinite Storage, the drones, the system—was vital. For now, that line had to remain unbroken.
Night settled over the mountain house. Reina lay asleep, her small hands occasionally twitching as faint glimmers of light danced over her skin. Kane watched her quietly, feeling a surge of protective resolve.
He had bought himself time and a sanctuary, but the coming storm was still on the horizon.
Forty days.
And every one counted.