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What? My "Information Club" is Actually an All-Knowing Secret Society?
Genre : Apocalypse, Fantasy, Superpower, Action
Tag : Misunderstanding, Secret Organization, World-Freezing, Super power
Chapter 32 : The Eye
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[Time remaining until the Great Freeze: 5 Days]
[Location: Arlen's Apartment, Floor 4]
Arlen opened his eyes and immediately felt a strange shift in the room's atmosphere. The biting, suffocating cold that usually clawed at his throat the moment he woke up had receded, replaced by a manageable, still chill. He pushed himself up from the thin, worn mattress and looked around the cramped living room.
Thick plastic sheets covered the windows, sealed tightly at the edges with strips of black duct tape. The wide gaps beneath the front door were stuffed with yellowing foam torn from the old couch cushions. Large squares of aluminum foil lined the outer walls, catching the faint ambient light and reflecting the remaining warmth back into the center of the room. Someone had transformed his freezing concrete box into a highly efficient, insulated survival shelter while he slept. Outside, the heavy black snow continued to batter the glass. The dark ice buried the streets of the city under a lethal monochrome blanket.
A rich, savory smell drifted from the kitchen corner. Arlen turned his head and saw Maya standing by the small portable stove. She held a metal ladle, gently stirring a small aluminum pot. The pale, flickering blue light of a tablet illuminated her tired face. She wore three layers of heavy jackets, her shoulders relaxed for the first time since she arrived at his door. She kept her eyes focused on the screen of the tablet, occasionally nodding as if listening to someone speaking through the device.
Arlen stood up and walked silently toward the kitchen. His bare feet made absolutely no sound against the cold floorboards. He moved with the quiet caution of someone who constantly expected the floor to collapse beneath him.
Maya turned her head to grab a small salt packet from the counter and saw him standing right behind her.
She gasped loudly. The salt packet slipped from her fingers, fluttering to the floor. Her eyes widened in pure panic, and she quickly turned off the stove. She bowed her head, her hands gripping the edges of her oversized jacket tightly enough to turn her knuckles white.
"I am sorry!" Maya said, her voice trembling and raw. She kept her eyes fixed firmly on his boots.
"I know I should ask before touching your supplies. I just found some old cans in the bottom cabinet and wanted to make something warm for us. Please do not throw me out. I will never do it again."
Arlen looked at her shaking shoulders. He shifted his gaze past her trembling form and focused entirely on the glowing tablet propped against the spice rack.
The screen displayed a live video feed. It showed a man with a heavy beard sitting inside a dimly lit basement, wearing a thick winter coat. The man was holding a dead, mutated rat by its tail, explaining how to properly skin the creature without puncturing its toxic gall bladder. On the right side of the screen, a stream of text scrolled rapidly upwards. It was a live chat room.
"Is that the Recollection network we discussed yesterday?" Arlen asked, his voice entirely flat and analytical.
Maya flinched. She slowly raised her head, surprised that he had completely ignored her desperate apology. She looked at the tablet, then back at his face, trying to read his emotionless expression.
"Yes ... " Maya explained softly, reaching out to tilt the screen slightly toward him. "You asked me about their reach last night. So ... i wanted to see if the connection were still active."
Arlen leaned forward, studying the interface. The internet grid died three days ago. Hearing about a shadow organization operating a communication network was one thing, but seeing it running flawlessly in front of his eyes was terrifying. The design of the application was brutally minimalist. A dark grey background, the medium-resolution video feed, and the scrolling chat. At the top of the screen, a small counter showed the number of active viewers, it was four thousand people.
Four thousand survivors were sitting in the freezing dark, watching a man skin a radioactive rat.
"Can you explain the ecosystem to me," Arlen ask, more like commanded. He pulled a wooden chair from the dining table and sat down, keeping his eyes locked on the moving text. "People are typing in the chat. They are offering antibiotics for thermal blankets. How does the exchange happen if everyone is hiding?"
Maya swallowed hard. She carefully picked up the tablet and placed it on the table in front of him, treating the device like a fragile bomb. She sat across from him, her hands folded tightly in her lap.
"It has become an economy," Maya said, her voice gaining a little more confidence as she talked about the system mechanics. "At first, people just streamed to prove they were still alive. It was a way to cope with the silence. But look at the bottom left corner of the screen."
Arlen followed her direction. There was a small icon shaped like a supply crate.
"Viewers can send digital barter tokens to the streamer," Maya explained, leaning slightly closer. Her dark eyes reflected the blue light of the screen. "If a streamer provides good information, like how to insulate a room or where to find clean water, the viewers tip them with those tokens. Recollection manages the ledger. You can trade those tokens at physical drop points managed by their drone and some agent for real food or medicine."
Arlen felt his stomach twist into a tight knot. He kept his face completely still, but his mind was screaming in absolute, unfiltered panic.
Recollection was not just observing the apocalypse. They were running a fully functional digital economy. They had active servers, an engineering division, and a physical logistics network. They were acting as the central bank of the dying world.
And what did Arlen have? If an organization with the resources of Recollection ever noticed his 'Information Club' and deemed him a threat, they would send an elite assassination squad to put a bullet between his eyes. He was playing a dangerous game of pretend, and he had just discovered that the other players on the board possessed actual weapons and infrastructure. And they are more then prepared for this.
"Haaah, I guess knowing the future making something like this possible huh? What a crazy world," Arlen said in his hearth while looking at the kitchen.
And then.
"Serve the food," Arlen said suddenly, pulling his attention away from the screen before his internal terror became visible on his face.
Maya jumped slightly at the sudden command. She nodded quickly, stood up, and poured the hot stew she Alfred brew into two plastic bowls. The thick steam carried the smell of preserved meat and salt, a rare luxury in the frozen city. She placed one bowl in front of him, setting an aluminum spoon neatly beside it.
Arlen looked at the thick broth. He looked up at Maya. Desperate people did terrible things for a secure room and a week's worth of food. He needed to be absolutely sure she had not spiked his meal to claim the apartment for herself.
"Eat from my bowl," Arlen commanded.
Maya blinked. Her expression shifted from nervous compliance to complete confusion. She looked at the spoon, then back to his cold, calculating eyes.
"I only used the cans from the bottom cabinet," Maya said, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I swear there is nothing bad in it. I just wanted to help."
"Eat it," Arlen repeated. His tone left zero room for argument. He crossed his arms over his chest and watched her intently.
Maya swallowed hard. Her hand shook slightly as she reached across the small table. She picked up his aluminum spoon, scooped up a small portion of the broth and meat, and brought it to her lips. She swallowed the food under his intense, unblinking gaze. She carefully placed the spoon back into his bowl and lowered her head, waiting for his judgment.
Arlen sat in silence for three full minutes. He watched her chest rise and fall, checking for any signs of restricted breathing, sudden sweating, or pupil dilation. When he was satisfied that she was completely fine, he reached forward, picked up the exact same spoon, and began to eat.
The hot stew burned pleasantly down his throat, warming his chest and settling his empty stomach. He took another bite, completely focused on the calories.
Across the table, Maya stared at him. Her eyes darted from the spoon in his hand to his lips. A deep, sudden flush of red spread across her pale cheeks and reached the tips of her ears. He was using the exact same spoon she had just placed in her mouth, without wiping it, without a single second of hesitation.
Her heart started beating aggressively against her ribs. In her mind, the gesture was incredibly intimate. It was a direct validation of trust, an unspoken acceptance of her presence in his safe space. She quickly looked down at her own bowl, her hands gripping her knees tightly beneath the table to hide her nervousness.
Arlen did not notice her reaction at all. He continued eating while staring at the tablet. The bearded man on the screen had finished skinning the rat and was now holding up a crude, hand-drawn map.
"Does Recollection control what these streamers broadcast?" Arlen asked, pointing at the screen with his spoon.
Maya forced herself to look up, trying to hide her red cheeks. She cleared her throat softly.
"They moderate it heavily," Maya answered. "They allow survival tips, hunting, and general communication. But there are strict rules. Recollection issues permanent bans to anyone who streams from forbidden zones."
Arlen stopped chewing. "Forbidden zones?"
Maya nodded. She reached out and tapped the screen, scrolling the chat back up to show a specific system notification highlighted in red.
"Some streamers try to get famous by going into highly dangerous areas," Maya explained. "They call themselves 'Zone Runners'. They hunt for views and tokens by getting close to massive mutant hives. But lately, Recollection has been instantly cutting the feed of anyone who gets too close to the northern sector. Specifically the industrial estate in Cikarang."
Arlen felt a cold chill run down his spine that had nothing to do with the weather outside. Cikarang. That was the exact location of Tank's logistics warehouse.
"Why Cikarang?" Arlen asked. He maintained his calm voice, but his grip on the aluminum spoon tightened until his knuckles ached.
"Nobody knows the full truth," Maya whispered, leaning closer to the table as if the tablet could hear them. "Rumors on the network say there is a massive gathering happening there. Some streams caught distant footage of heavily armed convoys moving through the black snow before Recollection cut the feed. People are saying a ruthless cult is taking over the sector, executing mutants and securing territory. Recollection treats Cikarang like a black hole."
Arlen stared at the steaming bowl of soup. He suddenly lost his appetite entirely.
It was his Information Club. The 'ruthless cult' everyone terrified of was his own group of followers.
Seraph and Viper were mobilizing an entire army of heavily armed fanatics right under the nose of a massive intelligence network like Recollection. The whole world was watching them. The real players in this apocalypse were actively trying to figure out who was commanding the army in Cikarang.
If Recollection managed to trace the digital communication lines back to his information club, then he would be sure that a large scale of war would engage.
He needed to prepare for the absolute worst-case scenario.
Arlen put the spoon down and pulled a small notebook from his jacket pocket. He grabbed a pen and flipped to a blank page.
"We need to secure this location completely," Arlen said, his voice returning to a rapid, calculating rhythm. "We will gather all the remaining water in the bathtub before the pipes freeze over entirely. We lock the deadbolts, seal the vents, and stay inside this apartment for some more days. Going outside means exposing ourselves to the new mutants that already claim this area, and whatever intelligence agents are watching the streets, I hope they are not gonna mess with us."
Maya hesitated. She looked at his notebook, then bit her lower lip. Her architectural background immediately identified a fatal flaw in his logic.
"Ren ... " Maya started, her voice soft but steady.
Arlen stopped writing. He slowly raised his eyes and looked at her, waiting for her to continue.
Encouraged by his silence, Maya sat up straighter. The nervous, terrified girl from the kitchen vanished, replaced by someone who understood structural space and survival mechanics.
"We should pack two emergency bags right now," Maya suggested firmly. "High-calorie food, thermal blankets, basic medical supplies, and light weapons. We need to leave them right next to window. If the temperature drops too fast or the mutants break the lower barricades, we grab the bags and use the fire escape. We cannot rely entirely on a static defense."
Arlen tapped his pen against the paper. He mentally re-evaluated the layout of the building, visualizing the airflow and the structural choke points. He realized she was absolutely correct. His plan lacked a practical exit strategy.
"You are right," Arlen said directly. "We will pack the bags immediately after we finish eating."
Maya's breath caught in her throat. Her eyes widened slightly, and a genuine, warm smile broke through her exhausted expression.
"He listened to her."
A man who seemed terrifying and a suit of this falling world had actually validated her idea.
He did not dismiss her. He treated her as an equal partner in their survival. A profound sense of belonging settled deeply into her chest, wrapping around her lingering trauma and slowly replacing her fear with an unbreakable reliance on him.
Arlen closed his notebook and looked back at the tablet. The streamer was now carefully roasting the mutant rat over a small fire.
The world outside was evolving into a massive, interconnected nightmare of monsters, shadow organizations, and digital economies. And Arlen was sitting right in the middle of it, armed with nothing but scraps of his written novel. He let out a long, quiet sigh, mentally preparing himself for the terrifying days ahead.
Arlen look up, and let out a long sigh.
"This crazy world ... it's just a week far from the day the world break. But Thare's so much going on now. How ... and why?"
Arlen trying not to scream out of his frustrated feeling.
›› To Be Continue ‹‹
—KS