Doomsday System: Stockpiling Thirty Floors of Supplies from the Start

When the first wisp of black fog crept over the twenty-eighth-floor windowsill, the city's clamor had already been swallowed whole. Mu Chen stared through the glass at the rising tide of ink-darkness, listening to the sound of plants growing outside, like bones snapping. His phone screen flickered in the darkness. The curses and pleas for help in the residents' chat gradually gave way to bloodcurdling screams. First, the branches of a giant tree pierced the glass and impaled an entire family. Then came the click of a mutant dog's teeth grinding in the hallway.

He felt the corner piled high with bottled water and heard the System's icy voice counting down: "Eligible person detected: Appearance score 8.5, survival value Class A." At that very moment, a bloated face, soaked in black fog, was reflected in the peephole. Knuckles rapped on the door like a death drum: "Please... let me in..."

Beneath the black fog, there are no living people, only "survivors" waiting to be screened and monsters still evolving.