Chapter Three

I was taken into an interrogation room.

Gray walls, a metal table, two chairs. The fluorescent light overhead hummed, like the sound of fly wings fluttering. I sat on one side of the table, my hands resting on the surface, waiting.

The door opened.

A woman walked in. She was about thirty-five years old, with short hair, sunburn marks on her cheekbones, and eyes as sharp as a scalpel. She was wearing a National Guard combat uniform, with a captain's insignia pinned to her collar.

“Captain Miller,” she said, sitting down across from me and placing a voice recorder on the table, “you said you have apocalyptic intelligence.”

"Yes."

"Is there also information at the national security level?"

"Yes."

She stared at me for five seconds, as if assessing whether I was crazy or a liar. "You know the consequences of giving false military intelligence."

"I know."

"explain."

I took a deep breath. "Three days later, to be precise, at 2:17 PM on July 17th, an unknown virus will break out simultaneously around the world. Those infected will lose their minds and attack all living things. People bitten or scratched will mutate within ten minutes. Governments will collapse within forty-eight hours."

Miller's expression remained unchanged. She was waiting.

“I have evidence.”

"What evidence?"

I stood up. She immediately pressed her hand to the pistol at her waist.

"Don't be nervous." I pulled out a silver pendant from under my collar. "I need you to come with me to a place."

"Where?"

“You’ll find out soon enough,” I said, extending my hand. “Take my hand.”

She hesitated for two seconds, then stood up and took my hand.

I took her into the space.

She gasped, released my hand, and stumbled back two steps. She stepped onto the grass—real grass, not an illusion. She looked down, squatted down, and dug her fingers into the soil.

"This is……"

“My space,” I said, “the space inside the pendant. About an acre.”

She stood up and looked around. Grass, a spring, neatly stacked supply crates. She saw the faint shimmer on the surface of the spring, and her pupils dilated slightly.

What is that?

“The Fountain of Life.” I walked to the spring, bent down and scooped up a handful of water. “A sip can heal wounds and relieve fatigue. Long-term consumption can awaken supernatural abilities.”

She stared at the water in my hand, her Adam's apple bobbing. "You drink first."

I drank it.

She was silent for a long time, then said, "Take me out."

I took her hand, and on a whim, we returned to the interrogation room. She glanced at the recorder—less than two minutes had passed. But in the room, we had been there for at least five minutes.

She sat back in her chair, her expression changing. It wasn't that she no longer had doubts, but rather that her doubts had been downgraded to caution.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“I want to see someone who can make decisions. A general, or someone higher.” I looked into her eyes. “I’m not here to sell anything. I’ll hand over the Spirit Spring for free, on only one condition—protect my personal safety.”

She didn't answer immediately. She picked up the intercom on the table, walked to a corner, and whispered a few words. I couldn't hear what she said, but I could see that her shoulders were tense as she spoke.

She hung up the walkie-talkie and walked back.

"The helicopter will arrive in twenty minutes. You are going to Washington."

The roar of the helicopter made my ears hurt.

I sat in the cabin, Miller across from me, staring at me intently, as if studying an alien creature. I didn't speak, but closed my eyes, recalling what I had seen in the Pentagon in my past life—not the building structure, but the people.

I saw that white-haired general in my past life. On television. He was the one who declared a national state of emergency on the third day of the apocalypse. On the fourth day, he was splattered with the blood of an infected person in the command center. On the fifth day, he was admitted to the ICU, not because of infection, but because of a heart attack.

He died from overwork.

The helicopter landed in Washington. I was led into a building—not the White House, but a gray building next to the Pentagon. The corridor was full of people in uniform, who all made way for me with expressionless faces.

There were seven people sitting in the conference room. I recognized the white-haired general in the very center at a glance.

“Mr. Cole,” he stood up and extended his hand, “I am General Vance.”

I shook his hand. His hand was rough and strong, with thick calluses on his index finger—gun calluses.

"Please sit down."

I sat down. Seven pairs of eyes were looking at me.

“We’ve seen Captain Miller’s report,” Vance said, “but we need to see it for ourselves.”

"clear."

I pulled out a dagger. The two bodyguards beside me instantly put their hands on their guns. I ignored them, rolled up my left sleeve, and slashed my arm. Blood immediately gushed out, dripping down my forearm to the ground.

Someone in the conference room gasped.

I channeled a stream of spiritual spring water onto the wound. The bleeding stopped. The wound healed at a visible speed. Ten seconds later, only a faint pink mark remained.

I wiped the blood off the table with a handkerchief and looked up at them.

"Who wants to go inside and take a look?"

A young female officer—Miller's colleague—raised her hand. Vance nodded. I took her hand and led her into the space. She stood there for ten seconds, then nodded, pale-faced.

I brought her out.

Vance was silent for a moment, then asked a question I hadn't expected: "Aren't you afraid we'll take your pendant and lock you up?"

I laughed.

“General, the spiritual spring is already bound to me. DNA verification. Even if I give you the pendant, you can't use it. Only I can extract it.”

This is both the truth and a lie. The truth is that the spiritual spring is indeed bound to me; the lie is that I don't know if they will find a way to break it. But I don't need them to believe the second half, I only need them to believe the first half.

Vance glanced at me, then looked at the others. They exchanged silent glances.

“What do you need?” he asked.

"Safe. A place to sleep where no one can find you. You take your spiritual spring, and I'll live my life. When the apocalypse comes, your people will awaken superpowers and be able to control the situation."

"that's all?"

"that's all."

Vance was silent for a few more seconds. Then he reached out his hand.

"make a deal."

I took his hand.

What followed was a crazy 24 hours.

I was taken to an underground laboratory where I continuously extracted spiritual spring water. Bucket after bucket, the spring water was drawn from the space, packed into refrigerated containers, and transported to some unknown place. I went in and out of the space dozens of times, feeling dizzy and disoriented, and finally leaned against the wall, almost unable to stand.

A researcher in a white lab coat handed me a glass of water.

"How are you?"

"He won't die."

I drank some water and continued.

On the third day—July 17th, the day the apocalypse was supposed to break out—I stood in the Pentagon’s underground bunker, watching the outside world through a monitor screen.

There are no zombies.

At least, not yet.

The military issued a shelter-in-place order 48 hours in advance. The Department of Homeland Security cited an "unknown virus outbreak" as the reason, without mentioning zombies or the apocalypse, but the wording was unusually harsh—everyone must stay at home and lock their doors and windows.

The internet exploded. Conspiracy theories flew everywhere. Some said the government was covering up the truth, some said it was a military exercise, and some said it was aliens.

As I scrolled through the comments on my phone, I saw a post that had been pushed to the top: "Trust the country."

The poster's ID is an official account.

At 10:00 AM, the first case was confirmed in New York. At 2:00 PM, Los Angeles, Chicago, and Houston reported cases. At 8:00 PM, a national state of emergency was declared.

Then, the number of infected people began to grow exponentially.

But the difference from the previous life is that this time, the army did not collapse.

At three in the morning, Miller pushed open my door. She was wearing combat gear, and her expression was complicated.

“The first batch of spiritual springs worked,” she said. “Three soldiers have awakened supernatural abilities.”

"flame?"

"One flame, one body enhancement, and one ability to sense the location of infected individuals."

I nodded. Just as I expected.

“General Vance asked me to tell you,” Miller paused, “thank you.”

I looked out the window. The Washington night sky was tinged with a dark red by the distant firelight. Gunshots and screams came from the direction of the city, but from several kilometers away, they sounded like distant thunder.

“It’s still early,” I said. “This is just the beginning.”

Miller did not answer.

I went back to bed and closed my eyes. In my past life, at this time, I was hiding in the closet of my rented room, listening to Sophia's coughing outside the door and the screams downstairs. Back then, I had no spiritual spring, only fear.

Now, I have the entire state apparatus standing behind me.

And my younger brother Liam—

I remember his smug smile.

He's probably being besieged by his neighbors right now. Without the Spirit Spring, without the powerful Sophia, all he has is a pile of stolen supplies and a cripple who can't awaken his powers.

A slight smile played on my lips.

Sleepiness finally came.