Doomsday Glitch: They Got Systems, I Got a Bunker

The guy across the street just activated his socalled Doomsday Survival System. He pumped his fists in the air, screaming like he had won the lottery.

All around me, people howled and cheered, losing their minds as their own systems booted up. I stood dead still. Ice coated my spine.

My grandma's dying words looped in my skull, her bony fingers digging into my wrist right before she flatlined. "Don't touch that damn system!" Right on cue, a cold, metallic voice scraped the inside of my head.

It demanded I bind to it. Now. I crushed the fivemilliondollar life insurance check in my fist and bolted. To hell with this rigged system.

I was going to buy a Cold War bunker, hoard a mountain of supplies, and see if I could live better than anyone else in this twisted doomsday game.

Chapter 1 Grandma only left me with one instruction before she slipped away: "Don't touch that damn system!" I opened my mouth to ask what a "system" even was, but she had already exhaled her final breath.

It had always been just the two of us. After the grief finally settled into a dull ache, I spent days handling her final arrangements.

By the time I walked out of the funeral home, it felt like the girl I used to be had died right along with her. According to Grandma’s will, I was the sole heir.

She left me a fivemilliondollar life insurance payout, a vintage necklace, and a highend luxury apartment in the heart of the city.

For a broke twentyoneyearold student scraping by on tips and odd jobs, this was a fortune that could buy half the world. The necklace was something I’d never seen before.

It looked like a tiny, intricate clock, but when I clicked it open, a deep green emerald sat nestled inside.

I admired it for a moment before snapping it around my neck—a physical piece of her to keep me company. Gurgle— My stomach let out a sharp protest.

I hadn't eaten a real meal in days. Grandma would’ve been worried sick if she could see me now. But I was starving enough to eat a horse.

I didn't want to cook, so I headed straight to the corner drivein to destroy a double cheeseburger. I threw on a hoodie and headed out.

But as I walked, things started getting weird. I could hear what people were thinking. The moment I took the necklace off, the voices vanished.

When I put it back on, the world became a chaotic radio station.

A guy was walking toward the apartment gates, his lips perfectly still, yet his voice boomed inside my skull: Are you really a system?

Immediately, a cold, mechanical drone responded: [ Yes. Doomsday Survival System.

Will the host activate? ] The guy suddenly jumped into the air, punching the sky and startling me so badly I nearly tripped. "Hahaha!

I've read enough novels to know my time has finally come! Activate it! Do it now!" [ Binding successful. Doomsday will commence in 10 days. ] "A doomsday system?

Does that mean zombies are coming?" [ Correct.

Host may now draw one free talent from the Newbie Gift Pack. ] I was listening, rapt with curiosity, when the guy suddenly spun around.

He glared at me with sharp suspicion, like he knew I was eavesdropping on his brain.

He flicked his bangs out of his eyes and licked the corner of his mouth with a smirk that was way too confident. "Hey, beautiful. Why are you following me?

Got a little crush?" I waved my hands frantically, my face heating up. "Get over yourself.

I’m just trying to get a double cheeseburger and some thickcut fries." I hurried past him, my heart hammering against my ribs. God, what a narcissist.

The weird voices faded as I picked up the pace. I told myself I was probably just hallucinating from the grief and lack of sleep.

When I reached the diner, the familiar smell of fried food hit me. Grandma used to bring me here all the time.

Everything seemed normal—until I took the first bite of my burger. [ Welcome, Host. I am the Doomsday Survival System. Will you activate? ] The voice wasn't talking to me.

It was in the chef's head. "What the hell was that?!" the chef roared, dropping his spatula with a loud clatter. The other customers jumped, staring at him like he’d lost his mind.

The chef’s thoughts raced: Wait… am I the only one who can hear this? What happens if I say yes? [ Binding successful.

Doomsday will commence in 10 days. ] The chef’s internal voice shifted from terror to a manic kind of glee: Is this for real?

Am I the Chosen One? [ Would the host like to open the Newbie Gift Pack to activate a talent? ] Open it! Open it now! the chef screamed in his mind.

Chapter 2 [ Congratulations, Host. You have obtained a CRank Rancher Talent. Once doomsday arrives, if every raccoon and wild boar in your city mutates, you will die instantly.

For every day they remain alive, you may check in to receive a reward of lowquality canned meat. ] "Are you kidding me?

You want me to be a bodyguard for vermin?" the chef yelled at the air. "What kind of trash is that? Cancel!

Give me something better!" [ Cancellation failed. ] The rest of the exchange blurred into the background noise of the diner.

I watched the chef’s face turn a violent shade of crimson. He gripped his butcher knife and slammed it into the heavy wooden cutting board with a bonejarring thud.

Cold dread settled in my gut. This wasn't a hallucination. It was happening over and over, to everyone.

Right then, that familiar, grating mechanical voice scraped against my brain again. [ Welcome, Host.

Will you activate the Doomsday Survival System? ] I thought about the chef’s pathetic "talent." Protecting raccoons just to stay alive? It was a leash.

The system didn't want to save us; it wanted to own us. Grandma knew. She had to have known. "No," I whispered, my voice steady. [ System cooldown: 24 hours.

Host, I will return in one day. ] It wasn't going away. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. If doomsday really hit in ten days, the world was going to turn into a meat grinder.

I’d seen the movies—zombies, starvation, people tearing each other apart for a scrap of bread. If I didn't have a system, I had to have everything else.

I needed to move fast before the people with "talents" cleared out every shelf in the city. I tapped my card at the register and left.

Usually, the chef would shout a friendly "See ya next time!" but today, he just stared at his knife, silent and broken. Poor guy.

His life was now tied to the survival of city pests. I pulled up my banking app.

I had the five million dollars from the insurance, plus a few thousand I’d scraped together working at the burger joint. Then there was my luxury apartment downtown.

Living in a highrise in the middle of a crowded city during an apocalypse was a death sentence. I needed somewhere hidden. Somewhere reinforced. I loved that apartment.

I’d grown up there, surrounded by memories of Grandma. But sentiment wouldn't keep me alive.

I opened a real estate app and found an agent with a profile picture of a balding guy in a cheap suit.

The apartment was in a prime location—rumor had it the whole block was slated for a massive redevelopment project soon.

I hit the call button. "Hello?" "Hi, I’m the one who just messaged you. I want to sell my unit. Quick sale. Three hundred thousand dollars, cash only." "Wait, kid, are you serious?

That area is about to be bought out by the city for way more than that.

You’re leaving money on the table." "Family emergency," I lied, my voice tight. "I can't wait." "Alright, alright. I’ll see who’s biting.

Cash is king, I guess." "One more thing," I said. "Don't tell me you have another one. My heart can't take it." "No. I need you to find me a place. Somewhere quiet." "Isolated.

Hard to find. My budget is around a million." A heavy pause hung on the line, followed by the muffled friction of fabric shifting. "Funny you should ask.

I just got a listing for a real piece of work yesterday. An old Cold War nuclear bunker.

Poured concrete, two levels underground, massive footprint." "The guy who owns it is desperate to offload it within the week.

Says he just 'awakened' as some kind of superhero and doesn't need a 'tin can' anymore." Chapter 3 "How much is he asking?" "For a straight cash offer, that idiot is only asking for 1.2 million dollars.

He’s acting like a maniac, just desperate to liquidate it." "I'll take it." "Lady, are you out of your mind? Buying this concrete tomb?" "I'll hand you the check in person.

Let's get the paperwork signed ASAP. I need to move in within a few days." "Alright, thanks for the business. I'll go draft the contract." "Great, bye." Talk about luck.

Now I needed to buy supplies and completely overhaul the bunker. Not just the interior, but the exterior too. It had to be camouflaged so flawlessly that only I knew how to get in.

Even the guy selling it wouldn't be able to find his own bunker once I was done. By noon, the contract was signed and the cash transferred.

I immediately hit up a private contracting firm. At first, the foreman balked at my demands, saying it was too much work for a short notice.

Then I dropped a cool four hundred thousand dollars on the table. Suddenly, he swore on his life they could finish it in two days. Money talks.

With the housing market crashing, these guys were starving for gigs anyway. I drafted the retrofitting blueprint. The firm had probably never seen a work order this unhinged.

Sublevel: Dig down an extra 5 feet. Layer 20 inches of crushed gravel, 12 inches of reinforced concrete, and 8 inches of solid steel plating.

Walls: Doublelayered steel rebar mesh, cast with 12 inches of concrete, topped with 2inch blastproof steel plates. Round off all sharp corners.

Ceiling: 12 inches of reinforced concrete, 4 inches of waterproof membrane, 2 inches of steel plate, and buried under two feet of packed earth for camouflage and loadbearing.

Entrance required three lines of defense. Line One: A 6inch blast door with a triplelock mechanism, preceded by a 15foot pitfall trap lined with steel spikes.

Line Two: GradeA fire door equipped with an audiovisual alarm system and highvoltage electrified fencing.

Line Three: Steel grated door with a keypad lock, nightvision surveillance cameras, and motion sensors.

Auxiliary Systems: 20inch bidirectional antiblockage ventilation pipes, triple HEPA filtration, and heavyduty exhaust fans.

Waterproofing: Triplecoat waterproof sealant, raised flooring, and ten sump pits. Extras: Two independent panic pods, ten emergency floodlights, and glowinthedark guide strips.

After I sent the specs, the foreman went dead silent. Half an hour later, he just replied with an "OK." Poor corporate slave.

The system awakening times must be staggered for everyone. If he had awakened his system already, he probably would have quit on the spot.

I spent the rest of the afternoon hitting up dozens of pharmacies across the city.

Thinking about the inevitable colds and fevers in a damp bunker, I cleared out shelves of Acetaminophen and slowrelease Ibuprofen.

Call me paranoid, but one infected cut in the apocalypse meant a death sentence.

I stocked up on trauma supplies: 300 packs of sterile gauze, 150 bottles of medical iodine, 150 boxes of waterproof BandAids, 30 latex tourniquets, 50 rolls of surgical tape, 100 packs of sterile cotton swabs, and 50 bottles of hydrogen peroxide.

I paused, staring at my cart, and wondered: what if I actually manage to survive in that hole until I hit menopause?

Chapter 4 I added more to my cart: eighty boxes of Naproxen sodium, fifty bottles of gentle medical wash, and eighty packs of Claritin.

Just in case, I threw in fifty boxes of menopause relief supplements.

Then came the heavyduty meds: fifty boxes of Nifedipine for blood pressure, thirty of Metformin, thirty of Dramamine, and fifty bags of glucose powder.

I topped it off with two hundred bottles of women's multivitamins, a hundred and fifty bottles of Vitamin C, a hundred bottles of calcium, and eighty massive tubs of whey protein.

Online, I ordered ten digital thermometers, a couple of upperarm blood pressure monitors, a hundred and fifty medical cooling patches, ten multitier trauma kits, and two vacuum cupping therapy sets.

For personal care, I ordered five hundred cases of maxi pads, twenty cases of overnight period underwear, and six hundred cases of toilet paper.

If the pads ever ran out or expired years down the line, I’d just have to figure something else out.

By the time I finished hauling the first batch of supplies into a rented storage unit, it was already 4:00 PM. My muscles burned.

I wiped the sweat off my forehead, taking it as a brutal workout. I could have hired a crew to haul it all inside, but that meant answering questions.

If any of them had awakened a garbagetier system talent, there was a high chance they’d lock onto my stash.

I rested until five, then drove straight to a massive wholesale distributor to secure the food. Everything needed to be compartmentalized so it wouldn't spoil.

I dropped six hundred thousand dollars right there.

The warehouse manager's eyes dilated, her fingers practically vibrating over the calculator keys as she tallied the massive order.

She kept trying to dig into why I needed so much, but I just gave her a tight smile and kept my mouth shut.

I cleared out their entire stock of fiftypound bags of Costco rice—a hundred bags total.

Then came eighty bags of highprotein flour, plus pallets of rolled oats, macaroni, and dehydrated mashed potatoes, piling up like a mountain.

I added a hundred cases of ramen, a hundred and fifty cases of selfheating rice meals, three hundred boxes of chocolateflavored emergency ration bars, and a hundred boxes of freezedried congee.

For longterm staples, I grabbed fifty sacks of dehydrated rice, another hundred and fifty bags of instant oats, and three hundred vacuumsealed packs of pasta. Next was the meat.

Six hundred cans of Spam, four hundred vacuumsealed packs of cured ham, four hundred bags of lowsodium beef jerky, three hundred cans each of tuna and sardines, and two hundred cans of skinless chicken breast.

For greens, I ordered five hundred bags of mixed dehydrated vegetables, four hundred cans of assorted veggies, three hundred cans of mushrooms, three hundred jars of fermented bean curd, a hundred and fifty bags of dried tofu skin, and three thousand vacuumsealed boiled eggs.

I didn't stop there.

One hundred and twenty jugs of soybean oil, eighty jugs of peanut oil, fifty large bottles of olive oil, three hundred bags of noniodized salt, a hundred and fifty bags of white sugar, ten bulk bags of star anise and spices, two hundred boxes of dark chocolate, and two hundred bags of mixed nuts.

I bought eight hundred cases of bottled water, five hundred fivegallon water jugs, three water dispensers with thirty replacement filters, two hundred bags of whole milk powder, eighty boxes of instant coffee, fifty boxes of tea bags, a hundred bags of brown sugar, and fifty large jars of honey.

I went back online and dropped another hundred and fifty thousand strictly on water storage.

Another eight hundred cases of 16ounce water bottles, a hundred foodgrade portable onegallon jugs, and eighty massive 25gallon PE water storage tanks.

I threw in three heavyduty household water purifiers, three hundred bottles of water purification tablets, ten UV sterilization lamps, twenty portable water filters, and fifty boxes of water quality testing strips.

The supplier swore she’d have everything delivered to the designated drop zone in exactly three days. Chapter 5 I dropped fifty grand on books, notebooks, and pens.

To kill time and keep my sanity, I planned to write a diary entry every single day.

I stacked up fifty comfort reads, thirty selfhelp books, a hundred graphic novels, twenty craft books, and fifty classics.

Added to that were a few copies of basic pharmacology, circuit repair, food preservation, and psychological first aid.

I threw in a thousand plain notebooks, two thousand ballpoint pens, markers, paintbrushes, acrylics, pencils, and erasers.

Then I swept through outdoor outfitters and the underground market.

I hit up the hardware stores and placed a massive online order, dropping three hundred thousand on ten stainless steel cleavers, five militarygrade hunting knives, twenty multitools, and ten utility blades.

I loaded up on three hundred windproof lighters, two hundred boxes of waterproof matches, fifty magnesium fire starters, and two hundred boxes of smokeless solid alcohol blocks.

I grabbed twenty highlumen tactical flashlights, fifteen heavyduty lanterns, ten rechargeable emergency lights, and five hundred boxes of smokeless candles.

For tools, I secured ten complete screwdriver sets, five mini wrench sets, fifteen pairs of heavyduty pliers, ten lightweight hammers, twenty hand saws with fifty spare blades, ten cordless power drills, and five angle grinders.

I bought five 2000watt gas generators, a hundred heavyduty power banks, five massive portable power stations, boxes of dry cell batteries, and handcrank and pedalpowered generators.

I paired those with stockpiles of coal, gasoline, diesel, and kerosene.

For comms, I picked up ten longrange walkietalkies, five emergency weather radios, ten rugged backup phones with five spare SIM cards, and five signal boosters.

I finished the run with ten folding utility carts, twenty waterproof hiking packs, two hundred airtight plastic storage bins, thirty locked metal cabinets, and five hundred heavyduty woven bags.

That night, I lay on the stiff cot inside the unfinished bunker. Sleep refused to come.

I stared at the cold concrete ceiling for hours before I finally grabbed my phone and opened Amazon. My thumb just kept scrolling and tapping.

I furiously dropped another three hundred and fifty grand before I even blinked.

Chapter 6 I loaded my digital cart with a mountain of apparel: two thousand sets of thermal layers, three thousand pairs of underwear, two thousand pairs of socks, fifty basic tees, three hundred pairs of heavy denim and cargo pants, two hundred jackets, four hundred thick puffer coats, a hundred waterproof windbreakers, eight thousand sets of pajamas, five hundred pairs of slides, a hundred pairs of rugged hiking boots, and a hundred pairs of rain boots.

Next came the toiletries.

I added six hundred tubes of toothpaste, a hundred toothbrushes, four hundred bottles each of shampoo and body wash, five hundred bars of soap, and two hundred packs of disposable face towels.

For hygiene, I grabbed five thousand packs of daytime pads, three thousand overnight pads, and two thousand panty liners.

I threw in a thousand bottles each of makeup remover and facial cleanser, two thousand jars of moisturizer, hand cream, and lip balm, plus fifty highend women's razors with two hundred replacement cartridges.

I was a massive foodie, so I didn't hold back on the kitchen gear.

I ordered thirty heavyduty woks, ten massive stockpots, twenty pressure cookers, ten nonstick skillets, twenty sets of spatulas and ladles, two thousand bowls and plates, five hundred sets of silverware and chopsticks, fifty thermoses, twenty solid cutting boards, five hundred dish sponges, and two hundred bottles of dish soap.

For the living quarters, I secured fifty moistureproof mattresses, twenty heavy cotton quilts, twenty down comforters, five hundred pillows, a hundred sets of bedsheets and duvet covers, a hundred folding cots, twenty sets of folding tables and chairs, five plush couches, and thirty bookshelves.

For maintenance, I snagged fifty mops, fifty broom and dustpan sets, a hundred trash cans, two thousand rolls of heavyduty garbage bags, and two thousand bottles of bleach.

By the time I finished checking out, it was the dead of night. I hit the pillow and passed out hard. A dreamless sleep. Day two hit.

I realized that surviving the apocalypse meant nothing without fresh produce, and I definitely needed real meat.

I dropped fifty thousand dollars to set up an 800squarefoot indoor growing zone, splitting it into four separate chambers.

I rigged up six sets of multitier grow racks per chamber, blasted with a hundred and twenty redandblue LED grow lights set on a 14hour cycle, and threw in two heavyduty industrial dehumidifiers.

I just threw money at the problem and installed a topoftheline, fully automated hydroponic greenhouse system.

I focused on crops with ridiculously short growth cycles: lettuce, cherry tomatoes, and jalapeños. I also hoarded five thousand pounds of highyield seed potatoes and corn seeds.

As long as I had the climatecontrolled grow lights running, this basement would pump out an endless supply of carbs and vitamins.

I spent another seventy grand outfitting a 400squarefoot livestock zone.

I sectioned it off into a 150squarefoot chicken coop, a 150squarefoot rabbit hutch, and a 100squarefoot vermicompost bin for earthworms.

I wired in exhaust fans with active carbon filters, radiant floor heating, and nonslip tiles angled toward a central floor drain.

I bought thirty white broilers—twenty hens and ten roosters—along with ten sets of multitier wire cages, ten automatic water dispensers, and ten feed troughs.

For feed, I secured sixteen thousand pounds of cornmeal, a thousand pounds of soybean meal, two hundred pounds of crushed oyster shells, and fifty bags of livestock probiotics.

My plan was straightforward: feed them twice a day, dump the manure into the worm bins weekly, cull the older birds every six months, and pickle the eggs to preserve them.

Chapter 7 I sourced twenty New Zealand meat rabbits—fifteen does and five bucks. I paired them with twenty heavyduty plastic hutches, hay racks, and ceramic feeding crocks.

I stockpiled twentytwo thousand pounds of Timothy hay and eleven thousand pounds of highprotein rabbit pellets, planning to supplement their diet with scrap leaves from the hydroponic setup.

The protocol was simple: feed them twice a day. The kits would hit harvest weight in two months.

I’d keep ten to maintain the breeding stock and butcher the rest, curing the meat for longterm storage.

Next, I brought in ten bins of red wiggler worms, roughly ten pounds per bin. They’d feast on the chicken and rabbit manure mixed with vegetable scraps.

Every two months, I’d harvest the worm castings to fertilize the crops, and toss any surplus worms straight to the chickens for extra protein.

I set up a strict oneweek quarantine for all new livestock, a weekly bleach rotation, and secured twenty bottles of veterinary amoxicillin and thirty bottles of coccidiosis meds for the rabbits.

The bunker was massive, and the silence down there was going to be deafening.

To stave off the isolation, I hit a premium pet store and bought four toptier Syrian hamsters—two males, two females.

I dedicated a fiftysquarefoot corner specifically for them, setting up four oversized glass enclosures with plastic splash guards, dedicated exhaust fans, and storage racks.

I hoarded two thousand bags of wood shavings, five thousand packs of paper bedding, five thousand bags of premium hamster mix, and three hundred giant tubs of dried mealworms.

I threw in a hundred water bottles, twenty silent spinner wheels, ceramic food dishes, hideouts, a hundred bundles of applewood chew sticks, pumice stones, and sets of cleaning scoops and soft brushes.

Daily maintenance would give me a routine: fresh water and a handful of food per hamster. Mealworms twice a week. Deep clean and bedding change every Sunday.

I even penciled in thirty minutes of handling time every evening at seven. The females could breed at six months; I’d keep a couple of pups to sustain the line.

I added ten bottles of petsafe disinfectant and a full spectrum of smallanimal antibiotics to my cart. By now, my massive payout was running dangerously low.

I paced the floor, weighing my options, then pulled out my phone and aggressively maxed out every line of credit and personal loan app I could find.

I squeezed out another half a million dollars. Food was the ultimate bottom line. I’d rather take a bullet or get ripped apart by a mutant than starve to death in a concrete box.

I bought four massive commercial chest freezers to complement the bunker's builtin cold storage room. My meat supply was locked in