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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 36 : A Quiet Afternoon
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[Time remaining until the Great Freeze: 4 Days]
[Location: Arlen's Apartment, Floor 4]
[Time: 11:00 AM]
The heavy silence inside the cramped apartment provided a stark, comforting contrast to the frozen wasteland outside. The structural modifications they had finalized over the past few days worked flawlessly. The thick plastic sheets and layered aluminum foil sealed the windows tightly, completely blocking the harsh, freezing winds of the black snowstorm. The ambient body heat and the lingering warmth from the portable gas stove remained trapped inside the living room, raising the internal temperature to a manageable, stable level. For the first time in weeks, the air inside the room did not bite at their skin.
Arlen sat comfortably on his wooden chair, wearing only a single grey sweater instead of his heavy winter coat.
He stared at the screen of his battered laptop. He deliberately ignored the encrypted server client sitting on his desktop. He refused to look at the communication logs, the tactical maps, or the frantic updates from his followers. He forcefully pushed the thoughts of the torn sky, the cosmic white light, and the military mobilization far out of his mind. The heavy nylon rope anchored to the steel column in the back bedroom served as his final safety net. He had prepared his escape route. He had planned for the worst-case scenario down to the last detail. Now, he simply wanted to rest.
Arlen moved his cursor and clicked on an old, offline game folder hidden deep within his hard drive. He launched a survival horror game he had downloaded months before the global collapse.
The screen flickered, displaying the main menu of the game. A grim, atmospheric soundtrack played softly through the cheap laptop speakers, filling the quiet apartment with faint string instruments. The game featured a weary, highly trained agent exploring a foggy, isolated rural village in Europe, fighting off hordes of infected, parasitic locals. Arlen loaded his saved file. He gripped his plastic mouse, his index finger clicking methodically as he navigated his digital character through a dark, rotting forest environment.
He found a strange irony in his current activity. The real world outside his taped windows was currently dying from many factor. Apex predators and massive mutant hounds roamed the frozen streets, hunting any survivors they found. Yet, here he was, sitting safely inside an insulated concrete box, actively choosing to spend his precious laptop battery life playing a video game about shooting monsters and managing a limited inventory grid.
He opened the in-game inventory menu, staring at the grid of items. He carefully dragged a digital green herb icon over a red herb icon, combining them to create a full health restorative item. He sorted his shotgun shells, aligning the small boxes perfectly within the grid interface to save space. He moved a heavy magnum revolver to the top corner, ensuring he had enough room to pick up a key item later in the level.
The simple, predictable mechanics of the game provided a profound sense of mental relief. In the digital world, the rules were rigid and fair. A shotgun blast to the head eliminated the threat. A green herb healed the damage. A locked door simply required a specific key.
Arlen clicked his mouse, aiming his digital weapon at a pixelated monster lunging from the shadows. He settled deep into his chair, completely absorbing himself in the slow, methodical gameplay. The rhythmic clicking of his mouse became the only sound in his immediate vicinity.
Across the small room, Maya sat comfortably on the thick floor mattress. She had shed two of her heavy outer jackets, wearing only a comfortable long-sleeved shirt and a pair of dark sweatpants. She leaned her back against the wall, her legs crossed loosely. She held her smartphone in both hands, a thick charging cable connecting the device to a heavy portable power bank resting on her lap.
She used a cheap, rubber-tipped stylus to draw directly on the glowing screen. She opened a digital canvas application, carefully selecting a thin brush tool and adjusting the opacity of the black ink. She sketched with slow, deliberate strokes. Her architectural background translated smoothly into digital art. She drew the interior of the living room, capturing the exact angles of the wooden table, the portable stove, and the foil-lined walls.
Through her stylus, she transformed the cramped, taped-up concrete box into a cozy, stylized haven. She added warm shading to the corners of the room. She softened the jagged edges of the plastic sheets, making them look like thick, comfortable curtains. She drew a small, steaming cup of coffee resting on the table, a luxury they did not actually possess.
She paused her drawing and looked up, glancing across the room at Arlen.
He was completely focused on his laptop screen. The pale blue light illuminated his sharp features. The steady, rhythmic clicking of his mouse and the muffled, digital gunshots from the game speakers filled the quiet air. The sounds were mundane, completely devoid of danger or urgency. Maya watched his relaxed shoulders and his calm breathing. A genuine sense of safety settled into her chest.
For the past weeks, her life had been a continuous sprint for survival. She had watched her previous group die, she had nearly frozen to death in the stairwell, and she had spent the last few days afraid of mutant breaches and supply shortages. But sitting here right now, listening to this pragmatic man play a video game while the world ended outside, she felt a deep sense of peace. The trauma of the black snow and the frozen corpses felt distant. She smiled softly, looked back down at her phone, and carefully drew a stylized figure of Arlen sitting at his desk.
Two hours passed in comfortable, uninterrupted silence.
The laptop battery indicator suddenly flashed a bright orange warning on the corner of the screen. Arlen sighed quietly. He guided his digital character to a safe room, interacted with the old typewriter on the screen, and saved his progress. He closed the game application and shut the laptop lid with a soft click. He rubbed his eyes with the palms of his hands, feeling the dry strain from staring at the bright monitor.
A loud, hollow rumble echoed from his stomach.
Arlen stood up, stretching his stiff back muscles. He checked his digital watch. It was well past noon. He walked over to the small kitchen counter located near the front door. He inspected their meticulously organized supply corner. They had a decent stockpile of canned goods, dried pasta, and powdered seasonings, mostly gathered from his initial hoarding phase and the few cabinets Maya had searched.
He decided to prepare a heavy meal. He grabbed two cans of preserved corned beef, a large packet of dried egg noodles, and a small packet of synthetic beef broth powder. He placed the portable gas stove on the center of the kitchen counter and ignited the burner. The blue flame hissed to life, adding a small source of light to the dim corner of the room.
He picked up a manual can opener and clamped it onto the rim of the preserved beef. He twisted the handle, cutting through the thin metal with a sharp grinding noise. He peeled the lid back, revealing a solid block of pink meat encased in a thick layer of yellowish-white fat.
Arlen grabbed the small aluminum cooking pot. His usual culinary method was utilitarian. He viewed food strictly as biological fuel to maintain his core temperature and muscle mass. Taste, texture, and presentation held zero value to his mind.
Or not, he just doesn't know how to cook and just coping.
He planned to dump the solid block of fatty meat directly into a pot of cold water, add the dry noodles, throw in the seasoning powder, and boil the entire mixture until it turned into a hot, calorie-dense mush. It was the exact same meal he had eaten for the past weeks.
He raised the open can over the aluminum pot, preparing to shake the solid block of meat and fat directly into the cold metal.
"Wait, please stop," Maya said suddenly.
Arlen paused. He turned his head and looked across the room. Maya had placed her smartphone down on the mattress. She was standing up, looking at the open can in his hand with an expression of mild culinary distress.
She walked slowly toward the kitchen area, nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. She stopped a few feet away from the counter. She looked at the raw ingredients laid out on the table, then looked up at his stoic face.
"If you boil the preserved meat in its own cold fat with the water, the broth will separate completely," Maya explained, her voice quiet and slightly hesitant. She was afraid of overstepping her boundaries. Arlen was the master of this shelter, the man who planned their survival routes and managed the barricades. Correcting him felt risky. "The texture will become greasy, and the meat will taste boiled out and bland. It will be hard to digest."
Arlen looked down at the congealed block of meat in the can, then back at her. He maintained his flat, emotionless expression.
"Food provides calories," Arlen stated simply. "Boiling it ensures the heat kills any lingering bacteria from the canning process. It is efficient."
Maya bit her lower lip. She stepped slightly closer to the counter, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.
"It can provide calories and still taste good, Ren," Maya countered softly, gathering her courage. She pointed at the dry ingredients resting near the stove. "We have limited supplies. We should maximize the flavor of what we have. Good food helps with morale. I know you are very good at planning and securing our save. But I know how to cook. Can I show you a better way to prepare this?"
She braced herself, fully expecting him to dismiss her request. She expected him to remind her that aesthetics did not matter during an apocalypse, or to simply ignore her and dump the meat into the boiling water to save time.
Arlen stared at her for a long moment. He looked at the heavy aluminum pot. He looked at the cheap, powdered seasoning. He thought about the endless bowls of bland, greasy mush he had forced down his throat over the past month. He realized, with quiet clarity, that his cooking skills were genuinely terrible. He had survived on sheer willpower, ignoring the awful taste of his own rations.
And, he slowly stop coping that he doesn't know how to cook.
He set the open can of beef down on the counter. He took a single step back, clearing the space in front of the portable gas stove.
"Why not," Arlen said calmly, gesturing toward the cutting board. "Show me your method."
Maya blinked. Her dark eyes widened in genuine surprise. He did not dismiss her. He simply stepped aside and gave her the space to take the lead. A warm, bright feeling bloomed in her chest. She stepped up to the counter, her previous nervousness vanishing entirely, replaced by a surge of confident, practical energy.
"Okay," Maya said, her voice steady and clear. "First, we do not use the deep pot right away. We use the flat frying pan. Put it on the stove and let the metal get hot first. Do not add any water."
Arlen nodded. He reached under the counter, pulled out a small, cast-iron frying pan, and placed it directly over the blue flame. He stood beside her, watching her movements closely. He treated the cooking lesson with the same analytical focus he applied to barricading a door.
"Now, use a spoon to carefully scrape the solid white fat off the top of the meat in the can," Maya instructed, pointing at the preserved beef. "Put the fat directly into the hot pan."
Arlen followed her directions. He scooped out the thick, yellowish fat and dropped it onto the hot iron. The fat immediately sizzled loudly, melting into a shallow pool of clear, highly aromatic cooking oil. The rich smell of rendered beef fat quickly filled the small kitchen area, overpowering the stale scent of the enclosed apartment.
"Perfect," Maya smiled, her eyes tracking the melting fat. "Now, take the meat out of the can and slice it into thin strips on the cutting board. We want to maximize the surface area for the heat to hit."
Arlen pulled the solid block of pink meat from the tin. He grabbed his tactical survival knife, cleaned the blade quickly with a cloth, and sliced the meat into neat, thin strips with precise, even cuts. He handed the wooden cutting board to Maya.
She took the board and carefully slid the sliced meat into the pool of hot, bubbling fat. The pan hissed aggressively.
"We sear the meat first," Maya explained, taking a wooden spatula and pressing the meat flat against the hot iron. "Frying the meat in its own rendered fat creates a crust. It locks the savory flavor inside the protein and changes the texture from mushy to crispy. We let it cook until the edges turn dark brown."
Arlen leaned against the counter, observing the process. The sound of the sizzling meat and the rich, savory aroma rising from the pan triggered a sudden spike of hunger in his stomach. The smell was incredible. It smelled like an actual, home-cooked meal, a scent that belonged to the old world before the black snow fell.
"Next, we toast the dry spices," Maya continued. She picked up the packet of synthetic beef broth powder and a small pinch of dried garlic flakes she had found in the back cabinet. She sprinkled the dry powders directly into the hot fat, pushing the meat to the side of the pan with her spatula. "If you put the dry spices into hot oil for just thirty seconds before adding water, the heat releases the dormant essential oils. It multiplies the flavor."
The spices darkened slightly in the hot fat, releasing a deep, complex aroma of roasted garlic and rich beef bouillon. Arlen watched the chemical reaction with genuine interest. His utilitarian approach to food had blinded him to the basic science of cooking. Maya was utilizing heat and fat as specific tools to extract the maximum possible value from their limited ingredients. She was optimizing their resources in a way he had never considered.
"Now we deglaze," Maya said, grabbing a cup of clean, purified water. She poured the water directly into the scorching hot pan.
A cloud of thick, fragrant white steam erupted from the iron surface, carrying the concentrated smell of roasted meat and spices throughout the entire apartment. The water boiled instantly, lifting the browned, caramelized bits of flavor from the bottom of the pan and creating a rich, dark brown broth.
"Transfer everything into the deep pot now," Maya instructed, pointing at the aluminum pot resting on the side.
Arlen carefully lifted the heavy iron pan by its handle and poured the boiling broth and the seared meat into the deeper cooking vessel. He placed the pot back onto the stove, adding two more cups of clean water from their plastic jugs. The dark broth bubbled steadily over the blue flame.
"Now we add the dried egg noodles," Maya finished, breaking the block of dry pasta in half and dropping it into the boiling liquid. "We let it boil for exactly four minutes so the noodles absorb the flavored broth without turning soggy. And we are done."
They stood side by side in the small kitchen, watching the noodles soften in the dark, rich broth. The heat from the stove warmed their faces. They worked together seamlessly, managing the flame, stirring the pot, and preparing the plastic bowls. The tension of the apocalypse, the fear of the mutant hordes, and the anxiety of the future vanished, replaced entirely by the simple, grounding task of preparing a good meal.
Arlen turned off the gas stove. Maya carefully used a large ladle to portion the hot noodle soup into two plastic bowls. She made sure to divide the crispy, seared pieces of beef perfectly evenly between them. She handed one bowl to Arlen, offering him a bright, happy smile.
They walked over to the small wooden dining table and sat down across from each other.
Arlen picked up his aluminum spoon and scooped up a portion of the dark broth, the noodles, and a piece of the seared meat. He brought it to his mouth and ate.
His eyes widened slightly.
The food was delicious. The broth was incredibly rich and savory, carrying the deep, toasted flavor of the garlic and the rendered beef fat. The noodles were perfectly cooked, firm and coated in the dark liquid. The meat, instead of being a bland, mushy lump, possessed a satisfying, crispy crust that released a burst of salty flavor when he chewed. It was the best meal he had eaten since the meteor started falling from the sky.
He took another large bite, chewing thoughtfully. He looked across the table at Maya. She was watching him intently, her hands nervously gripping her spoon, waiting for his verdict.
"This is excellent," Arlen said quietly, his voice carrying a tone of genuine sincerity. He took another spoonful of the rich broth. "Your method is vastly superior. The texture of the meat is completely different. I was ruining the supplies by boiling them raw. I will leave the cooking to you from now on."
Maya let out a long, quiet breath of relief. A massive smile broke across her face, reaching all the way to her dark eyes.
"I am glad you like it, Ren," Maya said softly, her heart fluttering with a deep sense of pride. She began eating her own portion, the hot food warming her chest.
She felt useful. She was not just a burden hiding in his apartment. She had actively contributed something valuable to their survival. She had improved their quality of life. The fact that the highly capable, pragmatic man sitting across from her possessed a genuine blind spot when it came to cooking equalized their dynamic slightly. It made him feel more approachable. He was willing to listen and learn from her.
They ate the rest of the meal in comfortable, companionable silence. The only sounds in the room were the clinking of spoons against plastic bowls and the faint, muffled howling of the frozen wind outside the taped windows.
They finished their food, leaving the bowls completely empty. They worked together to clean the dishes using a small, heavily rationed amount of cold water and a dry cloth, stacking them neatly back onto the kitchen counter.
The afternoon progressed slowly. The faint ambient light filtering through the thick plastic sheets on the windows began to dim as the heavy black clouds thickened outside, signaling the approach of evening.
Arlen sat back down in his wooden chair at the desk. He held a small tin cup filled with warm, clean water, letting the heat seep into his calloused hands. He did not open his laptop. He did not check his notebook. He simply sat perfectly still, looking around the small, insulated room.
Maya had returned to her floor mattress. She was wrapped comfortably in a thick blanket, her phone glowing softly in her hands as she continued her digital drawing. She hummed a quiet, unrecognizable tune, her shoulders relaxed. The smell of the roasted meat and spices still lingered pleasantly in the warm air.
Arlen took a slow, deep breath, letting the warm air fill his lungs. He exhaled quietly.
A profound, heavy sense of relief washed over his entire body. He realized, with a sudden wave of clarity, that his muscles were not tense. For the first time in weeks, his mind was quiet.
He was just existing. He was experiencing a slow, quiet afternoon.
He took a sip of the warm water. The peace of the moment felt precious. He knew the world outside was broken. He knew the Torn Sky was glowing in the north, and he knew massive armies were mobilizing in the freezing dark.
But inside this small, taped-up concrete box, the apocalypse did not exist.
Arlen closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the chair. He listened to the soft scratching of Maya's stylus against her phone screen and the steady rhythm of his own heartbeat. He desperately wished this quiet, simple life could last a little longer. He pushed the thoughts of the apocalypse far away, allowing himself to simply rest in the warm silence of the dying world.
›› To Be Continue ‹‹
—KS