Jessica Moore: "???"
Jessica: "Why… why are you giving me so much stuff? Oh—do you want me to sell them for you?"
Lucas Kane shook his head. "No. They're for you."
Jessica: "For me? These are valuable—why give them to me? I… "
She was moved despite herself. The last few days, trapped in a campus guard booth, she'd survived almost entirely on what Lucas had traded her—food, water, tiny lifelines. Earlier today she'd all but given up. Then Lucas had handed her courage again, as casually as passing a canteen.
Right now she was curled under the pink teddy bear quilt he'd sent her, equal parts warm and overwhelmed.
"Don't get me wrong," Lucas added. "They're not free. Consider it your sales commission."
Jessica: "Sales commission?"
Lucas nodded. "You help me move bows and gear; I cut you in. Fair deal."
Jessica: "Thank you. You're… very kind."
There was a small, irrepressible brightness in her voice—clean water, real food, a fresh change of clothes; hard not to be happy. She'd arrived in this world wearing a flight attendant uniform—pencil skirt, black stockings, heels—a disaster for fighting or running. She tucked those into storage and slipped into the women's sports set.
Jessica: "Wow—this is actually comfortable."
She giggled, then focused. "About buyers: I lined up quite a few more. The terms look good, but I don't know if you still have stock. And some who bought the bows now want arrows—how do we price those?"
"Longbows and arrows—I can make as many as we need," Lucas said. "As for pricing—your call. Today's deals were excellent."
Truth be told, Jessica had a knack for negotiating. A soft voice and steady confidence disarmed people; men especially hesitated to haggle a sweet faced girl down over scraps. Her closing prices routinely beat Lucas's.
He also knew weapons would churn like any commodity. He already had schematics for energy armor; as survivors grew stronger, more weapon and armor blueprints would surface. When that happened, bows would slide downmarket. For now—while everyone was still middling tier—this was the time to milk demand.
Jessica: "Okay, I'll run with it. Also—what else can I sell for you? I'm stuck here anyway; I can keep the line moving."
Lucas skimmed his storage, then opened a trade outline. "List these too:"
[White Heron Cigarettes]
[Skincare Kits]
[Perfume]
[Tents]
[Sleeping Bags]
[Fishing Rods]
[Outdoor Table & Chairs]
[Clean Sportswear Sets]
[Luncheon Meat Cans]
[Purified Water] (container required for portioning)
"That's the lot. But food and water only trade for Energy Crystals or blueprints—nothing else."
The luncheon meat wasn't the same as the beef hoard from the container truck; it was the 12 can starter ration the system had seeded to every survivor. Edible, sure—but nowhere near the taste of real beef, and too few to build a meaningful stock. Unlike instant noodles you could sweep from supermarkets, these had a finite ceiling. Better to turn them into crystals and free up space.
Jessica: "Got it, Lucas. Leave it to me. I'll get you top prices."
Helping Lucas in a tangible way filled her with quiet pride. She refused to be dead weight. Beauty without utility, especially now, only made you a burden—and burdens got left behind.
Lucas: "Good. Keep at it."
Jessica: "I will. And you—rest. Take care of yourself."
"Will do."
Lucas closed the chat, stretched, and turned to the [Bloodstained Diary] on his desk. One corner of the cover was dyed dark by old blood—long dried to a brown black crust that hadn't seeped into the pages.
He opened to the first entry.
May 17, 2012
The Federal Medical Council told everyone this is just a regular flu. Don't worry.
Herd immunity will handle it. Eventually it'll be like the common cold—part of life.
I'm no doctor, but this feels different.
Since when does a "cold" kill people?
Some are even showing rabies like symptoms—fear of light, fear of water.
I'm masking up, no matter what anyone else says. I'm responsible for myself and the people around me.
He flipped ahead.
May 20, 2012
The Draconia Federation started building high walls around key cities. No idea what they're thinking.
The media is mocking them across the board.
More students are sick. Even the internet cafés have open seats—no lines, for once. That part's nice.
The next pages drifted into personal minutiae. Lucas skimmed past them, hunting for the parts that mattered: the tells, the patterns, the early mistakes that had steered the world into ruin.