Aron, who had been eating a while ago, had long since lost his appetite.
The situation had turned much more grim. The government had stopped sugarcoating things and was now bluntly encouraging the remaining survivors to gather at the created base for protection, which was located in Zone A.
Solara had no countries, only three borders of distinction: Zone A, B, and C.
Zone A was home to the most influential people in Blue Star.
Zone B was a place for the well-off, as well as the general hub where residents of all zones could meet. Before the apocalypse, it had been the center of commerce and business.
And Zone C, where Aron now was, held the poor, the lowlifes, the criminals. It was the most crowded, its population nearly two hundred times that of the upper zones combined. Which meant one thing: plenty zombies.
The orphanage he grew up in was in Zone A. But after faking his death following the failed assassination attempt, he had left. Getting a pass into Zone A from the lower zones was almost impossible.
To others, it was no different than claiming to own a dragon. The people there were mostly government officials and the extremely rich, the very top of society.
Aron's ability to live in Zone A came only from being born there. No matter how powerful a zone was, people were still needed to run and labor in it.
To go off the raider he came to Zone B were he discovered trading. A teenager with no job or source of income, yet somehow funding his trading journey, how he got the money was a question that need not be emphasized.
After mastering the art, he bought and passed numerous prop firm accounts, raising over a million dollars in profit.
The branch owner turned out to be Capra Capital Corporation (C.C.C). They had been monitoring his trades, and it wasn't long before they poached him into their company. After much pasuation seeing the vision of what he could achieve, Aron agreed.
At the time, the firm was ranked among the top 25. The moment they hired him, however, they were mocked fiercely, for recruiting an illiterate, a high school dropout.
Rival firms kept tabs on each other, whether to poach promising employees or to sabotage and drag each other down the rankings.
For Aron, it was his first time in the public eye. The pressure at the time was crushing.
He grew depressed, ready to quit. Demian helped him through those days, and before long, the two became close friends.
But after a while, jealousy and hatred began to grow in Demian's.
The reason was that he had been the prime candidate for the executive seat. But after Aron's feats, the corporation wanted to use the position to secure him and prevent him from jumping ship.
And to avoid suspicion of favoritism, the firm declared it a fair general challenge, whoever completed the mission within a year would take the seat.
At first, Aron hadn't noticed the rift between them. He grew trillions in profit, while Demian, though making nearly a billion dollars, monstrous in its own right, was left far behind.
Compared to Aron, it was child's play. Unable to contain the bitterness anymore, Demian confronted him, his words sharp with insult.
Truth be told, Aron couldn't blame him.
Demian was 47, about to retire in a year or two, the oldest employee among them all.
Even though he was already filthy rich, an executive seat was a dream for any trader, a Pinnacle feat a trader could achieve.
To have it snatched away at the last moment, and by a junior who had only been in office for a few years no less… no one could stomach that.
But Aron had no interest in the seat. His only plan was to raise the corporation to the top as gratitude for the chance they had given him. After that, he wanted to resign and retire with his wife.
That was what he came to do on the very day of his supposed promotion.
He hadn't told Demian.
Who would believe it? Who in their right mind would think someone would retire with the executive seat dangling before them?
To his ex-wife, he had wanted it to be a surprise, he had even bought an island for their vacation.
He had also prepared the words in his head to apologize to Demian, whom he regarded as both a mentor and friend, even though he didn't have to.
But that day became the most painful memory he would never forget.
And he would make sure to repay the favor with interest.
Now, in both lower Zones, the government's announcement was a shocker to say the least.
Telling people to find their way to Zone A was no different from telling them to commit suicide.
Because it was located in the middle of an ocean.
Even before the apocalypse, Zone A was reached mostly by plane, taking three weeks to arrive.
By ship, it would practically take forever to reach. Rumor had it that official used a private train that could make the trip in a week, but that was only hearsay.
The news comments were filled with curses.
"Damn! Are you toying with us? Even if we get a plane, aren't we going to starve to death before we get there?"
"Please, I'm still a virgin! And not looking to die as one. Hit me up if you're interested, regardless of gender!"
"You scums better be alive when the apocalypse is over, I'll show you!"
"We're all going to die."
Crying emojis flooded the screen.
People vented their frustration, some despaired, and surely some would resort to self-harm after hearing this.
With that message, the government had indirectly declared: Every man for himself.