Michael had always trusted patterns. In the military, patterns saved lives. Recognize the cadence of enemy fire, the rhythm of patrols, the gaps between supply runs those details meant the difference between coming home or not. Now, sitting on his porch with a lukewarm cup of coffee, he recognized a pattern forming again. Only this time, it wasn't gunfire in some desert. It was here, in Austin.
Across the street, Joel Miller was tinkering under the hood of his old truck. The man had a way of throwing himself into simple, physical work, like fixing an engine could hold back the weight of the world. His daughter, Sarah, sat on the steps of their porch, reading a paperback with one leg tucked under her. For a moment, the scene looked so normal that Michael almost convinced himself he was being paranoid.
Almost because in town, things weren't normal at all.
That morning, Michael had driven out to a local hardware store for some odds and ends another padlock, some nails, spare batteries. Nothing that would scream "doomsday prepper" to anyone watching. But the moment he pulled into the lot, he saw the change. Lines. Empty shelves. People buying water filters, medical supplies, anything that might keep a household running a little longer.
More than that, though, it was the silence. Folks didn't talk like they used to, not even to complain about prices. Their eyes darted around, restless. Afraid.
On his way back, he spotted a convoy of National Guard trucks parked along the freeway. Men with rifles stood by like they were waiting for orders. It wasn't martial law, not yet. But Michael knew enough to recognize the early stages of lockdowns. Contain and control. That was always step one.
He leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight, and took another sip of coffee. His system chimed faintly in the back of his mind a subtle, digital whisper.
[System Update: Civilian Instability Rising – Risk Factor 12%]
Not a quest. Not a reward. Just a fact. Cold, statistical. And twelve percent was enough to make Michael's stomach knot.
"Truck givin' you trouble again?" he called across the street.
Joel wiped grease from his hands and shrugged. "Damn thing runs when it feels like it. Figure I'll have her fixed before work tomorrow."
Michael grunted, pretending to believe it. Joel still clung to normalcy, and maybe that was his strength. But Michael had seen too much to sit on blind faith.
"You been into town lately?" Michael asked.
Joel looked up, brow furrowed. "Went down to the supply store two days back. Why?"
"Shelves are thin. National Guard's parked near the interstate. Folks are on edge."
Joel waved it off. "People panic easy. Some flu gets passed around and suddenly it's the end of the world."
Michael watched him closely, the way Joel said it like he wanted to believe it more than he actually did.
"Yeah," Michael said softly. "Maybe."
Sarah glanced up from her book. "Dad says it's just rumors. Some sickness in the city. They'll figure it out."
Michael forced a small smile. "That's good. Gotta trust the folks in charge, right?"
He didn't believe it, but Sarah didn't need the weight of his doubts. Kids deserved a little longer in the light before the shadows crept in.
Later that afternoon, Michael took a walk through the neighborhood. He liked to know the rhythm of the place the way Mr. Jenkins always watered his lawn after lunch, or how the Alvarez family left for church every Wednesday evening. But even here, the rhythm was off. Conversations cut short when he passed by. A dog barking at nothing in particular. Curtains twitching where they never had before.
At one corner, he overheard two men arguing by a pickup truck.
"I'm tellin' you, my cousin's sick," one hissed. "High fever, can't breathe right. They won't even let him leave the hospital. You don't keep someone overnight for the flu."
"Keep your damn voice down," the other snapped. "You want soldiers knockin' on your door?"
Michael kept walking, pretending he hadn't heard. But the words sank deep.
By the time he got home, the sun was sliding low, casting long orange shadows across the street. He grilled some chicken on his back porch, the smell drifting into the evening air. Routine was important. Routine kept him grounded. But he couldn't shake the unease gnawing at him.
His system pulsed again, almost like it could sense his doubt.
[Notice: Inventory Efficiency Suggestion – Secure non-perishable food, medical supplies, water filtration]
It wasn't pushy. It didn't scream danger. Just… a nudge. Enough to tell him the clock was ticking.
He opened his small notebook and made a list under the dim porch light. Rice. Canned beans. Iodine tablets. Extra ammunition. He wasn't going to build a bunker overnight, but piece by piece, he'd prepare. That's how survival worked not in grand gestures, but in the little things no one else thought about until it was too late.
Later that night, Joel stopped by, beer in hand.
"You hear anything new?" Joel asked.
Michael raised an eyebrow. "About?"
Joel sat down heavily in the spare chair. "About what's happenin'. Tommy called me earlier. Said there's talk of whole blocks being shut down in San Antonio. Streets locked off, people hauled out in trucks."
Michael leaned back. "Sounds about right. Contain and control. That's what I saw overseas. First sign things slip outta their hands, they bring the hammer down."
Joel cracked the beer open, foam spilling onto his fingers. "Hell of a thing. I just keep thinkin' I got Sarah to worry about. Kid deserves better than bein' caught up in whatever this is."
Michael studied him. Joel was a good man, but good men had blind spots. He wanted to believe things would work out because the alternative was too damn heavy to carry.
"You're right about Sarah," Michael said. "She deserves better. That's why you gotta start thinkin' about what happens if it don't work out."
Joel shot him a look. "You sayin' what I think you're sayin'?"
Michael didn't answer. He didn't need to. The silence stretched between them, heavy as the humid night air.
Finally, Joel sighed. "You always were the cautious type. I'll give it some thought."
It wasn't agreement, not really. But it was a crack in Joel's armor. Enough for now.
As Joel left, Michael's system flickered one last time.
[System Alert: Collapse Trajectory Accelerating – Risk Factor 18%]
Michael closed his notebook, the pages filled with lists and contingency plans. Patterns didn't lie. And the pattern was clear.
The water was rippling. The storm was coming.
And Michael intended to be ready.