"How long has it been since I ate this full? I don't remember anymore." Azlan muttered to himself, his voice soft amid the dim silence of the convenience store.
Leaning against the cold shelf wall, he patted his now-stuffed stomach after devouring the canned sausages, chips, and chocolate he had collected. A rare feeling of satisfaction filled his soul that had been severely wounded by war and starvation.
"This is strange... Normally, a store rich with food should have been looted by survivors. But I haven't found anything unusual, all the goods are in their places, showing this convenience store has never been looted."
Azlan glanced at the shelves that were still neat, though some packages were dusty.
"Food is a valuable resource, especially in the post-zombie era. Truly puzzling..."
No longer troubled by hunger, his mind began to clear, and the oddity felt increasingly striking. Why was this place as if forgotten, as though survivors had simply passed it by?
"What actually happened to the world while our country was isolated by that cursed occupying nation!"
Azlan let out a long sigh, his memory drifting to the last moment on the battlefield.
"I thought I died from blood loss after being shot by a sniper when scrambling for airdrop supplies, but when I woke up, somehow I was already in one of the countries in East Asia!"
Until now, Azlan didn't know which country he was in. Not that he couldn't read—he could, but the letters he saw on food packaging, books, or billboards outside the window, all were not the usual Latin alphabet.
In his eyes, the letters from East Asian countries like Japan, North Korea, South Korea, and China, all looked the same: complicated lines he couldn't distinguish.
"If this is a joke, who is so bored as to heal a war orphan on the brink of death, then bring him to another continent to be toyed with?!"
Scratching his head in frustration, Azlan was filled with confusion.
Without adequate information, he couldn't conclude anything. Only question marks piled up, making him feel like a pawn in an invisible game.
"Haaah... Never mind, there's no point thinking about this mystery. What I must do hasn't changed, which is to survive! Not just for myself, but for my family who have passed away. I don't want our family lineage to end with me."
He shook his head to dispel those negative thoughts. Setting aside the unsolvable problem, Azlan calmed down again, his tense shoulders beginning to relax. He stood slowly, stretching his aching muscles, then began working efficiently.
He had decided that this convenience store would be his base for the time being. All life support needs were complete—canned food, water, even basic medicines on the back shelf—everything was here, and he didn't need to risk his life moving to another place that might be more dangerous.
To block the entrance, Azlan pushed an ice cream freezer in front of the main door, its scraping sound echoing softly in the silent room.
Not only that, he removed items from shelves he considered not very useful to him—like old magazines and stationery—stacking them into a makeshift barrier at the store's front glass wall.
"Huft... Huft..."
Azlan wiped the sweat on his forehead, his breath still labored after moving the freezer and heavy shelves to strengthen the convenience store's defense.
"Since this will be my dwelling place, I must know the ins and outs of its layout. If one day this convenience store is attacked by zombies, or other survivors looking for food, I can act in time."
Next, he began exploring the convenience store more deeply, his steps careful between the dim aisles, illuminated only by twilight filtering through the front glass.
He pushed a door labeled "Staff Only" that creaked softly, and behind it, his eyes immediately fixed on a simple small bathroom—rusty faucet and cracked mirror—as well as a room across from it.
Curiosity tickling, Azlan approached and opened the door to that room, the aroma of dust and old cardboard immediately assaulting his nose.
The room was packed full with stacks of large boxes, piled neatly like hidden treasure. Carefully, he opened one of the nearest boxes, and a thin smile appeared on his face when he saw its contents: canned food, instant noodle packets, and bottles of water still sealed.
"Good, with this much quantity, I won't worry about starving for several months."
Azlan nodded at his unexpected discovery. This warehouse was like an oasis amid chaos, enough to keep him surviving without having to go out too often. Then, he left the warehouse.
Next, Azlan found the staff break room at the end of the back corridor. The small room contained a simple table in the middle, surrounded by dusty folding chairs, as well as iron lockers for storing work clothes and employees' personal belongings.
The air here felt more stuffy, but safe from zombie threats. His eyes were drawn to a tear-off calendar hanging on the wall near the table, its pages still neatly attached though layered with dust.
With curiosity, he approached and checked the last date that had been torn off. His pupils shrank instantly, his heart pounding hard.
"This calendar stopped on December 12, 2029? How is that possible?!"
"Even though I don't know much about the outside world, I know the day and year I was living!"
Azlan stepped back several paces, his back hitting the wall, his mind spinning chaotically. He remembered his last day clearly: Friday, February 6, 2025, when a sniper's bullet pierced his shoulder amid the scramble for airdrops, blood flowing profusely before darkness enveloped him.
There was a four-year gap when he woke up, how could he not be shocked?
The world he knew had vanished, replaced by this alien one.
"Was I thrown into the future? Is this the future of this world? Well, that's not a bad thing either."
A few moments later, Azlan returned to his calm demeanor, though the trembling in his hands was still felt.
"Out of hundreds of countries, only a few support our country's independence, and even fewer take real action. Most countries just watch silently as if it's not their business. The UN is useless, condemning the leader of the occupying nation but doing nothing about it."
Old resentment surfaced again like a wound that never healed.
"Why? Why are only we suffering? In other countries' eyes, are we not human? If so, don't blame my apathetic attitude if this world falls into ruin."
Azlan knew his way of thinking was wrong; he didn't know there were many people who cared about his country's fate, but they were just ordinary people, their voices drowned out among the political noise. The highest authority was held by cowardly rulers without conscience!
Even so, it was impossible for him not to harbor resentment toward people from other countries.
No matter how mature he tried to appear, in the end Azlan was a fifteen-year-old teenage boy!
Without adult guidance, it was very easy for him to stray in the wrong direction, letting anger blind his worldview.
After calming his emotional turmoil, Azlan continued his exploration to the deeper back corridor of the convenience store. A simple wooden door at the end of the corridor caught his attention—labeled with something in foreign characters he couldn't read, but from the door's gap, he could glimpse furniture inside.
Carefully, he pushed the door open, and a small but comfortable room was revealed before him: a simple room equipped with a single bed with clean though dusty sheets, a flat-screen TV hanging on the wall, as well as a small table with a remote control and some entertainment equipment like an old game console and a small bookshelf.
"This might be the manager's supervision room for watching the staff, right? There's already a bed here, this will be my room now."
Azlan returned to the sales area in front, walking through the shelves with quick steps, looking for what he needed. He took a long feather duster from the cleaning shelf, a room air freshener spray that was still full, as well as other cleaning equipment like rags, a plastic bucket, and dish soap.
The dust and musty smell of the convenience store were already too suffocating, and he knew cleanliness was key to preventing disease in this post-apocalyptic world. With those items in hand, he began working to clean his room.
By the time he finished cleaning, the sun had completely set, leaving a pitch-black sky outside the window. The electricity was already out, but even if it were still functioning, Azlan wouldn't dare turn on the lights.
Any light could attract the attention of bloodthirsty zombies or other survivors who might be more dangerous, seeking loot like starving wolves. He chose the safe darkness, relying only on the faint moonlight seeping through the gaps in his makeshift barricade.
"So soft... The sensation is different from lying on a mat spread over sand or earth." He sighed as he threw himself onto the bed in the manager's room.
"The sensation is different from lying on a mat spread over sand or earth."
Many things had happened today, and he needed sleep to recharge his energy for tomorrow. With slow breaths, Azlan closed his eyes, letting darkness envelop his mind.