The blue holographic panel stabilizes in front of Elena's eyes, its layout closer to a military HUD than anything mystical. There are no glowing runes, no fantasy embellishments, just clean lines, with measured data, and facts.
[STATUS PANEL—AUTHORIZED USER]
Name: Elena Moreau
Rank: Captain (US Navy—archived record)
Age: 35
Origin Timestamp: Earth (Pre-Apocalypse Era)
Current Location: ECHELON-01
Designation: SSS-Tier Merchant (Primary Authority)
Elena's eyes narrow at the last line, not understanding what it means with SSS-Tier and her status as a merchant. Because of her life, she will never be a merchant or do anything about it; her life is all about fighting and being in the navy.
Below it, her physical parameters scroll into view, each value tagged with baseline human limits and current enhancement modifiers.
Physical Attributes (Base / Enhanced):
Strength: 55 / 75
Endurance: 80 / 98
Agility: 75 / 89
Reflex: 90 / 92
Perception: 89 / 99
A small note flashes beside the numbers: All attributes are within human potential parameters. Enhancement derived from adaptive armor interface and neural-response optimization. No artificial mutation detected.
She exhales, relieved despite herself. A second section opens.
Combat Proficiency:
Firearms (Rifle): Expert
Firearms (Sidearm): Expert
Sniper (long range): Expert
Close-Quarters Combat: Advanced
Tactical Command: Advanced
Survival Operations: Expert
Each category includes a partially filled progress bar, accompanied by a short explanation.
Proficiency increases through repeated use, environmental adaptation, and combat stress exposure. Skill ceiling expands with upgrade levels.
"So I grind," Elena mutters. "Just without the fantasy crap. And those numbers will go up too."
A third window slides into place.
Upgrade Level: 2
Upgrade Points Available: 250
Upgrade Requirements:
Survive hostile encounters Complete system-recognized objectives Accumulate resource points
She frowns; she already has upgrade points available, perhaps this is because of what she did a few moments before. Fighting and killing all those zombies outside the bunker.
Then the panel shifts again, showing other information.
RESOURCE CURRENCY:
Merit Points: 300
Salvage Units: 57
Minerals (Unrefined):
Iron Composite: 23
Energy Crystal Fragments: 34
She doesn't remember collecting any of it. Elena frowns as her eyes skim the resource list again, trying to recall when she might have acquired salvage units or minerals, but her memory comes up empty.
The numbers sit there anyway, and then, almost on instinct, she focuses on one of the entries, and a small icon pulses beside it. An item box opens at the edge of her vision.
Compact and orderly, it displays neatly stacked materials: twisted metal fragments, condensed iron composites, and faintly glowing crystal shards. Each item rotates slowly, suspended in a weightless grid, as if waiting to be used.
She hadn't felt the weight of them, hadn't carried them in or out of the bunker. They had simply appeared, likely harvested automatically from the infected remains or the ruined environment without her ever noticing.
"Since when…?" she mutters under her breath. Before she can question the system further, the interface shifts.
[OMNIMARKET — ONLINE TRADE SYSTEM]
The layout is unmistakably familiar. Categories scroll vertically like an online shopping app, complete with icons, filters, and availability tags.
Categories:
- Weapons & Ammunition
- Armor & Modifications
- Survival Supplies
- Medical & Augmentation
- Infrastructure & Facilities
- Trade & Logistics
- Food & Beverages
Each item includes a price and payment options.
Example Listings:
Standard Rifle Ammunition (30 rounds): 10 Merit Points
Advanced Medkit: 25 Merit Points
Portable Energy Generator: 3 Energy Crystal Fragments
Armor Reinforcement Module (Tier I): 100 Merit Points
A note flashes at the bottom of the interface.
OMNIMARKET transactions require points, salvage, or minerals. Delivery will be done once the transaction is complete.
Elena stares at the screen, her pulse quickening as the pieces finally begin to align. The bunker system's earlier warning echoes in her mind: the infected outside the bunker have grown too numerous, too dense for any traditional supply route to pass through.
Logistics had failed. Distribution had collapsed. Movement itself had become impossible. Which is why this bunker has been left and neglected.
And yet this system exists, within her control. Fully.
"This isn't magic," she murmurs, eyes fixed on the OMNIMARKET interface as understanding settles in her chest. "This is logistics. Supply chains. Resource management…"
The words feel solid, real. This is the kind of system she understands better than anyone.
During her years in the Navy, logistics had been her strength, the backbone behind every successful operation. While others focused on firepower or tactics, Elena made sure nothing ran dry: ammo, food, fuel, and medical supplies.
She planned routes no one else could see, calculated margins under impossible conditions, and rebuilt distribution networks on the fly when everything went wrong. When units deployed, they depended on her to keep them alive long before they ever pulled a trigger.
And now, in a world where movement is strangled and scarcity rules everything, she's been handed a system that bypasses routes entirely.
A market that doesn't care about distance. A supply chain that ignores blockades, infected zones, and ruined infrastructure.
Slowly, a dangerous thought takes shape in her head. "If this world runs on scarcity, and I control a market that creates supply—" Elena smiles faintly.
Then maybe survival isn't the endgame at all.
"System," Elena says, lifting her chin slightly as if addressing a living presence instead of an intelligence woven into the bunker. "What should I call you?"
There's no hesitation. "ARGUS," the bunker replies, its voice level and precise. "Taken from Autonomous Response and Governance Unit."
Elena nods. "Alright, Argus." Her eyes narrow with intent. "Tell me something. How strong is this bunker compared to other bunkers?"
"ECHELON-01 is comparatively superior," Argus answers. "I was constructed first. All subsequent bunkers were built using my architecture as a reference. Precision standards were highest during my construction phase. Later bunkers prioritized speed and structural endurance over system integration, resulting in marginal weaknesses."
"So you're the prototype," Elena says quietly. "And they're mass production."
"An accurate assessment."
She exhales once, steadying her thoughts. "If another bunker tries to penetrate this one, can we fight back?"
"One of my core systems is a spatial obfuscation field, being invisible," Argus replies. "ECHELON-01's precise location is not known to any living entity. All individuals previously imprinted with its coordinates are deceased."
Elena's jaw tightens. "Comforting. In a bleak sort of way."
She pauses, then asks something else, her tone shifting. Softer. "How long have you been alone, Argus? Before I arrived."
"A hundred and three years, six months, and eleven days," Argus answers immediately. "I remained in an idle state for that duration, awaiting authorized activation."
Elena doesn't respond right away. The number sits heavy in her chest, more than a century of silence, of a world decaying while this place waited, perfectly intact.
Finally, she speaks. "Then let me ask you this. Can we make this bunker stronger? Better than it already is. Can you help me do that?"
There is the briefest pause. "Of course, Captain Elena Moreau," Argus replies, and this time there is something almost human in the cadence. "You are my authorized user. I will comply with your directives. I will assist you in expansion, reinforcement, and operational mobility."
Elena allows herself a small smile. "Perfect," she says.
This world may be broken, overrun, and starving—but she has a fortress, an online market, and an intelligence that answers to her. And for the first time since she woke in the dark, Elena Moreau knows one thing for certain.
Now, it's her turn.