Global Fog Survival

Colin glanced towards the door, where two men stood: both were servants. One of them held a lantern, dutifully guarding the entrance despite the formidable defenses of the “Level 5 Underground Fortress,” which even a lord-level mutant would struggle to breach. They remained vigilant.

Inside the room, the soft, almost imperceptible sound of breathing caught Colin’s attention, and he shifted his gaze. Not far away, Sanna was resting on a couch with her eyes closed. However, the noise caused by Colin getting up made her clench her fists and open her eyes, emitting a bright light. Seeing Colin sitting up, she hesitated and was about to speak, but Colin stopped her with a shake of his head.

“Continue resting,” Colin said softly. He rubbed his forehead and took out a parchment to check it.

Number of people in the area channel: 377.

A “perfect” number, Colin thought. He remembered that yesterday there were 397 people, meaning only twenty had died so far. Soon it would be the fifth day, and many areas still had about half their population. The feared scenario of everyone perishing within five days hadn’t come to pass. Of course, the predictions of total annihilation on the second, third, or fourth days hadn’t happened either. But today felt different.

Colin checked the chat channels, both “area” and “world.” There didn’t seem to be any major issues. Even the “knocking” sounds were absent tonight.

“It feels like the calm before the storm,” Colin muttered. “I hope I’m just scaring myself.”

Despite still feeling exhausted, Colin’s brain had had enough rest. His fatigue was mostly psychological, and once awake, he couldn’t fall back asleep. Resigned, he got up, washed his face, lit a lantern, and sat down at a solid wood table to organize and summarize the knowledge and clues about “major and minor miracles” and other related information.

In the lantern’s light, Colin’s face was focused, his eyes reflecting the flickering flame. He was increasingly reluctant to stop his mind from working. Even though he felt very tired and wished he could sleep comfortably for a whole day, he couldn’t afford to stop thinking.

In this decaying world, the more he touched upon the deepest “information” with his “hints,” the more despairing the feedback became. The “countdown” was despairing, the “sanctions” were despairing, the “gray fog” was despairing, and even the so-called “miracles” were despairing. In this world rotten to its core, nothing could bring peace of mind. He couldn’t see a future.

“No, it’s not the time to think about these things. Focus on the path ahead,” Colin reminded himself, taking deep breaths and trying to clear his chaotic mind. He needed to ensure the knowledge he spread wouldn’t cause a terrible reaction, attract the system’s “attention,” or provoke “sanctions.”

After a long time, he finished organizing the information and sent it to someone in a secondary territory, instructing them to spread it in the world channel at dawn. To avoid issues, the person spreading the information had to be prepared to die, posting alone in a secondary territory. Once an “attention” incident occurred, an entire small area would be affected, something previously unknown but now confirmed by Russell. Preparation was crucial to avoid mass deaths.

“If the ‘sanctions’ system acts up again, the next victims will likely be those who tried to send information, failed, and barely escaped the ‘hunt’ due to insufficient inspiration,” Colin thought. The “sanctions” hadn’t spared the “previous generation” of survivors; anyone under “attention” might face death in the future. This “future” wasn’t far off, which is why Russell claimed he had lost everything and was just waiting to die.

“Speaking of which, the previous generation obtained a lot of resources, but many were like ‘clothing-bombs,’” Colin recalled Russell’s words. Their generation had a vast array of firearms, including large-caliber grenade launchers and level 4 war chariots, making them nearly invincible. But when the system malfunctioned on the thirty-something day and “special disasters” struck, their ammunition ran out. The system stopped issuing ammo, rendering their advanced weapons useless, mere “scrap metal.”

Without belonging to their technology and without the basic knowledge to even create “black powder,” coupled with internal strife, many survivors chose to flee. By the last three days of the countdown, Russell and a dozen others, with their servants, escaped to this unknown land, only to find they couldn’t escape. When the countdown ended, their system became completely unusable, cutting them off from the outside world.

Thus, the “Gondor” civilization collapsed in a practical sense, surviving in name only. Colin couldn’t help but think, if they had focused on studying this world, rebuilding their technology, and developing their civilization’s plasma-based technology, would things have been different? Even if they had collapsed to this point, they would still have some resistance. But unless history could be rewritten, this question remained unanswered due to countless unknown factors. So Colin stopped pondering it.

He realized that every abnormal action by the system seemed like a cruel manipulation, filled with traps only regrettable upon discovery. “The firearms were the system’s biggest trump card for them, ultimately proven to be ‘clothing-bombs.’ So, what is our biggest ‘trump card’?”

As he contemplated, Colin had to face this unavoidable question whose answer he knew from the beginning, filling him with despair and oppression. The answer was within him: the “hints,” the biggest variable for their generation of human civilization. Confronting this realization, a sense of invisible pressure overwhelmed him, making him feel an indescribable weight.