Tuesday

6:05 AM

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzt.

Ivan woke up in his usual way: groggy but conditioned by routine. He reached for the alcohol on his nightstand and doused his hands, the cold liquid a familiar wake-up call. He slipped on a pair of plastic gloves, methodically smoothing out the creases. The faint smell of disinfectant filled the air, a scent that had become synonymous with his mornings.

He grabbed his phone, expecting the blaring alarm that signaled the start of his meticulously planned day. Instead, a bright red emergency alert banner flashed on the screen, catching his still-waking mind off guard.

**Emergency Alert:**

All nations are now in quarantine.

No flights will be allowed to any countries.

Please remain inside your houses and wait for further instructions.

Stock up on essential supplies.

Avoid contact with anyone showing symptoms.

Report any unusual activity to local authorities.

Symptoms of the virus, identified as Sanguis Pathogen 7 (SP7), include vomiting, nausea, headache, and more.

Everything is under control.

Ivan blinked, reading the message again to make sure he wasn't still dreaming. The usual noises of the early morning—cars starting, birds chirping—were absent. An eerie stillness had settled over the city, broken only by the occasional distant siren.

He swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat there for a moment, trying to process the gravity of the situation. His meticulously organized world was crashing down around him, and he had no control over it. The news had mentioned the new disease, but this was beyond anything he had imagined.

Ivan stood up, his movements stiff with anxiety. He walked over to the window and peered through the blinds. The street below, usually bustling with early commuters and joggers, was deserted. A few people stood on their balconies, staring out in confusion, mirroring Ivan's own expression.

His mind raced with questions. How bad was it? What did quarantine mean for him and his grandfather? His thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock on his door. Ivan's heart skipped a beat. He cautiously approached, peeking through the peephole.

Mrs. Henderson, his elderly neighbor, stood there, her face lined with worry. Ivan hesitated but finally opened the door, keeping the chain latch on.

"Did you see the news, Ivan?" she asked, her voice trembling.

"I did," Ivan replied, his voice steady but his mind in turmoil.

"What do we do?" she asked, her eyes wide with fear.

"We stay inside, like they said. Stock up on supplies if you can, and stay safe," Ivan answered, trying to keep his own fear at bay.

Mrs. Henderson nodded and shuffled back to her apartment, her shoulders hunched with the weight of the unknown.

Ivan closed the door, sliding the chain back into place. He needed to call his grandfather. Grabbing his phone, he dialed the familiar number, his fingers trembling slightly. The phone rang several times before his grandfather's gruff voice answered.

"Ivan? What's going on?" his grandfather asked.

"Did you get the alert, Grandpa?" Ivan asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

"Yeah, I saw it. This is serious, isn't it?" his grandfather replied.

"It looks like it. Just stay inside, okay? I'll bring you some supplies later today," Ivan said, his mind already planning the safest route to his grandfather's house.

"Alright, boy. Be careful out there," his grandfather warned.

"I will" Ivan promised.

As he hung up, his phone buzzed again. It was a message from his manager, Vivian, in the group chat.

Vivian: Hey team, in light of the emergency alert, today's shift is canceled. Please stay safe and take care of yourselves. This is an opportunity for everyone to rest, especially a certain someone!

Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

Ivan couldn't help but smile. He knew that last part was directed at him. Vivian was always on his case about working too hard. The group chat quickly filled with laughing emojis from his coworkers, lightening the mood slightly.

Ivan walked over to his piggy bank, a small ceramic pig that had always been a symbol of his hard work. He pulled out some cash, his expression a bit tense. This money was meant to cover his expenses for the next couple of months, but with the quarantine in effect, he needed to use it for emergency supplies. He sighed, feeling the weight of his decision as he put the remaining coins back into the piggy bank.

Stepping out of his apartment, he made his way to the elevator. As the doors opened, he was met with a crowded scene. The usual calm of the early morning was replaced by a flurry of anxious activity. People filled the elevator and the lobby, all intent on stocking up before the quarantine fully took hold. The atmosphere was tense, with conversations in hushed tones and worried glances exchanged. Ivan squeezed into the elevator, his thoughts focused on getting to the store as quickly as possible.

Ivan decided against using the elevator this time. Instead, he opted for the stairs, his steps echoing in the empty stairwell. The noise of people jostling and talking in the elevator made him uneasy. He preferred the solitude of the stairs, a space where he felt less exposed to the chance of catching something from others.

As he descended the stairs, Ivan couldn't help but mutter to himself, Great. Just great. All that saving, and now it's going to be spent on this mess. The piggy bank, once a symbol of his careful planning, now felt like a heavy weight. Why did this have to happen now? he wondered, frustration simmering beneath his calm exterior. He felt a pang of disappointment. This money was meant to cushion his finances, not to be used in a panic.

When he reached the ground floor and stepped into the lobby, Ivan's anxiety spiked. This chaos is exactly what I was trying to avoid. The usual calmness of the morning had been replaced by a frenzy of activity. People pushed and shoved, their faces masked with a mix of fear and determination. If I'm not careful, I'll get caught up in this mess. Just stay focused.

Navigating through the crowd, Ivan kept his distance, his mind racing with thoughts of what could go wrong. Why does this always happen to me? he thought, his discomfort with crowded spaces resurfacing. The sensation of being surrounded by so many people made him anxious. Keep your distance, don't let anyone touch you. Just get what you need and get out.

As he moved swiftly towards the nearest store, he concentrated on the task at hand. I need to get enough supplies to last through this quarantine. No more distractions. His thoughts were a whirlwind of practical concerns and underlying anxiety, all while he tried to stay calm and focused amidst the disorder surrounding him.

Ivan maneuvered through the crowd with growing unease, observing a mix of people—elderly folks with weary eyes, young families clutching their children, and people his own age, all with expressions of anxiety and determination. Amid the chaotic scene, one figure stood out starkly.

A disheveled, homeless old man, whom Ivan had seen around the neighborhood before, was standing on a makeshift platform—a stack of crates and a battered shopping cart. His wild eyes and tangled hair gave him a manic appearance, and his voice rang out with disturbing intensity, cutting through the din of the crowd.

"The world is ending!" the old man shouted, his voice high-pitched and trembling with fervor. "Repent for your sins! The time of reckoning is upon us! The Creators are coming to judge us all!"

His words were punctuated by erratic gestures, his arms flailing as he spoke. People around him tried to ignore his ramblings, some with expressions of pity, others with outright fear. Ivan couldn't help but feel a shiver run down his spine at the man's frantic declarations.

People are losing their minds, Ivan thought to himself, his anxiety heightened by the man's unsettling presence. The sense of impending doom was palpable, and the atmosphere felt charged with a collective panic. He quickened his pace, eager to get to the store and secure the supplies he needed before the situation deteriorated further.

Ivan watched as store employees, their faces marked by exhaustion and worry, attempted to remove the homeless man from the premises. The workers, in their uniforms, approached the old man with a mix of caution and authority, their voices calm but firm.

"Sir, you need to leave the store," one of the employees said, trying to be as gentle as possible while maintaining control of the situation. "We can't have you causing a disturbance here."

The old man, however, seemed oblivious to their attempts to reason with him. His eyes darted around wildly, his hands still flailing as he continued his apocalyptic proclamations. "You can't silence the truth!" he bellowed. "The end is near, and you will all face judgment!"

The store workers exchanged concerned glances. One of them, a tall man with a rugged appearance, stepped closer, his voice taking on a sterner tone. "We need you to leave now, or we'll have to call security."

The old man's response was a mix of defiance and delusion. He raised his arms dramatically and continued to shout, "They can't hide from the truth! The Creators see everything, and the time of reckoning is upon us all!"

As the situation grew more tense, a few customers began to back away, their unease evident. Ivan felt a wave of apprehension wash over him. The scene was becoming increasingly chaotic, and the sense of dread seemed to seep into every corner of the store.

As Ivan stood in line, his thoughts raced, consumed by the urgency of the situation. What else could go wrong today? he wondered, trying to shake off the disturbing image of the old man and the mounting anxiety he felt. His hands trembled as he clutched his shopping list, determined to stay focused and get what he needed before heading back to his apartment.