Apocalypse Trader: From Junk Stocks to Survivor King

The world changed overnight. No one knew why, no one saw it coming. But I knew. The stocks in my phone—every single one—would transform into tangible objects when the apocalypse arrived. In my previous life, I hesitated. I liquidated everything, sold off every holding in a panic. I froze, huddled in my tiny apartment, waiting for the end—and died. Cold, alone, and utterly unprepared. This time, I wouldn’t repeat my mistakes. This time, I held a portfolio of the world’s least favored stocks, those everyone scoffed at, derided, or outright ignored. When the global collapse hit—zombies roaming the streets and the cold freezing the living—I would be ready. This time, I would take back everything that was mine. The small glow of my phone cut through the darkness. The financial app’s screen was a map of death: red tickers flashing endlessly, stocks plunging in rapid succession, like a countdown to doom. Outside, the winter wind slammed against the glass, screaming through the cracks of my barely closed window. A shiver raced down my spine, but it wasn’t the cold that made me tremble. “Lin Ye, are you insane? You put all our parents’ savings into these… and you even took loans? These are junk stocks, not even institutions touch them. Are you trying to bankrupt yourself?” A string of messages from my childhood friend Zhou Peng flooded my screen, voice notes full of frantic urgency and worry. I didn’t answer. My fingers hovered over the portfolio. Glacier Construction, Wasteland Canned Foods, Military Emergency, Spark Fuel. Each stock a recent disaster, reviews full of ridicule, every comment a warning. In my last life, this exact moment had been the tipping point. Ten minutes later, the lights went out worldwide, temperatures dropped, and the undead surged into the streets. My fingers gripped the phone, knuckles whitening. Sweat pooled in my palms, dampening the screen. The apartment was tiny, barely more than ten square meters, corners cluttered with empty cardboard boxes—my preparations. In ten minutes, the codes on this screen would materialize. Food, clothing, weapons, survival gear—the mundane transformed into the essential. Suddenly, the lights went out. Darkness pressed in, suffocating, every shape dissolving into black. Only the phone’s glow remained, a tiny island in an ocean of shadow. Outside, a scream pierced the night—not the wind, but human anguish. Sharp, fleeting, ending abruptly, leaving only the wet, gnawing sounds of flesh being torn, echoing through the glass. My stomach churned. Cold enveloped me, sharper than last winter’s frost in my previous apartment. The chill burrowed into my bones, turning every breath into white mist. Droplets fogged the phone screen. I couldn’t hesitate. My fingers flew over the portfolio, tapping “Redeem.” The secret was mine alone: each stock converted to its namesake survival item, and the more shares I held, the more I would receive. A flash of white light erupted in my hands—not harsh, but warm, comforting. In moments, my empty apartment transformed. In the corner, stacks of compressed canned foods rose half a meter high, metal glinting in the phone’s glow, the faint scent of meat permeating the air. By the door lay thick waterproof and insulated coats, military boots, their surfaces flecked with tiny threads. On the balcony, two diesel heaters hummed quietly, surrounded by sealed cans of diesel, faintly oily. Against the bed, a long alloy knife rested, cold and heavy in my hand—the first true assurance of safety. In my last life, I panicked, sold everything, froze in terror. I had nothing: no food, no heat, no weapons. I curled in the corner of my apartment as the undead screamed outside. Each second, the cold claimed me. This time, it would be different. The phone vibrated. A message from my mother appeared: “Xiao Ye, don’t be reckless. Sell the stocks. Your parents won’t blame you. Come home.” Followed by a missed call from my father. My throat tightened. Tears threatened, but I didn’t reply. I couldn’t go back. Last life, they had died trying to reach me. This time, I had to survive first. Only alive could I hope to save them. Outside, the screams grew nearer. Heavy thuds rattled the door—boom, boom, boom. Each impact shook the wooden panels as though they would splinter at any second. I gripped the alloy knife tighter, letting its cold calm me, suppressing the panic clawing at my chest. Then, an alert popped up on the portfolio: Unknown Biological Research. The stock, once at a dead low, surged dramatically. Below, a cryptic note appeared: “Redemption abnormal—hidden option triggered.” My pulse quickened. Just as I reached to tap it, the door cracked, and a hand—a rotting, bloodied, decomposed hand—pushed through. The stench hit me like a physical blow. Yellowed nails, darkened skin, a frigid touch reaching for me. I dodged, swung the knife. Metal met bone with a sickening crack. The black-red blood splashed across my coat, sticky and icy, the stench making my stomach heave. My eyes flicked to the phone: the Unknown Biological Research stock now offered “Redeem: Basic Zombie Immunity Serum ×1 or Unknown Gene Agent ×1.” Immunity serum? My mind raced. Just as I was about to select, a voice rang out—familiar, quivering. “Lin Ye! Open the door! Please, open the door!” It was Zhou Peng. My heart clenched. The hand outside still reached in, but now another threat—my friend—was caught between life and death. I clenched my teeth. It was a choice I would not hesitate over: survival first. I would protect myself at any cost. Only alive could I hope to save my parents, exact vengeance, and reclaim what was mine.