Apocalypse: Purple Fog

Chapter 5: I Can Generate Unlimited Supplies!

Shirley Inr sat on the edge of the sofa, curling into herself to create as much distance as she could from James Lon. Her soft sobs filled the quiet room, punctuating the tension like the persistent drip of a leaking faucet.

She couldn’t quite grasp how her life had spiraled to this low—losing her first time to a man she deemed utterly beneath her.

"I can’t believe I let a convenience store clerk do this to me," she thought with a mix of regret and indignation as tears, full of stinging resentment, rolled down her cheeks. Her glare towards James sharpened in disdain.

James caught her look—a concoction of contempt and sorrow—and it irked him no end. He strode over, and with a casual cruelty, cupped her chin. "What’s with the funeral face, you wretched woman?" he asked, impatience lacing his voice.

Shirley batted his hand away and screamed, "Don’t touch me!"

Unfazed by her defiance, James pulled out a knife, the blade glinting like a mischievous wink in the low light. "Then get out! Leave my territory!" he challenged.

Shirley's eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and shock bloomed into anger. "You said if I became your slave, you’d give me food!" she retorted. The sense of betrayal stung more than she'd care to admit.

James responded with a sneer. "So what if I lied? What are you going to do, call the cops?" His words were wrapped in layers of cynicism as thick as the mist outside.

Faced with the harshness of reality, Shirley’s bravado crumbled. Her mind replayed images of her bare cupboards—devoid of anything except hope, which, as it turns out, was not all that nutritious. On the brink of desperation, she softened her approach, dropping her pride along with her volume. "Please… Please give me something to eat," she begged, head bowed low.

"Now that’s the tone I like to hear," James replied with a perverse sense of satisfaction, patting her cheek with paternal mockery.

As she huddled on the sofa, Shirley stayed silent, her dignity slipping through her fingers like dust.

A flick of James's wrist produced a piece of bread in his palm—like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, only less theatrical and more infuriatingly smug.

Shirley blinked as if seeing sunlight for the first time. Hunger clawed at her insides, urging her towards the bread like a slavering dog. But her advance halted abruptly as James raised the knife again.

"What… what are you doing?" she stammered, confusion mingling with fear, tightening around her like a noose.

James smirked. "If you want to eat, smile for me," he instructed with a patois usually reserved for dealing with unruly children.

Tears welled again, not of despair this time, but humiliation. Yet Shirley, this time resigned, forced her lips into a hesitant semblance of a smile.

James clicked his tongue in disappointment. "That’s worse than crying, honestly. Smile properly!"

Breaking, Shirley peered at him, exasperation turning her cry into a question. "I’m smiling! What more do you want? Why are you like this?"

James, with a flourish, lobbed the bread out the window, watching as it was swallowed by the Purple Mist. "If you can’t smile, then you can’t eat."

"No! Don’t throw it! Please!" Shirley shouted, racing toward the window with the desperation of a gambler watching his luck disappear into thin air. The bread had vanished, leaving only despair in its wake.

She turned back, eyes wide with helpless indignation. "Why would you do that? Why?!"

James turned his hand again, materializing another loaf with theatrical ease. Shirley’s eyes widened in astonishment and hope. "You… you know magic?"

James simply raised an eyebrow. "Do you want to eat?"

Her stomach knotted in rebellion as pride fizzled out, leaving only raw, carnal hunger. "Yes… yes, I do," she nodded fervently, attempting another smile if only to play the part.

"Smart," James relented, the word a tad benevolent at odds with his actions. He tossed the bread at her feet and said, "You can eat, but kneel and use your mouth."

Shirley’s temper flared, her spirit flickering. "No! I’d rather starve!" she declared, defiance sparking briefly in her eyes.

James simply pointed to the door. "Then leave. I’m not forcing anyone to stay here."

Her internal resolve wavered, threatening to collapse entirely. Tears welled as the cruelty of reality weighed heavy. "Why are you like this?!"

In response, James remained calmly indifferent. "Stop crying and smile for me—nicely, this time."

"You can’t make me!" Shirley cried out, even as the fight left her voice.

With a satisfying tear, James pulled the bread apart, letting its aroma suffuse the room, teasing her senses cruelly.

Her sobs became choked gasps as the scent hooked her senses, drawing her eyes to the morsel like a spell.

"Do you want some? Just kneel," came his command, laden with malicious intent.

Shirley hesitated, pride and need waging war within her.

Smack!

With a casual stomp, James flattened the bread underfoot. Her heart, too, felt the blow.

"My bread!" She watched in horror, feeling her own hope trampled alongside it.

James leaned, surveying the mess with detachment. "Will you eat it or not? If not, I’ll toss it in the trash."

Her last bastion of resolve crumbled, leaving a shell driven by hunger and despair. She sank to her knees, tears marking her path to the stained bread. As she nibbled upon what was left, shame heated her face more than any flame.

James watched, expression unchanging. "I told you—smile."

With pain and humiliation branding her soul, Shirley forced a smile that felt like another tear slipped quietly between sobs.

"Still ugly. I’ll let it slide this time, but cry again, and you go hungry," James stated coldly, as if discussing the weather.

Shirley forced down the dry bread, each bite like swallowing ash. Internally she cursed him but savored the bread’s taste. "He's a demon... But... this bread is delicious!"

In that moment, unknown to Shirley, the air hummed with a faint chime.

[Ding! Shirley Inr consumed one loaf of bread. 200 loaves have been returned and placed in the spatial backpack.]

A grin flitted across James’s face—one of triumph, not comfort. The bread Shirley ate was a duplicate courtesy of the system, mimicked from what Anna Karenina consumed. And, with it, a hidden cache: infinite supplies.

His once anxious survival prospects were now fortified with an abundance that defied logic. But James knew: one slave wasn't enough. It was time to expand his influence.

After Shirley finished her meal, her demeanor softened, fear still alive in her eyes, eyes red from tears but tinged with the glint of survival instinct.

A flick of the wrist conjured a bottle of water into Shirley’s lap, making her jump.

"Magic?" she asked, her voice threading awe mixed with fear.

He gestured to the water. "Drink it."

Though her thirst had been managed with tap resources, she sipped the bottled luxury, afraid yet compliant.

[Ding! Shirley Inr consumed one bottle of purified water. 200 bottles have been returned and placed in the spatial backpack.]

Sudden realization hit James: consumption meant infinite returns. Every sip, every morsel, was an investment with exponential returns.

To explore further, James handed Shirley a sealed pack of tissues, eyes calculating potential.

"Stop crying—you’re too ugly. Wipe your face."

Obediently, Shirley opened the pack and dabbed the tissue against her cheeks, but the telltale chime remained mute.

It seems non-edible items didn't trigger the mystical feedback. James puzzled over this new revelation, his strategic mind already gearing up for the complexities of his newfound power.