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Eight hours.
This hurricane disaster had already lasted eight whole hours.
Were the players being put in solitary confinement?
Her phone still had 94% battery, and she had a high-capacity power bank and a laptop in her bag—she definitely wouldn’t run out of power anytime soon.
But Su Xiao had no idea what was happening outside. All she could do was take out her phone.
Hundreds of messages buzzed non-stop in her chat groups.
She clicked into the four-character game group she’d joined earlier—someone had started a group livestream.
The video showed a view from roughly the thirtieth floor. Looking down, she saw several massive cyclones forming across from the building, swirling together in mid-air like an enormous sandstorm, seemingly about to twist into one giant funnel.
The person filming murmured, “That’s it. I won’t make it.”
Skyscrapers near the tornado collapsed in an instant, glass shattered, and the video cut off.
The livestream didn’t even last a full minute, but Su Xiao broke out in a cold sweat watching it.
The group chat instantly quieted down.
Su Xiao grabbed a tissue and wiped the sweat from her palms.
In the face of nature, human life was terrifyingly fragile.
The last message in the company group had been sent just minutes ago by Wen Ming.
Wen Ming: “Sorry, this safehouse is a bit small—it can only fit two people.”
Su Xiao looked at her own ten-square-meter safehouse.
Did that mean each safehouse was different? What kind of safehouse could only fit two people? A storage closet?
In comparison, her cellar didn’t seem so bad. At least it was spacious—it should be pretty convenient to stockpile supplies.
Unfortunately, no one had replied in that group for a long time. Things didn’t look good.
Luckily, Su Xiao was in several other groups.
In one of them, she saw someone mention taking shelter in an underground supermarket. They’d survived, but the exit was blocked by a pile of debris, and rainwater was flooding in. It didn’t sound good either.
This hurricane disaster wouldn’t wipe out everyone.
There were still quite a few survivors who hadn’t found safehouses but were hanging on.
Just as she was about to exit the group, she saw a new message pop up about safehouses.
Huang Zijian Handsome: “Damn, I found a safehouse in the subway. It’s a bathroom, not even two square meters, with a toilet! It says if the excrement reaches 100, I can move the safehouse. This is insane—I’ve never even seen a power system driven by poop in a novel before!”
Poop-powered mobility?
Wow~ This safehouse is kind of amazing.
Su Xiao had a bit of a cleanliness obsession.
For instance, she couldn’t even imagine relieving herself in the cellar. That would mean she’d have to share the space with her own waste.
No way. She’d just hold it.
Someone in the group responded.
Nine Billion Girls’ Dream: “At least you have a toilet! Mine’s a squat one. No seat at all. And worst part—I was halfway through when the bathroom turned into a safehouse! Now there’s not even water to flush! I’m literally stuck in here with my own crap!”
Huang Zijian Handsome: “Well, I guess I got lucky. My toilet doesn’t smell, and the tank still has water.”
Nine Billion Girls’ Dream: “Is the tank water clean? Can I drink it… I didn’t even have time to get a sip this morning. Got up and headed straight for the toilet. I’m dying of thirst.”
Huang Zijian Handsome: “What? You want me to drink toilet water? Are you insane? No way I’m putting my mouth on that!”
Nine Billion Girls’ Dream: “When you’re about to starve to death, you’ll even eat your own sh*t!”
Both of them were in toilets—one squatting, one sitting—and still arguing over which was better.
The tone of the conversation was rapidly going off the rails, but Su Xiao found it entertaining.
Until a girl appeared and pulled the topic back on track.
Little Ah Li: “Mine’s a treehouse. No toilet, but it has a special feature—it says I have a chance of finding one bird egg per day!”
A special feature?
Su Xiao recalled when she had been choosing a safehouse—the doorknobs came in gold, silver, and bluish-green.
They had looked like gold, silver, and bronze.
Could those be indicators of different tiers of safehouses? Did higher-level safehouses come with additional resources?
Just as she had that thought, a fourth person chimed in.
Ji Li: “My safehouse is a library. It’s huge—thirty square meters—with lights and a nice chill in the air. There’s a water dispenser, a toaster, food, and drinks.”
Su Xiao: …
Of course. So safehouses were graded after all.
Having money was enviable, but those blessed by luck were even more jealousy-inducing.
But the person quickly added a caveat.
Ji Li: “There’s a big downside, though. It’s completely visible—glass walls. During the suspension phase, any other survivors can see it instantly.”
They posted a photo.
Sure enough, it was a glass-walled library. Outside the transparent walls, a crowd had gathered, banging relentlessly on the safehouse.
Clearly, the place wasn’t very secure anymore. With the wind continuing to intensify, the building wouldn’t last much longer. The people outside were begging Ji Li to open the door and let them in.
Right after Ji Li’s message, someone tagged him.
Vast Sky: “@Ji Li Your safehouse is so big. What’s the harm in letting others hide inside for a bit?”
That one sentence made every player with a safehouse go completely silent.
Su Xiao took a look—this was a game group with 2,000 members.
How could someone dare say something so blatantly?
Little Ah Li: “I’ll create a new group. Only those who found a safehouse can join. Entry requires answering the last line of the safehouse instructions.”
This was a clear attempt to divide the survivors—those who had safehouses, and those who didn’t.
The moment she said it, she posted the group’s QR code.
Vast Sky: “You b*tch! So what if you found a safehouse? Need to brag about it? Treehouse and glass library, huh? Just wait! If I survive, I’ll find you and kill you!”
Even through the screen, Su Xiao could feel the rage radiating off him.
A moment later, Little Ah Li left the group.
All the players who had safehouses exited as well, even one who had remained silent—probably to join the new private group.
Su Xiao wanted to join too, but she had no idea what the last line of the safehouse instructions was.
Just as that thought crossed her mind, a notification sounded in her ear—
[Congratulations! You have successfully bound to Safehouse No. 6883649, Level 1.]
[Next, Xiao Mo will introduce the rules for using your safehouse. Please listen carefully.]
[Each safehouse has unique properties, with its own strengths and weaknesses. Your safehouse property is: Cellar. You may experience it in depth and provide feedback to the Apocalypse Game system. We will continue improving the design.]
[Upon the death of a survivor, their safehouse will either reset to an unbound state or be claimed by the killer. Please be mindful of your safety.]
[Finally, within your safehouse, you can summon “Xiao Mo” at any time. Say the command “Open Information” to access the detailed panel.]
Su Xiao took three minutes to absorb the manual.
So every safehouse had different properties, with their own pros and cons. That much had already been made clear from the group chats.
Which meant hers might be the only one that required oxygen replenishment.
If a disaster occurred that made it impossible to leave the cellar, once the oxygen ran out, she would suffocate to death. She would have to open the cellar periodically for ventilation.
Compared to others who had toilets or even bird eggs…
No wonder her doorknob had been just bronze.
“Xiao Mo, open information.”
Su Xiao spoke the command, and a blue panel popped up before her eyes.