18 Floors Above the Apocalypse



In the wake of the apocalypse, memories are either as sharp as a cold blade or jagged like shards of glass. Everyone's scars bleed fresh, and some wounds never heal, no matter how much time passes.

Stella, not one to pry, carried a bucket into the house.

Everyone's got their own battles. I remember the first time I saw Miranda. She wore that same dress, looking all dolled up with exquisite makeup, preserved remarkably well.

She was fiery and jealous, but she stood out among the women, thriving like no other.

Now, still in that dress, she looked as if she had aged decades, her gaunt figure nearly unrecognizable.

They say time is a butcher's knife, but the apocalypse came even swifter.

Stella picked up a mirror and scrutinized her reflection, "Jasper, do I look much older?"

"Not at all, pretty much the same as always."

"You're just humoring me." She had passed her prime, yet she maintained her looks with an almost reckless abundance of expensive creams.

"You're only 29, at the peak of your beauty."

Having read his fair share of romance magazines, Jasper's emotional intelligence had shot up, "No matter how you change, you'll always be the most beautiful to me, forever the same as when we first met."

The way she looked when they first met? Forever 19.

Those were good days, the days of youth.

Stella gazed at Jasper, "Jasper, you seem older."

Jasper touched his face, from his early twenties when they met, to now in his thirties, they had both been at the best times of their lives. Sadly, the end of days had them focused on survival instead of normal couple things like dating, getting married, or throwing a grand wedding for her.

He felt he had shortchanged her.

"Do I look very old?" He never cared much for his looks, but her teasing suddenly made him self-conscious.

Hmm, he hadn't shaved in days; he'd probably end up pricking her face that night.

Stella smiled, "It's okay, you look more mature and steady."

A touch of the wear of time added to the charisma of a man in his thirties.

Such a man was even more attractive.

Their eyes met, brimming with tenderness.

Rosie, feeling like a third wheel, pretended to look away while secretly turning Cooper's doggy head in the other direction. Shh, don't look, they'll notice.

Comforted by Jasper's emotional savvy, Stella boasted with less anxiety, "Your wife is the prettiest, happy?"

Used to the give-and-take of their relationship, Jasper replied, "Yeah, and your husband is the handsomest." They shared a laugh, inadvertently flaunting their bond.

Rosie had overheard Miranda's words earlier; Dylan had been separated from them.

She wondered how he was doing. He was her only friend, after all.

Rosie was worried but kept it from showing.

Stella bent over to inspect the purified seawater, "Is it really clean?"

Jasper was uncertain, "Maybe we should store it in Arcadia for irrigation and stick to drinking regular water?"

That was a given. Stella didn't fancy the idea of potential long-term effects from drinking it.

She trusted the base to ensure safety as much as possible, but who knew how many ancient viruses lurked in the ocean, and whether they could be fully eradicated?

After storing the water in Arcadia, Stella retrieved a light dinner from the Arcadia villa, waiting for it to cool in The Garden before they ate.

The villa's Arcadia was great for keeping things fresh, but hot food tended to lose its flavor quickly.

After years of disaster, survivors craved food instinctively, their sense of smell sharpened beyond that of a dog's – the slightest scent could be detected.

Following their lukewarm meal, Rosie didn't forget to wipe down the room to make sure no scents lingered on the furniture.

A knock on the door sounded.

Stella quickly tidied up the sofa bed and table.

Rosie, the drama queen, pretended to set up her bedding for the night.

Stella opened the door to find a ghastly apparition that made her instinctively reach for her knife, ready to strike at its neck. "Sis, it's me."

A familiar voice halted her.

Stella was shocked. The ghostly figure was Monkey?

Monkey had always been lean but now looked skeletal.

What a fright in the dead of night.

It was a miracle he hadn't been beaten to a pulp for looking like that.

Stella couldn't help but blurt out, "How did you get like this?"

They say time is a butcher's knife, but it only slices at the unfortunate.Exclusive content © by Nô(v)el/Dr/ama.Org.

Monkey had known her almost ten years, and she still looked so young

and beautiful, barely a trace of

me

on her face, like a rose blooming amidst the devastation.

It was hard to look away.

Separated from the villa district, it hadn't even been a year, and yet it felt like centuries.

Hearing his sister's concerned voice, Monkey couldn't hold back the tears, his voice choked up, "Sis."

His only sister.

Stella stepped aside to let him in, "Why the tears? Man up."

Monkey couldn't help it; it had been too long since he'd seen a familiar face, and the memories overwhelmed him.

When old friends meet, they naturally catch up, all seated on the floor.

The room was bare, and Stella explained, "Just got here today, haven't had a chance to settle in. What are you up to now?"

Monkey was whipped by his wife, no matter how hard his own life, he wished he could give her his all.

And now, with Miranda looking skeletal, it was evident Monkey had hit rock bottom.

Monkey was a mix of emotions, "Sis, I'm back to my old tricks."

The satellite crash into Mount Greenwood came suddenly. The boss had lots of goods that couldn't be turned into food and had to be abandoned. They followed the boss, evacuating Griffith with their supplies, only to hit a dust storm midway, losing more than half their goods and suffering injuries. Their vehicle broke down, and delays in healing cost them time. The main force eventually caught up.

So, they joined the government in settling at the official Goldbridge base.

Resources dwindled along the way, and after submitting the required food to enter the base, they had little left.

But the boss was clever, and they were all seasoned middlemen. Even with few goods, they believed they'd bounce back.

However, the official base was a complex web of power, with protectors in every industry.

Arriving late, they stepped on toes and faced malicious retaliation.

The boss swallowed his pride and worked hard to establish connections. Just as they were ready to thrive, the tectonic clash occurred.

The retreat was chaotic, with multiple stampedes.

Protecting his wife and child, Monkey only realized the boss and others were missing after reaching safety.

The family, tagging along with a caravan of fellow wanderers, counted their blessings when they finally boarded the Goldbridge fleet.

It was the dawn of hope, yet the onset of a looming nightmare.

The ship was crowded, a sea of people with scarce provisions. The cramped conditions left no room for a breath of freedom, not even

as if

enough space to turn and ne

trapped inside a sardine

cano

Monkey was crafty, a real street-smart kid, and Miranda-she was tough as nails. During the chaos of their escape, they had managed to stash away a good stockpile of supplies...