Global Apocalypse: My System Is Always AFK

The problem, as Ethan discovered about a week into his accidental settlement-founding career, was that four hundred people generated an enormous amount of demand for things he had no interest in personally supplying.

Food, mostly. He’d promised nobody would go hungry, and the void inventory’s endless stockpile could technically cover it, but Ethan had never actually intended to become a full-time distribution center, and the mental math of ”how many crates of rice does four hundred people need per week” had started eating into his nap time in a way he found genuinely unacceptable.

He was complaining about exactly this to Suresh over breakfast — his own breakfast, safely separate from the communal supply he’d been quietly funding — when a familiar voice cut in from the courtyard entrance.

”I couldn’t help overhearing,” Priya Malhotra said, stepping into the lobby with the particular confidence of someone who’d already decided on her pitch before arriving. ”You need supply runs handled.”

”I need someone else to handle them,” Ethan clarified. ”There’s a difference. I don’t actually want to do the running myself.”

”That’s exactly what I’m offering,” Priya said. ”The Iron Wolves. We handle procurement, logistics, whatever you need moved in and out of the shield. In exchange, my squad gets residency inside the sanctuary.”

Ethan considered this, genuinely intrigued for the first time. ”You’d do grocery runs. For free.”

”Not for free,” Priya corrected. ”For the safest square footage on the entire continent. Do you understand what my people would trade to sleep somewhere monsters physically can’t reach? I’ve got fighters who haven’t slept a full night in a month. This isn’t charity, Ethan. This is the best deal I’ve been offered since the sky turned red.”

Ethan looked at her for a long moment, weighing the offer with the seriousness it genuinely deserved. ”Okay,” he said finally. ”But I’ve got specific requests. Not just, like, general food. I’ve got a list.”

Priya, guild leader of one of the region’s top surviving hunter squads, veteran of dozens of dungeon clears and gate containments, pulled out a small notepad with the focused seriousness of a soldier receiving mission parameters.

”Go ahead.”

Word spread through the hunter community faster than Ethan could have anticipated, and within days, the Iron Wolves found themselves with unexpected competition.

Anika Reyes showed up on the fourth day, offering the full logistical capacity of the Crimson Blade in exchange for barracks space in the building’s newly cleared basement. Meera Kapoor arrived a day after that, having apparently decided that whatever the Ashen Talon had lost in the Sunken Vein incident, they could recoup through sheer usefulness, offering her guild’s considerable resource-gathering network in exchange for a modest corner of the courtyard.

Ethan, faced with three of the region’s top guilds suddenly competing for the privilege of doing his shopping, handled the situation with the same casual efficiency he brought to everything else.

”There’s room for everybody,” he said, shrugging. ”I don’t really care who brings what, as long as somebody’s bringing chips.”

What followed was, by any reasonable measure, one of the strangest labor arrangements in the district’s short post-apocalypse history. Elite hunters — S-rank and A-rank fighters, the kind of names that had once commanded respect and fear across entire regions — organized rotating supply schedules with the same tactical precision they’d once applied to dungeon raids, competing quietly amongst themselves for the honor of fulfilling Ethan’s increasingly specific requests.

”He wants the spicy chips,” Rahul reported back to Priya after a particularly hard-won negotiation with a settlement trader who’d been hoarding the last case, ”not the mild ones. He was very clear about that.”

”Get the spicy ones,” Priya said, without hesitation. ”Whatever it takes.”

Anika’s fighters, not to be outdone, returned from a three-hour expedition into a contested trade zone with an entire crate of imported instant noodles nobody had seen in weeks, delivered with the same triumphant energy usually reserved for successful boss kills.

”For the sanctuary,” the fighter announced, presenting the crate to Suresh like a trophy.

”He specifically wanted the chicken flavor,” Suresh reminded them gently, checking the crate. ”Not the vegetable ones.”

The fighter’s face fell for a fraction of a second before hardening with renewed determination. ”I’ll find the chicken ones.”

Ethan, blissfully unaware of the genuine competitive fervor his simple requests had ignited among some of the region’s most dangerous people, spent his days in exactly the manner he preferred — napping, watching his avatar feed, occasionally strolling through his own courtyard to check that everyone was settling in properly — while an entire logistics network of elite hunters quietly reorganized itself around the sacred duty of keeping his snack supply fully stocked.

He noticed, eventually, that the deliveries had started arriving with almost comedic regularity — fresh produce every morning, snacks restocked before he’d even finished the previous batch, his void inventory’s food section swelling with a variety and consistency that had never existed during his own solo grocery runs.

”This is honestly better service than before the apocalypse,” he told Priya one afternoon, genuinely impressed, examining a particularly well-organized delivery of fresh fruit that someone had clearly sourced from a considerable distance. ”You guys are better at this than actual delivery apps used to be.”

”We take it seriously,” Priya said, with the flat, professional pride of a woman who’d led a hunter squad through dungeon clears and now, apparently, took equal pride in optimal snack procurement.

”Why, though?” Ethan asked, genuinely curious. ”I get the sanctuary thing, but you guys are treating a chip run like a raid.”

Priya considered the question seriously, glancing around at the courtyard — at her own fighters, finally sleeping properly for the first time in weeks, at the children playing freely in a space that had once been a genuine death trap, at the quiet, hard-won peace that had settled over an entire community because one boy had decided their comfort mattered as much as his own.

”Because you gave us something we couldn’t buy or fight for anywhere else,” she said finally. ”Real safety. The least any of us can do is make sure you never have to think about groceries again.”

Ethan didn’t quite know what to say to that, so he settled for the honest, uncomplicated response that came most naturally to him.

”Well,” he said, ”as long as you keep getting the spicy chips, we’re good.”

Priya actually laughed at that — a real, unguarded laugh, the kind she hadn’t allowed herself in weeks — and made a mental note, entirely unprompted, to personally double-check tomorrow’s delivery for exactly the right flavor.

Behind them, in the courtyard that had become, against every reasonable expectation, the safest and most functional community for miles in any direction, an elite hunter guild’s entire logistical apparatus continued humming quietly along in service of one teenager’s snack preferences — a genuinely absurd arrangement that nonetheless kept an entire settlement fed, supplied, and thriving, all because the alternative was simply too valuable to risk losing.