The Apocalypse Solution Provider

Chapter 22: Global Rainstorm

The weather forecast hadn’t predicted a drop of rain. In fact, the local meteorologists had promised a dry spell for the rest of the week.

Yet, the torrential downpour arrived exactly as Fu Qingdai had dreamed.

Su Jin’s throat bobbed. He closed his eyes, a dull ache throbbing in his chest.

This parallel world originally had so much potential.

The populace was settled, living peaceful, mundane lives.

Give it another decade, and they probably would have entered the Information Age, mirroring the exact trajectory of Earth.

But now, the board was wiped clean.

Opening his eyes, Su Jin let out a long, silent exhale. He lowered his head, his trembling hands mechanically resuming their work, stripping and wiping down the Silver Gun.

Only the cold, repetitive friction of gun oil and steel could keep the mounting terror at bay.

The night bled away, swallowed by the unrelenting storm.

The sun rose on schedule, but the world had been painted a sickening, apocalyptic gray.

Having sat like a statue for hours, Su Jin finally moved. He dragged his leaden legs to the window, staring out at the streets in sheer disbelief.

His jaw, clenched tight all night, unconsciously fell slack.

It wasn’t the sky that was gray. It was the rain.

In the dead of night, he could only hear the heavy downpour, but daylight finally laid bare the true nature of the storm.

The rain fell in suffocating sheets, crashing into the pavement like a shroud of gray gauze before swirling through the puddles like living mist.

Staring at the churning water, Su Jin felt a sudden jolt of electricity shoot down his spine.

Wait. This is a massive advantage!

He spun on his heel, sprinted out of his apartment, and hammered his fist against Fu Qingdai’s door.

“Qingdai! Are you awake?!”

“Brother, I’m here!”

Fu Qingdai, who had spent the night curled into a sleepless ball on her sofa, practically threw herself at the door.

Leaning against the heavy steel, she asked, her voice trembling, “Brother, what’s wrong?”

“Look out the window. Do you see the rain?”

“I see it. What about it?”

“What color is it?”

“It’s… just normal rain? I don’t see anything weird. Why, is something wrong?”

“…..It’s nothing. Just be careful. Under no circumstances are you to let that water touch your skin. I’m heading back.”

“Brother!” Separated by the reinforced door, Fu Qingdai hesitated.

“What is it?”

“Nothing… just, be careful too. Don’t push yourself too hard.”

Su Jin muttered an acknowledgment, stumbling back to his apartment like a man robbed of his soul.

The rainwater was a sickly gray. It was a glaring, visual hazard. If ordinary people could see it, they’d avoid it on pure instinct, even without a government warning.

That visual cue alone would have drastically slashed the Zombie infection rate, putting every military and law enforcement agency on maximum alert.

But he was the only one who could see the corruption. To everyone else, it was just a summer storm. That meant the board was still tilted toward total annihilation.

As for why his eyes were suddenly equipped with a supernatural filter, he could only chalk it up to some backdoor meddling by the company, or perhaps a hidden passive from his mask.

He’d gotten his hopes up for nothing. A complete psychological misfire.

Stepping back inside, Su Jin stopped by the dining table, glaring at the wire cage.

The white mice had finally settled down, huddled together in a sleeping pile.

The apocalyptic weather hadn’t triggered their survival instincts at all.

It made sense. He’d bought them specifically as a biological control group.

If the pathogen infected animals as easily as humans, any fantasy of surviving in the wilderness was dead on arrival.

A mutated apex predator’s nocturnal hunting instincts would make a human Zombie look like a joke.

His primary goal was to document their physical degradation, agility, and lifespan post-infection.

But he was in no shape to run diagnostics. He needed to recalibrate his mental state and get some actual sleep before handling biohazards.

Thinking of his makeshift lab, a bitter, self-deprecating smirk tugged at his lips.

He was a humanities major who sold software for a living. If someone had told him he’d be running virology control groups in a sealed apartment, he would have laughed in their face.

Shaking off the absurdity, he grabbed his binoculars and posted up by the window.

The storm was Biblical, but it still couldn’t stop the relentless grind of the working class.

Down in the courtyard, he could already see early commuters trudging through the deluge, clutching umbrellas and wrapped in cheap raincoats.

The deep gray droplets splashed against their skin, melting seamlessly into their flesh like phantoms.

For now, the pedestrians soaking in the anomalous rain didn’t show any immediate symptoms.

Su Jin lowered the binoculars, his stomach tying itself into knots. He stood frozen, running the variables.

A moment later, he cracked the window open, reached for a long-handled plastic water dipper he’d staged nearby, and thrust it outside.

He caught a shallow pool of rainwater, tapped the excess off the balcony ledge, and pulled it back inside.

The water in the plastic bowl was a murky, swirling gray.

He carried it to the kitchen with the care of a man holding a live grenade.

He strapped on two N95 masks and jammed a motorcycle helmet over his head before he dared to flick on the stove and the exhaust hood, setting the burner to a low simmer.

In less than a minute, the shallow pool of water hit a rolling boil and flashed into steam.

The gray substance didn’t vaporize. Instead, it separated, clinging to the bottom of the dry dipper like a dense, heavy smoke.

At the slightest shift of his wrist, the gray mist sloshed back and forth, moving like a liquid gas.

Staring at the residue, Su Jin’s mind raced.

He had no earthly idea what this compound was. Calling it “matter” felt like a stretch.

But he had data: it didn’t strictly need water as a host, extreme heat couldn’t destroy it, it could be physically contained, and it was bound by gravity.

After a moment of cold calculation, Su Jin stepped out of the kitchen, returning with a second dipper and two sanitized mason jars.

He scooped a cup of tap water and carefully poured it down the inner wall of the dipper holding the gray smoke.

The mist instantly dissolved back into the liquid, and Su Jin let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

Leaving it in a gaseous state was practically asking for an airborne breach. Diluting it back into water kept the threat localized and controllable.

He portioned the gray water between the two jars, stretched industrial cling wrap over the lids, and cranked them shut for an airtight seal.

He placed one jar on the balcony windowsill to bake in the UV light, and shoved the other deep into a shadowed cabinet.

With the samples secured, a crushing wave of exhaustion finally hit him.

He ran a final sweep of his lockdown measures, verifying every deadbolt and seal, before dragging himself into the bedroom.

Collapsing onto his side, he stared out at the relentless downpour, his thoughts drifting into a hazy static.

He had been running on pure adrenaline and paranoia for over twenty-four hours. If he didn’t crash now, his brain would blue-screen during a real crisis.

Faint, muffled cursing echoed through the concrete from the apartments above and below him.

He had no idea how massive this storm front was. He could only hope that the dry zones realized the threat and mobilized the military before the grid collapsed…

Drifting into the dark, Su Jin rested his hand on the grip of his gun and finally let go.

…

Two radios sat on his nightstand.

One was a standard, battery-powered receiver. The other was an identical backup.

The only difference was their presets: one locked to FM, the other to AM.

Suddenly, the FM radio spat out a burst of heavy static, the low-frequency crackle shattering the silence.

“This is… Central… Broadcast… Station…”

Su Jin violently jerked awake, his hand snatching the radio before his eyes even fully opened.

Gritting his teeth against the sandpaper sting in his eyes, he desperately dialed the tuning knob.

Through the wall of white noise, a cold, clinical voice broke through.

“According to the latest emergency bulletin from the Meteorological Bureau and the Global Environmental Monitoring Center: As of early this morning, anomalous rainfall of identical magnitude has been recorded on a global scale. Preliminary analysis confirms this is a worldwide meteorological event. The duration and origin of this storm are currently unknown.”

“…The international scientific community has formed a joint task force to investigate. No definitive conclusions have been reached. We urge the public to monitor official channels for authoritative updates.”

“To ensure public safety and maintain civil order, please adhere to the following directives: If you must travel, utilize maximum rain protection. Ensure all water and food supplies are hermetically sealed… All future updates will be broadcast simultaneously across radio and digital networks. Citizens are ordered to remain calm, act rationally, and refrain from fabricating or spreading rumors.”

“Fuck!” Su Jin hissed, clutching his head as a migraine spiked behind his eyes like a rusted nail.

A global rainstorm.

There was nowhere left to run.