Apocalypse: I Raised the Ultimate Antagonist from Scratch

The damp chill of the mountain thaw hung heavy in the narrow corridors of the secondary depot. Outside the thickwalls, the steady, rhythmic dripping of melting ice echoed down the drainage shafts—a persistent reminder of the hazardous world shifting on the surface above. But inside the small auxiliary storage room near the intake chamber, the air was still and silent.

Song Yan stood near the worn wooden desk, leaning against its edge as he took a slow breath. His eyes fixed on the latch of the heavy iron door, processing the weight of what Guo Jiong had revealed.

”We keep this strictly between the two of us for now,” Song Yan said, his voice dropping to a calm, practical tone. ”The civilian families in this depot are already stressed enough by the recent blackout and rising water levels outside. The last thing anyone needs is wild rumors circulating around. She’s still recovering from a severe head injury, Guo Jiong. Her memory is completely blank.”

Guo Jiong nodded slowly, the guarded tension in his posture softened, replaced by a quiet solemnity.

”I understand,” Guo Jiong replied, his voice barely louder than the hum of the distant ventilation fans. ”I’m not looking to cause a scene, and I certainly don’t want to push her for anything. I just needed you to know, Song Yan. She saved my daughter’s life back in the village when everyone thought the fever would take her, and today she kept our entire sector from suffocating in the dark.”

Guo Jiong paused, rubbing his jaw. He looked up at Song Yan with a firm, decisive glint in his eyes. ”Wait here for a minute. Don’t leave yet.”

Before Song Yan could ask, Guo Jiong pulled open the door and stepped briskly out into the hallway, his boots echoing against the concrete floor.

Song Yan stayed in the quiet storage room, folding his arms across his chest as he organized his thoughts. He knew how delicate this situation was.

Lin Qing had woken up in their medical wing with no recollection of her past, her name, or her origins. Dumping a dramatic story on an amnesiac survivor could easily backfire, triggering unnecessary anxiety or distrust. It needed to be handled with care, honesty, and absolute calm.

A minute later, the door swung open again. Guo Jiong re-entered carrying two items tucked under his arm: a thick, clean fleece blanket—one reserved strictly for senior staff during extreme cold snaps—and a small, neatly folded paper packet.

He placed them on the desk beside Song Yan.

”Give these to her,” Guo Jiong said sincerely. ”The dried fruit in that packet is from the last supply hunt we did before the freeze tightened. It’s clean, sweet, and good for restoring energy. The blanket will keep the damp chill off her while she rests. It’s not much compared to what she’s done for my family and this depot, but it’s a start.”

Song Yan looked down at the fleece blanket and the small paper packet, touched by the quiet gesture. In a subterranean refuge where every scrap of warm fabric and sweet food was strictly rationed, giving away such items was a profound display of personal gratitude.

”I’ll bring them to her right now,” Song Yan said softly, picking up the items. ”I’m going to talk to her alone in the medical ward. Not to interrogate her or demand answers—she genuinely can’t remember any of it—but she deserves to know.”

Guo Jiong gave a firm nod. ”Good. That’s the right way to handle it. I’ll get back to the lower junction and make sure the guards are keeping a tight watch on the drainage gates. If she needs anything at all—extra rations, cleaner water, better lighting—you just let me know.”

With the pact settled, Guo Jiong turned and walked back out into the main corridor, leaving Song Yan alone to deliver the truth.

---

The medical ward was situated in a quiet alcove off the secondary residential corridor, far removed from the noisy bustle of the central dining halls. The air inside smelled faintly of clean linen, dried herbs, and mild antiseptic. Soft, warm light from two low-voltage wall lamps illuminated the walls, creating a tranquil sanctuary beneath the mountain.

Lin Qing sat near the edge of a low cot, wrapping her thin wool blanket tightly around her shoulders. The damp chill of the thaw was seeping through the stone foundations, settling into her joints.

Though she didn’t feel super weak anymore, her body still felt weary from the head injury she had sustained. Navigating the blackout and diagnosing the broken hydraulic line earlier had left a dull ache radiating behind her temples.

She leaned her head back against the cool stone wall, closing her eyes as she focused on regulating her breathing. Every time she tried to push past the dark fog in her mind to recall where she had come from, she was met with the same impenetrable wall. She had accepted the silence in her mind now, but moments of crisis revealed sharp, ingrained instincts that didn’t align with an ordinary life.

Hearing the soft rustle of a curtain being drawn aside, Lin Qing opened her eyes.

Song Yan stepped quietly into the medical ward. In one hand, he carried a steaming mug of freshly boiled water; over his other arm, he carried the thick fleece blanket and the small paper packet Guo Jiong had provided. His posture was completely relaxed and non-threatening.

”Brought you something warm to drink,” Song Yan said softly, walking over to the small wooden table beside her cot and setting the mug down. ”And a little extra comfort courtesy of Guo Jiong.”

Lin Qing looked from the steaming mug to the thick fleece blanket he was unfolding, her gaze lingering on the rich, insulated fabric and the small paper packet placed beside her cup. Items of that quality should be quite rare in the depot, reserved for critical medical cases or high-ranking personnel.

”What is all this for?” Lin Qing asked, her voice calm and quiet. ”The intake system is functioning properly, isn’t it?”

”Flawlessly,” Song Yan replied, pulling up a wooden chair and taking a seat a few feet away. ”The air pressure is completely stable, and the engineering team finished securing the secondary manual pins. You solved a problem that would have cost us days of work and a lot of suffering.”

He paused, letting a comfortable silence settle between them before continuing.

”Lin Qing... while you were resting here, Guo Jiong and I had a private conversation in the administrative office,” Song Yan said, keeping his tone reassuringly steady. ”I decided to keep the details of our conversation strictly between the two of us so there aren’t strange rumors floating around, but I wanted to come here and tell you directly so you aren’t caught off guard by anything.”

Lin Qing set her hands lightly in her lap, her dark eyes locking onto his with quiet attention. She didn’t display any outward anxiety; she simply listened, her mind shifting into a state of quiet focus.

”Did something happen during the blackout?” she asked.

”No, nothing went wrong,” Song Yan explained gently. ”It’s about Guo Jiong himself. He recognized you today when you were giving directions at the valve housing.”

Lin Qing tilted her head slightly, her brows knitting together in subtle curiosity. ”He recognized me?”

”My security leader, Guo Jiong, whom you just met—him, his daughter, and some villagers were hiding in their village,” Song Yan said, laying out the story plainly. ”A group of soldiers encountered them while looking for seeds, fought off mutated beasts that attacked, and even helped transport them to safety later.”

He watched her face closely, but Lin Qing remained calm and attentive.

”A female soldier named Lin Qing helped Guo Jiong’s daughter to survive her awakening fever when she was slipping away,” Song Yan continued softly. ”Guo Jiong says that female soldier is you. There was a Commander, two small children, and other soldiers with you as well.”

Lin Qing sat frozen on the edge of the cot, processing the words. She reached deep into her subconscious, searching for any visual trace of a village, a feverish child, or a squad of soldiers. But just like every other attempt to recover her past, her mind encountered only a smooth, blank void. There were no emotional echoes, no vivid flashbacks, no sudden rush of clarity—only a detached, logical understanding of the story he was telling her.

Silence settled over the quiet medical ward, thick and contemplative. The faint sound of water dripping from the ceiling outside was the only ambient noise breaking the quiet.

”I don’t remember any of it,” Lin Qing said quietly. Her voice was remarkably steady, completely free of pretense, frustration, or panic. ”I don’t remember a village, or a feverish child, or a squad of soldiers. None of those names or places trigger anything in my mind.”

”And nobody expects you to,” Song Yan reassured her immediately, cutting off any lingering feeling of obligation before it could take root. ”In a world like this, where the surface has collapsed and everyone is just trying to survive the thaw, old roles don’t change who a person is in the present, and whatever happened in the past doesn’t change the fact that you are sitting right here, recovering from a severe head injury.”

He offered her a genuine, warm smile, his eyes filled with unshakeable sincerity.

”I’m telling you all of this because Guo Jiong feels a profound debt of gratitude toward you for saving his daughter and his villagers back then, just like he appreciates what you did for our air intake system today,” Song Yan said softly. ”He gave me that fleece blanket and dried fruit for you as a small token of respect. If he looks at you a little differently or treats you with extra deference down the line, I wanted you to know why. But as far as I am concerned, and as far as this depot is concerned, you are safe here. You are under our care in this medical ward, and you don’t owe anyone explanations or performance for a past you cannot recall.”

Lin Qing looked down at the soft fleece blanket resting on her lap, feeling the genuine warmth and comfort it represented.

The complete blankness of her mind had been an unsettling, persistent unknown—a dark space that left her feeling detached from the people around her. But listening to Song Yan’s calm, straightforward explanation, the fog surrounding her identity no longer felt like a threat or a heavy burden she was forced to carry. It was simply a part of her story that had yet to resurface.

”Thank you, Song Yan,” Lin Qing said, looking up to meet his gaze directly. Her dark eyes reflected a quiet sense of relief. ”For being direct with me, and for not pushing me to be someone I don’t remember being.”

”Always,” Song Yan said, standing up from his chair and smoothing down his jacket. ”Take your time, drink your warm water, and eat the dried fruit. You’ve got all the time and peace you need to recover here.”

He gave her a final, reassuring nod before turning and quietly stepping past the medical ward’s door, leaving her alone in the serene, dimly lit room.

Lin Qing reached out and picked up the steaming metal mug, taking a small sip of the warm water. She gathered the thick fleece blanket around her shoulders, feeling its rich warmth push back the damp chill of the subterranean stone. She leaned back, her gaze floating toward the smooth ceiling above.

She still didn’t have her memories back. She still didn’t know how her journey across the frozen wastes had ended in an accident on the mountain slope.

But as she rested quietly in the warmth of the medical ward, the silence in her mind felt different than before. It was no longer a hollow void—it was a quiet foundation, grounded in the reality of where she was, surrounded by people who respected her present just as much as her past.