-Cold, Canned, and Confused

  Kenji woke up for the second time that day with a groan and a dull ache in his lower back.

  “Still old,” he muttered.

  He was in the driver’s seat, the inside of his bizarre new food truck gently humming around him. The heater was doing its job—barely—but the metal walls creaked now and then, reminding him the outside was still very much a frozen hellscape.

  He stared at the touchscreen panel hovering above the dashboard. The system was silent, save for one line of text.

  [OBJECTIVE: SURVIVE.]

  Kenji stared at it.

  “That’s it? No map? No tutorial? Not even a friendly voice in my head?”

  The panel did not respond.

  “Cool. Love that.”

  He sighed, stretched his arms (which popped in three places), and glanced around. The truck interior was… oddly modern. Sleek compartments. A clean but compact cooking space. The turret control panel sat to the right, humming with idle energy. And behind him, a microwave sat over a glowing food dispenser labeled:

  [MEALGEN? - Canned Food Conversion Unit]

  On the shelf beside it were exactly six cans:

  ? Beef stew

  ? Spam

  ? Baked beans

  ? Creamed corn

  ? Fruit cocktail

  ? Mystery meat (“Do Not Open While Sober,” the label read)

  He stared at the cans, then the dispenser.

  “So this is it. My empire starts with processed meat and corn syrup.”

  He grabbed the beef stew, popped it into the microwave slot, and waited. A pleasant ding rang out a few seconds later.

  The scent hit him like a truck—ironically.

  “…Okay, I take that back. That smells amazing.”

  He took a spoon from the drawer, cracked the can open, and took a bite.

  For a moment, he closed his eyes. The warmth. The flavor. The soft meat and gravy. In a world this cold and dead… this tasted like salvation.

  “Holy shit. I’d chip myself for this.”

  -Warning Shots and Brand Betrayal

  Kenji was halfway through his second spoonful of stew when the turret beeped.

  Beep. Beep. Whirrrr.

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  The console flared red:

  [HOSTILE LIFEFORM DETECTED – 26 METERS]

  [ENGAGING TARGET]

  Kenji nearly choked on his food. “Wait—what’s engaging what—?!”

  BOOM!

  The entire truck jolted as the turret fired a single round.

  From outside came a distant screech, followed by a sickening crunch and a hiss that quickly faded into silence.

  Kenji froze, stew halfway to his mouth. Slowly, he got up and peeked out the narrow side viewport.

  Something large and very dead was half-buried in the snow. It looked like a wolf… if wolves had six legs, exposed ribs, glowing eyes, and a personality defect.

  “Well. That’s horrifying.”

  The system chimed again.

  [TARGET NEUTRALIZED – VIABLE BIOMASS DETECTED]

  [RETRIEVAL RECOMMENDED]

  Kenji sighed and muttered, “Sure. Why not. Let’s go grocery shopping.”

  He suited up using the thermal jacket and gloves from the supply locker, opened the side hatch, and ventured into the freezing wind. With a heavy-duty hook and some rope, he managed to drag the mutated snow-beast’s carcass close enough for the truck’s rear intake to analyze it.

  [EDIBLE BIOMASS CONFIRMED – PROCESS?]

  [Y/N]

  He hesitated. The meat was… blue. And still steaming in the cold.

  “This better not give me glowing tumors.”

  He hit [Y].

  The machine inside the truck whirred, gurgled, and dinged.

  A fresh can dropped into the tray.

  Kenji picked it up and read the label:

  Kenji’s Beast-Meat Surprise? – Now with 80% Less Fur!

  He stared at it.

  “I didn’t name this.”

  He turned the can slowly in his gloved hands. On the back was a cartoon version of himself giving a thumbs-up with a chef’s hat on his head.

  “I definitely didn’t approve this branding.”

  Curious—and now suspicious—he checked the other cans still on the shelf:

  ? Kenji’s Classic Beef Sadness?

  ? Kenji’s Hot Mystery Lump?

  ? Kenji’s Baked Bean Regret?

  ? Kenji’s Sweet Lie Fruit Mix?

  ? Kenji’s Spam Slam?

  ? Kenji’s ‘Don’t Ask’ Deluxe?

  He said nothing. Just sat down slowly in the driver’s seat, staring at the lineup of existential culinary despair like it had personally betrayed him.

  “This is how I’m going to be remembered.”

  The microwave dinged again, chipper and unbothered.

  Kenji didn’t even flinch.

  “…Fantastic.”

  -The Grind Begins

  Kenji sat in silence, still processing the fact that every can in his truck had his name on it… and every label felt like it had been written by a god with a comedy blog.

  He set down Kenji’s Beast-Meat Surprise?, cracked his neck, and brought up the system console. The interface had a few tabs that were previously greyed out—now blinking softly.

  He tapped one labeled [RESOURCE MANAGEMENT].

  [AVAILABLE POWER UNITS: 17%]

  [FUEL CELLS: LOW]

  [MONSTER BIOMASS STORED: 2 UNITS]

  [UPGRADE CREDIT: 0]

  “…Cool. Running low on everything except shame.”

  Another tab pulsed: [ENERGY SOURCES]

  Kenji selected it.

  A diagram showed the snow beast’s glowing core—now suspended in a containment unit at the back of the truck.

  [Item: FROSTCORE – DEMON BEAST TYPE]

  – Usable as emergency power

  – Can be used for small system upgrades

  – Warning: High-value item, may attract attention

  Kenji frowned. “Wait. Attention? From what? The snow?”

  As if on cue, the turret rotated with a soft whirrr, and the radar pinged once—no threats nearby.

  Still, it was enough of a warning to remind him this world didn’t care if he was new, confused, or cold.

  He sighed and opened one last tab: [FOOD SYSTEM – CRAFTING OPTIONS]

  The screen lit up with several options, all locked behind something called:

  [CAN LEVEL: TIER 0 – Sadman Starter Kit]

  “What the hell is a Sadman Starter Kit?”

  The system chirped cheerfully.

  [A divine starter pack for lonely middle-aged men who just want to eat warm food and not die. Includes microwave access and limited sarcasm filter.]

  Kenji leaned back in his chair.

  “Yup. They’re definitely watching.”

  He looked out the frosted side window. The frozen wasteland stretched endlessly. Somewhere out there, more mutated beasts roamed, maybe other scavengers. But none of them had what he had: a warm truck, a turret, and enough canned despair to feed a small cult.

  And apparently, an internet signal.

  A blinking message appeared:

  [NETWORK BEACON DETECTED – CONNECT TO TRADE NET?]

  [Y/N]

  Kenji hesitated.

  He hit [Y].

  The system connected with a cheerful tone far too optimistic for the world they were in. A new screen loaded up:

  [KENJI’S POST-APOC SNACK SHACK IS NOW ONLINE]

  [TRAVEL TO SURFACE LOCATION REQUIRED TO TRADE]

  “Yeah… good luck with that.”

  Somewhere underground, a ping echoed across old terminals.

  A dozen people—hungry, cold, desperate—saw a new vendor icon flash into existence.

  And curiosity began to stir