Only then did I understand: he'd been targeting my family all along because of this.
In the early days when my dad started his business, Uncle Raymond and a few relatives did invest and buy shares. At first, everyone got their cut, but after the government issued a burn ban, business tanked. Uncle Raymond was the first to demand his money back.
My dad returned every cent the relatives had put in. When the market picked back up a few years later, Uncle Raymond wanted back in—but my dad refused. He'd been holding a grudge ever since.
My dad's face darkened. "The money is mine. I'll spend it however I want. I returned your share a long time ago—you don't get to split what's mine. And my son doesn't need lectures from you. From now on, stay away from my house and mind your own business."
Uncle Raymond's face flushed crimson, teeth grinding. "Nathan Larson! You're ruthless. Just wait—you'll lose everything and end up sleeping on the sidewalk!"
After my phone was fixed, I discovered I'd been torn apart online.
The hottest topic on every major platform: my "disaster prediction" was fake, and my real intention was fraud. Media outlets even released warnings about "new types of scams."
Crowds of people showed up at my house with banners, demanding I delete my videos and publicly apologize.
Mia sent me a private message asking if she'd caused me trouble, saying she was sorry.
I didn't blame her. This kind of thing really was unbelievable. I never expected everyone to believe it—I just wanted to save as many as I could.
I sent her the address and the exact date of the mutation, telling her to come early.
Less than a week until the animals mutated. I had more important things to do.
The explosives my dad ordered arrived one after another. The workers didn't lose their jobs from the lack of firecracker materials—if anything, they were busier than ever, working overtime to assemble detonators, explosive charges, and other weapons.
I modified the ceremonial cannon truck into one that could actually fire. Tested the range: accurate within 100 meters.
Blasting was my major. I buried explosives around the warehouse perimeter, rigged to a remote control, ensuring those massive mutated monsters couldn't get anywhere near us.
I almost couldn't wait to see those crazed, horrifying creatures blown to pieces.
Even though I was getting cursed out online and offline, I didn't stop livestreaming. No matter how busy I was, every day I shared survival methods with whoever would listen.
"If you have the resources, fortify your home like I did. High-rises are death traps—mutated snakes are even bigger than Kosla. Find a sturdy, single-story building if you can."
"Basements can work as shelters, but always leave an escape route. A collapsed building will seal the exit. Even if you dodge the mutated animals, you'll be buried alive."
"Animals fear fire and heat. Stock up on heat sources as weapons."
The comments called me insane. My livestream got shut down multiple times. I kept broadcasting using my family's phone numbers.
Under my and my brother's influence, my parents started convincing neighbors to shelter at our place. The neighbors figured—why not? No cost, no labor, free food and drinks. Worst case, they'd show up for a day and leave. Most agreed.
When Uncle Raymond heard about it, he went around badmouthing my dad everywhere.
"Don't fall for it. He's a crooked businessman. Free food and drinks? There's always a catch. Mark my words—you'll wake up missing a kidney!"
With one day left until the mutation, all the aunts and uncles moved in. The whole neighborhood tensed up.
With five hours left, even more neighbors arrived.
