All Chapters of REBORN BEFORE THE APOCALYPSE: MY EX BEGS FOR MERCY: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

POV: ALEXThe enemy doesn’t just know Phina has supplies, they know exactly who she is.The staging area in Sector B was bathed in harsh overhead LED floodlights, casting long, sharp shadows across the concrete floor where the equipment salvaged from the dead Vanguard raiders had been laid out. I stood over the stainless steel examination table, wearing thick rubber gloves, systematically analyzing every scrap of gear.I called in Sergeant Vance and the two surviving perimeter guards who had engaged the strike team at the breach."Walk me through their movements again," I said, my voice steady, clinical, and methodical as I held up a recovered tactical radio unit. "Don't skip a single detail.""They didn't move like scavengers or a gang of desperate refugees, Dr. Hart," Vance replied, his shoulder tightly bandaged as he leaned against the table. "They advanced in a classic two-man bounding fire team formation. They called out target sectors using military brevity codes, and when the

POV: ALEXThe map wasn’t showing places to hide. It’s showing places where someone expected people to survive.The harsh white glare of the tactical table in Sector A illuminated the heavy, oilskin-wrapped map Mr. Hastings had left behind. I bent over the yellowed parchment, my eyes tracing the clean, precise ink lines marking coordinates across the northeastern corridor.Unlike the crude, desperate scavenging routes scrawled by modern survivors, her grandfather’s map was a masterclass in long-term infrastructure planning. Every circle corresponded to an old state-backed emergency facility, a reinforced subterranean shelter, an advanced regional medical center, or an agricultural research station tied into an independent power grid."They aren't just random redoubts," I murmured, using a magnifying loupe to inspect the fine print near the northern border. "Look at the telemetry codes. These facilities were designed to cross-communicate via hardwired underground fiber trunks, completel

POV: ALEXPhina trusts her because they share a history. I don’t trust her because she is asking questions no ordinary survivor would ask.I stood in the shadowed corner of the logistics staging area, watching through the reinforced glass of the partition as Chloe calmly helped sort dry rations with our supply team. She smiled easily, chatting with James about pre-apocalypse construction standards while her hands moved methodically through the inventory bins. On the surface, she looked like the textbook definition of a welcome refugee, harmless, cooperative, and grateful.But survival in a dead world had taught me a fundamental truth: the most dangerous threats never kicked down the front door. They knocked politely, smiled, and memorized where you hid your keys.While Phina was willing to let her guard down because of old corporate ties and shared memories from Hastings Global, my medical training and tactical instincts screamed at me to look closer. People didn't survive two years o

POV: ALEX The frozen ground beneath us moves. The vibration hadn't been a trick of the equipment or an echo from the wind howling above. When I placed my hand against the cold concrete floor of the lower generator room, I could feel it, a low, rhythmic, subterranean pulse traveling through the ancient granite bedrock like a heartbeat beneath a corpse. I spent three hours working alongside Thomas and the facility’s lead structural engineers, running diagnostic scans on the subterranean telemetry grid. The data painted an alarming picture. The massive weight of the accumulating ice sheet above, combined with sudden, radical thermal shifts, was causing massive stress fractures along the deep fault lines. But worse still, several dormant deep-earth geothermal valves, automated failsafes installed decades ago, were shifting under anomalous pressure from miles below. "The structural integrity of this entire sector is compromised," I said, laying the diagnostic pad down on the workbench a

POV: PHINAThe radio suddenly comes alive, and the message makes every person in the room go silent.Static crackled violently from the long-range shortwave receiver, slicing through the low, steady drone of the tactical hub's ventilation. Marcus, who had been adjusting the antenna array near the wall, froze mid-motion. Alex stood up from the mapping desk, his sharp gaze immediately snapping to the primary audio frequency console.We had grown accustomed to dead air. Ever since the primary regional towers collapsed under the weight of the initial ice sheet, the emergency bands had offered nothing but empty white noise, a silent monument to a fallen communications grid.Then came the synthesized emergency chime, three sharp, piercing tones that vibrated off the cold stone walls.“….repeat, this is an automated broadcast from Regional Emergency Station Seven-Echo," a mechanical, digitized voice cut through the static, distorted but eerily clear. "-all surviving municipal entities and pr