Tundra Survival: While Others Freeze, I'm Building a Base

When the global countdown hit zero, humanity was instantly teleported into a brutal, frozen wasteland.

The system's rule was absolute: keep your campfire burning, or be permanently erased from existence.

While others arrived in thin pajamas to freeze in the sub-zero wind, I had spent my final hours on Earth preparing, bringing a full survival pack and a cordless chainsaw.

By unlocking a hidden inventory system, I endured back-breaking labor to chop down ancient pines, hoarding over a hundred units of life-saving wood.

But when I offered to trade my surplus for coal and blueprints, the public chat completely turned on me.

"You selfish monster! You're hoarding resources while people are dying!"

They cursed me as a ruthless pariah, demanding I hand over my hard-earned fuel for free to save strangers who hadn't prepared at all.

I watched the survivor count plummet from a thousand to barely three hundred in just four days, listening to the agonizing screams echoing across the ice.

I couldn't understand why they felt entitled to the results of my blood and exhaustion, expecting my compassion to warm them while I froze.

With the inhuman howls from the dark forest growing louder, any lingering sympathy in me completely died.

I calmly blocked the public channel, tossed another piece of coal into my roaring fire, and opened my private messages to build my own fortress.