Ethan's shameless flaunting of food was driving the entire apartment complex insane.
Even the slop he poured into his trash was a culinary fantasy to them now.
And still—he gave them nothing.
Inside Logan's unit, things were turning grim.
After the failed assault on Ethan's fortress, their hopes of acquiring antibiotics had vanished.
Just two days later, the consequences were becoming impossible to ignore.
All three wounded men were starting to feel an unbearable itch in their wounds.
The bandages had turned a sickly yellow, oozing strange fluids.
Logan couldn't help it—he tore the gauze off to take a look.
What greeted him was a pus-filled wound, reeking like a rotting carcass.
"No—no no no!! I'm not ready to die!"
Logan burst into tears, snot and spit flying.
Peter and Gary, seeing this, panicked and tore off their own bandages, praying for better luck.
Unfortunately, the truth was cruel.
If it had just been surface scratches, they might've stood a chance.
But the wounds were deep—arrowheads caked in rust had penetrated their flesh.
Now, with no antibiotics, no disinfectants, and no proper nutrition, infection was inevitable.
Agonized howls echoed through the apartment. They were going mad from the pain.
In the corner, Claire was trembling.
She clutched her phone and messaged Ethan.
"Ethan, they're losing it. I'm so scared. Can you come save me? Please? I'll do whatever you say if you do…"
A few minutes later, Ethan replied.
"Oh, Claire, it breaks my heart to hear you like this! But I can't leave. Tony's camped out right next door."
"If you really want to be safe, you'll have to make your way over to me. Just be careful. Last I heard, my neighbors next door got murdered yesterday. And you… well, with skin as fair as yours, you'll definitely be a target."
Ethan's smirk practically oozed from the message.
Deep down, he had only one intention—make Claire suffer. Slowly.
And it was working.
When she heard Tony was stationed right next to Ethan, her face twisted in fear.
Tony had killed too many people. There was no way she'd risk it.
"Ethan, I'm scared. Can't you come get me instead? You've got weapons…"
Ethan rolled his eyes.
"Bitch really thinks I'll go out of my way for her?"
He replied:
"I would, but honestly… after all that drama, I've been feeling kinda under the weather."
"Anyway, I'm getting sleepy. Bye now."
Claire stared at her phone, hands shaking. Outside the room, the others were screaming in pain.
When she messaged Ethan again, she saw he had already stopped replying.
The next few days passed in bliss for Ethan.
No job, no bosses, no stress. He could sleep when he wanted, wake up when he pleased.
He didn't have to please anyone. If someone pissed him off, he'd curse them out and go right back to gaming or watching old movies.
Tony, on the other hand, was falling apart.
He obsessed over killing Ethan, but with Ethan holed up inside and never stepping out—not even once—he had no opening.
Meanwhile, the bounty on Tony's head had him so paranoid he barely trusted his own men.
He even slept with his gun clutched in his hands.
Nerves shot, sleep gone, he was slowly unraveling.
Finally, Tony made a decision.
Ethan watched through his monitors as Tony started to move.
More and more people entered his unit—mostly young, healthy single men.
Some were forced at gunpoint. Others came voluntarily.
Before long, Tony had a small army of ten at his command—larger than ever.
Ethan sipped his coffee and muttered:
"Scared, huh? So you're gathering dogs to guard your kennel."
"Smart. But short-sighted."
There were now only about 70 people left in the building. Ethan had killed over 40 during the failed siege.
According to what he remembered from his past life, most households were already out of supplies.
Soon, people would become the only food source left.
Tony's growing army would soon become a liability—ten mouths to feed.
Which meant only one thing: they'd have to start killing.
Sure, he could slaughter his way through weaker tenants for a while.
But it wouldn't last.
And everyone had their own agenda. With only a handful of bullets left, how long could Tony keep them in line?
Ethan messaged Dr. Chloe.
"What's the situation over there?"
It took her a long time to respond.
When she did, the message was heavy.
"They've lost their minds. All the food's gone. They've started… eating people. I haven't had a bite in two days. I feel like I'm dying."
Ethan didn't bat an eye.
Of course they were eating people now. It was inevitable.
If he were in their shoes—starving to death—maybe he'd make the same choice.
Hard to say.
But for now, with a full belly, Ethan liked to think he'd rather die with dignity.
Chloe continued:
"They've been raiding units. If they find someone still alive, they kill them."
"Strangely enough, the dozens you killed ended up feeding the rest of them for days…"
"They're meeting resistance now. The survivors have started to group up. But people are dying on both sides."
There was a long pause.
Then one more message came through:
"Ethan… is there still a chance you'll save me?"
Reading that, Ethan sensed the defeat in her tone.
Even someone as calm and proud as Dr. Chloe had broken.
She didn't really believe he'd come. Nobody would.
Everyone was too busy saving themselves.
Ethan stared at the message for a long time.
In the end, he made a decision.
Chloe was still useful to him. He couldn't let her die just yet.
A lead surgeon from a tier-one hospital wasn't easy to find—especially one whose temperament and skills he already understood.
He typed:
"Do one thing for me. If it works out, I'll keep you alive."