Phoenix lounged comfortably, the glare from his game casting a soft light across his contented expression as he munched on imported snacks. Life seemed almost indulgent despite the calamity outside, where the rest of Solstice City, and indeed the majority of the world, grappled with crippling outages of both water and electricity. The scarcity of water was somewhat manageable; those desperate enough could venture out into the white expanse to melt snow. Power, however, was a different story. Modern comforts had rendered society delicate, ill-equipped for the brutal cold that now consumed their world, threatening to snuff out life with its icy fingers.
In the virtual assembly that was the residents' chat group, fear was palpable. Neighbors, once mere background characters in Phoenix's life, now clamored for help, for warmth—for hope. Alexander, who had been laid low by Phoenix's hand, was a shadow of his former self, the injury compounded by the relentless cold. His gang, the little caramels, fared no better, incapacitated by illness and cold, deprived of the most basic human need for warmth.
Phoenix remained detached from the chaos, focused on his game. He sat in a warm cocoon, his room a steady 27 degrees, bright and insulated against the harsh world outside. His only complaint, if it could be called such, was the absence of female company, a longing he swiftly dismissed. He had learned from past mistakes that nothing, especially not the lure of companionship, was worth jeopardizing the sanctuary he had created.
His thoughts were interrupted by the buzz of his phone; Aunt Lin was rallying the troops in the chat group. She spun a narrative of collective effort, a redistribution of supplies that she claimed was backed by official decree. Phoenix listened with scorn. He knew the routine, having fallen for it in a past life, only to be repaid with betrayal and death. This time, he was resolute; his supplies would remain his own.
Lin's message, laced with false concern and veiled threats, was meant to coerce the residents into surrendering their resources. Phoenix knew the true extent of Lin's desperation; her power play was transparent to him. He rebuffed her demands with sarcasm and indifference, a stark contrast to his previous self who might have been swayed by her pleas.
Lin's response was expected; she escalated her tone, invoking the name of the organization she claimed to represent. But Phoenix was unshakeable, countering her threats with biting mockery, exposing her lack of real authority. He knew the neighborhood committee staff were mere social workers, with no actual power to enforce their will.
His defiance infuriated Lin. She had pegged him as the key to her survival, a repository of wealth she could exploit to sustain herself and her grandson for a while longer. However, Phoenix's refusal to engage left her impotent, her angry outbursts echoing unheard in the emptiness of her situation.
In the days that followed, Lin's manipulation continued. She coaxed and threatened, scraping together supplies from several families. But as the ice storm persisted, it became clear that not everyone was as easily swayed. Some, like Chen Zhenghao and Xu Hao, were beyond her reach, their status rendering them untouchable.
Phoenix observed all from a distance, his surveillance equipment providing a window into the unfolding drama. He remained disinterested, content to live in isolation, while the building's residents slowly turned against one another.
The fifth day of the storm marked a turning point. The residents' façade of cooperation began to crumble as the cold reality of their situation set in. Lin's earlier ploy to redistribute supplies was now being questioned, her silence in the face of demand revealing her deceit. She had hoarded what she stole, and as the world outside descended into anarchy, so too did the social order within the building.
Lin's pleas for help, once she and her grandson were victimized, were ignored. The community's empathy had been exhausted by her treachery. In the end, Lin was left to clutch her meager spoils, alone and reviled, a symbol of the desperation and degradation that the new world order had wrought.
As Phoenix sent the video of Lin's downfall to the chat group, he reflected on the irony. The community's response was a mix of schadenfreude and indignation, an acknowledgment of her deceit and a grim recognition of their new reality. The world they knew had changed, and with it, the rules of survival. Phoenix turned away from the chat, his attention returning to his game, the world outside his walls fading into insignificance as he prepared for the long winter ahead.