In the end, Ryan couldn't bring himself to kill Zeki. After throwing her out, he even gave her a coat and two packs of biscuits.
Watching this unfold, Miles's approval of Ryan grew.
Had he kept Zeki—failure.
Had he cast her out—acceptable.
And by casting her out but leaving her with a sliver of hope, it showed that he still retained a measure of humanity. At least he hadn't become completely heartless.
Human nature in a world gone mad was impossible to predict.
Especially regarding those around him, Miles wouldn't risk a moment of carelessness unless he could trust someone completely; he would not allow anyone to pose a threat to his survival.
After watching two rather satisfying dramas unfold, Miles returned to the living room to play games. He'd just tricked Andrew, and knowing that man's character, he wouldn't let this slide. But for now, Miles doubted he'd act directly—and if he did? Let him try. If he could get through the door, he'd be welcome to whatever lay inside.
But stepping outside himself? He wouldn't, not unless the threat of danger in the neighborhood was completely gone—or the apocalypse had come to an end.
Miles played through the night, finally falling asleep until noon. After washing up, he pulled a hot, fresh sandwich and a glass of milk from his storage.
The longer this went on, the more grateful he was for this second chance at life. Not only had he returned to this point, but he had also been given an extraordinary spatial power. The space seemed to freeze time within; everything stored remained as fresh as the moment it went in. Even the pancake he'd put there two weeks ago was still hot to the touch.
In a world like this, such an ability was practically cheating.
Humming to himself, Miles strolled over to the window.
After days of relentless snowstorms, it seemed to be letting up slightly, though the wind still howled. Outside, people were indeed shoveling snow, attempting to clear a path for food foraging. Little did they know that the world outside was buried in snow, too. Even if they made it to a grocery store, there was no guarantee they could get inside.
And an even worse reality loomed: the zombies were coming.
In his last life, Miles remembered that twenty days after the apocalypse began, the first corpses began to rise as horrific, mindless creatures. Though only a small portion transformed, their strength was terrifying.
Unaware of the danger, many people had been bitten. Within 24 hours, they too began mutating, becoming part of the undead.
Then, a message appeared in the group chat, from the neighborhood's "Big Lady."
"Offering a high price for food—anyone willing to sell, message me."
Ha, she was out of supplies.
She had managed to last a full week, so she must have hoarded a fair amount before this.
Someone quickly replied, "I've got two cases of instant noodles. How much are you offering?"
Miles couldn't help but laugh as he read.
Unbelievable—someone still trying to make a profit on noodles.
Clearly, he believed the diminishing storm was a sign of improvement and that things might soon return to normal.
How wrong he was.
Although the storm had weakened, the environment would only worsen. Even without the zombies, the relentless sub-zero temperatures would be deadly. Who knew how much lower the temperature would drop in the coming days?
"How about two thousand?" Big Lady offered.
Laughter filled the chat.
"Do you think this is ten days ago?"
"Get real… Two thousand for a case of noodles? I'm offering twenty thousand!"
"Do you even know what times we're living in? I'll pay twenty-five thousand!"
This was Cloud Paradise—the residents were mostly high-level professionals, people with means. Even an "outside supporter" like Zeki had more financial power than the average person.
A new bid came in quickly: "Thirty thousand. Sell it to me, brother. If that's not enough, I'll add more."
For the wealthy, money was simply a means to an end. They understood that its true value lay in its ability to buy resources. At this point, eighty percent of the remaining residents were out of food.
Some had already gone several days without eating. Two thousand, ten thousand—they'd pay anything.
"Fifty thousand!" someone shouted.
Sure enough, the stakes rose, fifty thousand for a box of instant noodles. Once unimaginable, now the harsh reality.
"Shut up, all of you!" Andrew, fresh from his battle last night, made his entrance. "I'll pay one hundred thousand! Anyone who dares bid higher can join Tyler in the grave!"
The mention of Tyler reminded everyone of the gunfire from the previous night. While most didn't know the details, Andrew's words made it clear—Tyler was likely dead, or close to it, as he had yet to say a word since.
Had he truly been killed…?
Big Lady fell silent. The fight had taken place right outside her door, and even recalling it now made her shiver.
The corpses from last night's skirmish still lay in her yard.
The deal was closed. Twenty thousand it was.
Whether Andrew would actually pay up or simply kill the seller and take his food—well, that would depend on his "honor."
Miles smirked, amused.
Clearly, Andrew hadn't found much at Tyler's place last night; otherwise, he wouldn't be so desperate.
Then again, Tyler was a shrewd man—there was no way he'd keep all his food in one spot.
As for whether Tyler had survived or not, Miles was indifferent.
In times like these, was one more death surprising?
This catastrophe had already claimed at least ninety-five percent of the global population. Those who still lived amounted to perhaps five percent, and once the zombies came, that number would be whittled down to one percent if they were lucky.
In his past life, Miles had seen it all. Death had lost its sting for him.
Now, he focused only on his own survival.
Back then, he'd shown compassion for others—only to be met with betrayal.
Ella had schemed with Andrew to take his life. Those he'd once called neighbors turned on each other, and not one had stood up for him.
The thought made him pause.
What about Ella?
In his last life, she had come to live with him after the apocalypse hit, but in this one, Zeki's exposure of her had led him to sever ties.
Damn, that woman had gotten off easy!
If he could find her, he'd make sure she paid with every last ounce of suffering he could devise.
Still, after over a week of relentless snow, her shabby little apartment building had likely lost all power and heating. The chances she'd survived this long were slim.
Even in an apocalypse, the wealthy held an advantage.
Take the residents of Cloud Paradise. They were cold and hungry, yes, but alive.
The city's energy resources, limited as they were, would be allocated to places like this first.
And the materials used in these villas, sturdier by far than standard housing, would ensure that they had a better chance than the average citizen.