Yet fear, as always, was only fleeting.
Grant hesitated only for a moment before coldly replying, "There's no secret stash of supplies like you claim—I'm out of food myself, haven't even got water!"
For most, the thought of dying by starvation gnawed more deeply than the fear of being killed. He thought, if it's come to this, what difference does it make if I die of hunger or a beating?
Besides, he was safe enough here, secluded in the basement with no windows—just a ventilation duct barely wide enough for a child to slip through. What was there to fear?
Even if they came to ransack the place, they'd first have to get past that reinforced steel door outside.
He felt reassured, recalling the two recent uprisings. If over a thousand residents hadn't managed to breach Miles' fortified villa, they'd find this cement-bolstered basement no easier.
"Ha! Let them try—a bunch of idiots…" he sneered.
Miles, glancing at the chat, chuckled. Grant could bask in his arrogance now, but tomorrow would tell a different story.
In the previous life, Grant had relied on this same basement fortress, certain no one could touch him. He'd not only hoarded food but had taunted the residents mercilessly.
He underestimated how desperate people became under duress. What had seemed an impenetrable iron door took them barely a day to break down.
But Miles had no intention of warning Grant. The fates of others no longer mattered to him; their survival or demise affected him not in the least.
Looking back, he smiled at the memory of his own role in the assault on the basement. He'd been one of those at the forefront, putting in tremendous effort for nothing more than a couple of packs of crackers—and the price had nearly been his life.
With a wry smile, he turned his attention to his PSP, calling Ryan briefly to remind him to keep a close eye on the villa's surroundings. As for the power and water cuts, they didn't bother him one bit.
His mind-space contained supplies from an entire southern logistics center, not just food and water reserves worth hundreds of millions but hundreds of thousands of tons of gasoline and diesel, too.
For him, water and fuel would last for centuries.
...
Meanwhile, in a starkly different setting, Andrew and his last three followers were huddled together, shivering under a thin layer of blankets.
The previous day's battle had left Andrew's left leg entirely crushed, his right one fractured. Without urgent treatment, he'd be crippled for life.
The three men who'd saved him hadn't done so out of loyalty. They had their eyes on the bullets and food tucked away in Andrew's safe.
And as for Miles, he was no longer a target. The sheer resilience of that impregnable villa, combined with Miles' terrifying cunning, left them petrified.
The first time, Miles had used Tyler and the others as pawns to test the waters. The second time, he'd instigated a mob brawl that had left bodies scattered everywhere. Now, even death seemed more inviting than confronting Miles again.
This was why, when Miles had the chance to shoot Andrew, he'd held back. He wanted Andrew to suffer a slow descent into despair, brought down not by a bullet but by betrayal.
Miles, seated on a luxurious wool carpet, leaned back into his plush sofa, casually setting up a projector. Thousands of movies and series filled the room with entertainment.
Outside, the world lay in darkness, while his home was bathed in warm light. The generator hummed steadily, powering his heating and lighting systems. A glass of wine, an array of drinks, and a steaming tomahawk steak sat atop the coffee table.
This lifestyle was enviable even before the apocalypse.
He had everything he could possibly want—four levels of space, a fully equipped gym, a sprawling bath, even a small pool. The only thing missing, perhaps, was the company of a woman...
It was true that one's desires grew with comfort, and Miles was no exception. But his recent experiences had taught him restraint. The lessons from Ella's betrayal were vivid reminders. Without absolute assurance, he would never again let anyone into his fortress.
In a world so steeped in danger, trust was a fragile thing, even with someone like Ryan. He knew Ryan to be loyal, but no one could say how they might react to such temptation.
He'd seen the worst of human nature: the neighbor who, for a single meal, had crushed her husband with a vase.
Just then, his phone lit up—a call from Andrew.
Intrigued, Miles answered, greeted by an oddly deferential voice. "Hello, Mr. Miles, sir… it's Little Andrew."
Little Andrew?
Amused, Miles chuckled softly. "Little Andrew? I don't know any Little Andrew. I only know Chicago's infamous Andrew from the Buckingham Club."
On the other end, Andrew's face twisted in anger, though he forced a pleasant tone. "Right, right, that's me—Little Andrew!"
"Oh? What can I do for you, Little Andrew?"
"Well, Mr. Miles, sir, things are rough all around. Even in your villa, you'll have to step out for air at some point, won't you? I happen to have two fine pistols. How about a little exchange for some of your food?"
"A gun exchange?" Miles replied with a smirk. "Planning to shoot me in the back during delivery, are you?"
"No, no, of course not! I wouldn't dare, not after seeing your methods. Even if I had the guts, sir, I'd never try it!"
With a dismissive laugh, Miles ended the call, unimpressed.
Furious at the rebuff, Andrew threw his phone against the wall.
The three men with him glanced at each other, exchanging silent looks before closing in.
"You…" Andrew began, sensing the shift in the room.
Before he could react, two of the men seized him, pinning him to the bed. The third searched his pockets, finding the gun and cocking it, pressing the barrel to Andrew's forehead.
"Boss, don't take it personally. We're starving."
"Just give us the safe code, and we'll leave you some food," one of the men whispered.
Andrew, struggling against their hold, spat back, "You traitorous dogs! I'll see you all dead!"
Yet no matter how hard he fought, he was helpless now. He was no longer the ferocious kingpin, but a crippled man, barely clinging to life.
"Boss, we were showing you respect by calling you 'boss.' But keep this up, and we'll bury you," one sneered.
Andrew glared at him with a mix of rage and disbelief. "Anthony! Who gave you the nerve to threaten me? Try it, I dare you!"
With a sneer, Anthony smashed the gun's butt into Andrew's mouth.
"Think you're still in charge here? I'll ask one more time… are you going to open the safe or not?"