Miles suddenly fixed his gaze on Lisa, a cruel smirk playing on his lips.
"If the day ever comes when you betray me, don't worry—I won't kill you. Instead, I'll lock you in with that frenzied zombie at the door. That should be… amusing."
Lisa, who had been silently composed, shuddered at his words.
She looked up at him, fear etched deeply in her features.
Though she knew his threats were likely a way to enforce her obedience, the cold-blooded tone in his voice sent a chill through her soul.
"Did you hear me?" Miles asked, his voice devoid of emotion.
Lisa instinctively nodded.
"I said I want to hear you speak, not see you nod."
The sharp command startled Lisa so badly she shot to her feet, her loose-fitting sleepwear slipping off in the process.
Her bare form reappeared before Miles.
Flustered, she quickly gathered her clothes and dressed herself again, stammering, "I… I heard you!"
If Miles was a god in this moment, then Lisa was a servant—enslaved to him not by choice, but by the merciless reality of her situation.
Her only alternative was death.
"Your quarters are in the basement. That will be your domain, and without my explicit permission, you are not to leave it."
"Yes, Master…" she replied, her voice trembling.
Miles spoke as if he were training a new pet, his tone indifferent.
"There are no freeloaders here. You'll be responsible for all the housework—cleaning, cooking, and laundry. If you don't know how, learn. I'm patient."
"Yes, Master…" Lisa repeated obediently.
Miles found her submission gratifying, even exhilarating, though he chastised himself for the thrill. For a fleeting moment, he understood why the wealthy enjoyed "grooming" relationships. There was something perversely rewarding about cultivating obedience.
Lisa, however, wasn't merely compliant—she was astute. Unlike someone like Zeki, who might play petty tricks and manipulations, Lisa understood her position and acted accordingly.
Satisfied, Miles said, "I know you're harboring resentment."
Lisa remained silent, her gaze steady on him.
Had she denied it, it would have been a lie. But her silence signified her acceptance of her situation.
"Resent it all you want," Miles said with a wry smile. "Not that you have a choice, do you?"
His mocking tone lingered as he leaned forward slightly. "Don't even think about rebellion. You have no idea who you're dealing with."
With a subtle wave of his hand, Miles demonstrated his power.
Lisa blinked, startled, as a package of biscuits materialized out of thin air.
Is he some kind of magician? she wondered.
But her thoughts froze when, in the next instant, a grand piano—easily weighing a ton—appeared in the middle of the living room.
She stared, dumbfounded, as object after object manifested before her eyes, summoned effortlessly by Miles with just a flick of his wrist. Some items didn't even require a gesture—they materialized spontaneously, as though obeying his unspoken will.
"You… you're an Awakened One?" she stammered.
Miles raised an eyebrow. "You know about the Awakened?"
His initial intent had been to intimidate her into submission with a display of his abilities, but her response caught him off guard.
Lisa nodded. "Five days ago, my grandfather received a red-sealed directive from the National Medical Research Institute. It stated that due to cosmic radiation following the apocalypse, a small percentage of humans may awaken extraordinary abilities. However, the likelihood is nearly one in a million. Most people either die before awakening or succumb to the environment—or worse, become like them."
She gestured toward the zombie, Ella, visible through the window.
"And?" Miles pressed, his interest piqued.
This was new information—information he urgently needed. He still didn't fully understand his powers, or even why he had them. Until now, he hadn't heard the term "Awakened" used in this context.
Lisa hesitated briefly before continuing. "My grandfather said Awakened Ones are extremely rare. While their numbers might increase over time, their abilities will likely diminish as cosmic radiation wanes. Eventually, the Awakened may only be slightly stronger than ordinary humans."
Her eyes flickered with awe as she looked at him. "But your abilities… they're beyond anything I've imagined. To summon so many objects out of nowhere… It's no wonder you can live so extravagantly without fear."
In her gaze now, Miles saw the unmistakable glimmer of admiration.
Women, it seemed, were drawn to power, and in this moment, Miles embodied the very essence of strength and survival.
But he didn't dwell on her expression. Instead, a shadow of worry crossed his face. "Are there… side effects?"
He had seen enough films to know the trope—extraordinary abilities often came with extraordinary costs. Was he doomed to mutate, like the Hulk? Or lose his humanity, like some tragic anti-hero?
For the first time, Miles felt a gnawing unease.
Lisa shook her head regretfully. "I don't know. Maybe my grandfather would've understood. But…" Her voice faltered, and tears streaked down her cheeks. "He might already be dead, killed by Sarah's men—or worse, turned into one of them…"
"Don't worry," Miles said decisively. "I'll bring your grandfather here."
Even as he recognized her subtle attempt to manipulate him, Miles found himself with no choice. The information her grandfather possessed was far too valuable.
Grabbing the walkie-talkie, he called out, "Ryan, are you there?"
Miles's voice was sharp, commanding—a tone Ryan had never heard before.
"Drop everything and head to…"
Lisa quickly interjected, "Villa B-017!"
Miles nodded and continued, "You heard her. Villa B-017. There's an old man there. Get him here, unharmed."
Ryan's response crackled through the speaker, his tone equally serious. "Understood. I'll handle it."
For Ryan, failure wasn't an option. He knew that if Miles fell, his own survival would be forfeit. In a world where every resource mattered, Miles was his anchor—and he intended to keep it that way.