Isaac, long removed from the company of women, nearly lost control. His aged hands hesitantly encircled Lena's full, warm figure, knowing full well that if he expressed his desires now, Lena wouldn't refuse.
But as his gaze drifted to the boy nearby, clarity returned.
Taking a deep breath, he said, "Alright, let's eat first. In this damned weather, hot food turns cold in minutes."
Lena blushed as she withdrew from his embrace. She patted her son's head and said gently, "From now on, you're not to call him 'Grandpa Isaac.'"
"What should I call him?"
"Call him Dad—"
Before she could finish, Isaac awkwardly interjected with a chuckle, "Just call me Uncle for now. It'll take time for him to get used to it."
Children may lack the complexity of adults, but they're often more perceptive than they seem.
The boy grinned at him sweetly and called out, "Uncle Isaac."
"Good boy," Isaac replied with a warm smile.
After absorbing Andrew's energy, Miles felt an ever-growing hunger for power.
Who wouldn't want to become stronger—especially in a world stripped of order and rife with danger? Survival demanded strength, the kind that would leave others too intimidated to challenge you.
Miles rested against the bedframe, Lisa kneeling beside him, massaging his shoulders. She glanced over at a blinking phone nearby.
"Master, your phone is ringing."
A working phone in times like these?
Most communication networks had collapsed. While some high-ranking officials might still have access to rudimentary communication tools, the average person had long been cut off from the world.
These days, shouting was the most reliable form of communication, and walking the most dependable means of transport.
Miles, too, was taken aback. He picked up the phone. There was no caller ID—just a message code: 0394.
An eerie chill crawled down his spine.
Anyone capable of maintaining communication in this broken world wasn't ordinary. They were likely someone high up in the government or a powerful figure with vast resources.
Yet, the phone continued to blink persistently. On, off. On, off.
"Seems like whoever it is, they're determined to reach you," Lisa said, her voice tinged with caution.
Miles frowned at the device, muttering coldly, "It's not just the call. We might be under surveillance."
His villa was outfitted with an internal network during renovations, isolated from external connections. Everything—from the secure blast-proof doors to the lights—operated on this closed system.
He had believed it to be foolproof.
But the timing of this call unnerved him.
If someone was indeed watching, they could be using satellite servers to monitor his villa's internal network.
Miles, having worked in tech before the apocalypse, understood the dangers of such surveillance.
If this were true...
His thoughts echoed a movie line: "We were eating hot pot, singing songs, and suddenly, bandits ambushed us!"
Damn it.
Miles cursed under his breath and answered the call.
"Is this Mr. Miles?"
A deep, authoritative male voice greeted him from the other end.
"Who's asking?" Miles's tone was icy.
Unperturbed, the man chuckled. "You can call me Alexander—or Mr. Alexander, if you prefer."
Alexander?
Miles froze. He stared at the phone, momentarily speechless, before regaining his composure.
A true titan.
If you were American, you'd know the name Alexander. Even if you didn't recognize it, you'd have used one of his company's services.
Ins, WeChat, WhatsApp—three giants dominating 90% of the nation's communication platforms, with billions of users worldwide.
Beyond that, global sensations in online gaming and indispensable daily apps also came from Alexander's Rocket Corporation.
He was an internet titan, rivaling the likes of Silicon Valley's finest.
The undisputed overlord of the digital age.
"It's an honor, Mr. Alexander," Miles finally managed, steadying his nerves.
No wonder the call had come despite the telecommunications collapse. With Alexander's control over data, he likely held more information than anyone on Earth—even God.
"Mr. Miles, it's a pleasure to speak with you. Let's skip the pleasantries." Alexander's tone was polite but direct. "I've come across information suggesting that the nearly trillion-dollar haul from the Southern Logistics District is now in your possession."
Straight to the point.
His words left no room for denial. It wasn't a question; it was a statement.
Miles said nothing, letting the silence speak volumes.
"I used to wonder how anyone could empty such a vast logistics hub overnight," Alexander continued, his tone laced with intrigue. "But after reports of superhumans emerged, I was certain. Those supplies—only someone like you could have taken them."
"You've been watching me," Miles replied coldly.
Alexander laughed lightly. "Not intentionally, I assure you. Rocket Corporation is a critical asset to national security, especially now. With the collapse of government networks, we've taken on the responsibility of surveillance. Observing you was... incidental."
One month after the apocalypse, global infrastructure had crumbled.
Yet nations like the U.S., with countless satellites in orbit, retained limited connectivity. Despite the chaos, a handful of surviving satellites continued to function.
Rocket Corporation, as a tech powerhouse, possessed unparalleled access to these tools.
Alexander didn't need much effort to tap into government-authorized satellite feeds, allowing localized networks to persist.
But these were fragile systems, dependent on satellites no longer under active control. Their longevity was uncertain.
"So, what's your real purpose, Alexander? Surely you didn't call just to flex your dominance."
Miles's voice was calm, but his expression was stormy.
He knew he had stumbled into a dangerous game.
"I need the resources you've hoarded—specifically, your energy reserves."
Alexander didn't sugarcoat his demand. To him, Miles was just another pawn. Even if Miles was a superhuman, there was no escaping Rocket Corporation's reach.
"And what's your offer in return?"
A fair trade might avert conflict. Miles wouldn't mind parting with some supplies in exchange for valuable information. After all, he wasn't eager to provoke someone of Alexander's stature.
But what if Alexander expected to take without paying?