Soon, Ethan heard a blood-curdling scream echo through the surveillance feed.
Mike Cruz had kicked down Linda's door and stormed inside. Without a word, he slapped her across the face with a loud crack.
"You lying old bitch. Scamming your neighbors for supplies? I'm doing the whole block a favor!" Mike shouted with a twisted grin.
Linda fell to the floor, dazed and unable to speak.
Mike turned to his crew.
"Search everything! I want every last pack of food and water. These were meant for the neighborhood, not her greedy wrinkled hands!"
The thugs cackled and dove into the kitchen and bedrooms, tearing apart cupboards, drawers, and hiding spots like they'd done this a hundred times.
It didn't take long before they unearthed a stash: instant noodles, crackers, bottled water, bread—plenty for a week or two.
Linda crawled to Mike and clutched his leg, sobbing.
"Please don't take everything! Some of that is for me and my grandson! If you take it all, we'll starve!"
Mike looked down at her with cold contempt.
"Not my problem. Get lost!"
And with that, he used his good leg to kick her square in the face.
"Aghhh!"
Linda screamed like a stuck pig and tumbled backward.
Then, a shrill voice rang out from the bedroom.
"Get out of our house, you bastards!"
It was her grandson—Tommy. The kid had just watched them pull out a stash of chocolate cookies he'd hidden. Furious, he ran over with a small fruit knife and stabbed one of the goons right in the butt.
In subzero temperatures, even minor injuries could be deadly.
The thug screamed, whipping around with wide, enraged eyes. When he saw that a six-year-old had just shanked him, his fury doubled.
"You little shit!"
Without hesitation, he pulled back and kicked the boy in the gut with all the strength he had.
The blow lifted Tommy off the ground, flinging him like a ragdoll into the wall. He slammed against it and crumpled to the floor, unmoving.
There's an old saying—"beat someone like you're hanging a painting." And that's exactly what it looked like.
Mike and his thugs burst out laughing.
"Damn, man! That kick was sick!"
"Should've recorded that! Blew the brat across the room!"
The thug, known to the crew as "Fiver," pulled the knife out of his ass, grinning proudly.
Linda, still groaning on the floor, had been trying to fake unconsciousness. But when she saw her grandson get kicked like that, she let out a heart-wrenching cry.
"Tommy! My baby!"
She scrambled toward him, wailing.
Mike pointed at her with mock righteousness.
"That's the price of scamming the neighborhood. Justice served."
With that, he and his crew strolled out, laughing and loaded with supplies.
Ethan watched the whole thing through his surveillance cameras, munching chips, eyebrows raised.
He felt no sympathy for Linda or her grandson. Honestly, it was satisfying to watch.
But deep down, he also knew what this moment really meant.
The rules of civilized society in their building were beginning to fracture. The thin layer of order that once held things together had cracked—and the break would only spread.
"Too bad it doesn't really concern me," Ethan muttered with a smile, lounging on his imported leather sofa.
"They're out there killing each other over scraps. And I'm just in here living my best life. Honestly? Kinda boring."
He stretched, then hit "send" on the video clip he had recorded—posting it straight into the building's group chat.
The group was still venting about Linda, accusing her of theft and demanding an explanation.
But when they saw the video…
Linda's apartment door being smashed down.
Linda getting slapped.
Her grandson getting kicked like a soccer ball.
Her stash getting looted.
The reactions were immediate.
"Hah! Serves the lying hag right!"
"Hell yeah, Mike! That's how you deal with scum!"
"That's what you get for stealing from your neighbors!"
"Steal from others, lose it all. Poetic justice!"
Even though everyone knew Mike would never return the stolen goods to the original owners, no one seemed to care.
Watching Linda suffer was enough to satisfy them.
Some even praised Mike as a hero.
"Mike's the man!"
"Say what you want about him—he's got justice in his blood!"
"Without him, we'd be helpless against scum like her!"
"Mike, be careful. That old hag might try to report you."
Some even started giving Mike tips on how to avoid getting in trouble—just in case.
It was insane.
Mike had just committed open robbery and battery, and yet now he was being hailed as a street-level Robin Hood.
Ethan snorted and shook his head at the absurdity.
"They're missing the bigger picture."
Today, it was Linda. But tomorrow?
It could be them.
All it took was Mike deciding that someone else's food looked tasty.
And with hope fading by the day, it was only a matter of time.
Ethan's gaze lingered on the chat for a while longer. The fact that the neighbors were still actively chatting told him one thing:
They still had food—just not enough to relax.
Bayview's residents had been warehouse workers or savvy shoppers. Even those not in logistics had the habit of stocking up on clearance goods.
A single case of expired ramen could feed a family of three for days.
They weren't starving yet—but they weren't living well either.
Ethan eventually closed the chat and retrieved a target from his dimensional storage, pinning it to the wall.
He picked up his compound bow and hand crossbow and began practicing.
Even with his bunker-grade shelter, he refused to let himself get complacent.
In a world like this, you either prepare—or you die.
Besides, archery was a fun way to pass the time.
As for his gun?
He didn't need to practice with it. He already had a certificate from the shooting range. Not a sharpshooter, but decent enough.
And guns were terrifying enough on their own.
He only had a hundred rounds of ammo—not something he could restock—so he planned to save every bullet.
Arrows could be reused.
Bullets couldn't.