Linda had been beaten up, her house ransacked, and her grandson Tiger left in critical condition after being kicked hard in the stomach by one of Chris Watson's thugs.
Though Linda could still move, Tiger wasn't as lucky. A six-year-old couldn't possibly withstand that kind of impact—his organs were seriously damaged.
In desperation, she turned to the neighborhood group chat, crying for help.
"Please, I know what I did before was wrong, but my grandson's innocent! He's just a child—please, someone help him!"
Her messages were met with silence—and some sarcasm.
"Who knows if this isn't another scam from her."
"Yeah, and even if it's real, none of us are doctors. What can we even do?"
"If you hadn't tricked people and taken their supplies, would Watson have even attacked your family? This is on you."
Linda kept crying in the chat, voice breaking: "It's all my fault, all of it! Just please, someone save my grandson! I'll kneel to anyone who helps him!"
Finally, a message came through.
"I can try treating him," said someone named Chloe Walker.
Ethan recognized the name immediately—a tall, elegant woman with a calm, slightly aloof demeanor. Dr. Chloe Walker was a physician from Bayview General Hospital. In his past life, she had saved many lives with her medical skills. One of the few genuinely good people.
Normally quiet in the group, she only spoke now because a child's life was at stake.
Linda quickly sent Tiger over, practically crawling to thank Chloe.
Half an hour later, another message from Linda popped up in the chat:
"Does anyone have any antibiotics, clotting agents, or anything to help with shock? Please, I'm begging you—my grandson needs surgery to survive!"
Tiger's injuries were severe—his liver had ruptured. Dr. Walker had managed to stabilize him temporarily, but without proper medicine and surgery, he wouldn't last long.
The residents read her pleas, but nobody moved.
Nobody stocked those kinds of medications. They weren't exactly the kind of thing you bought on a whim.
Chris even chimed in with sarcasm:"So how's that kneeling going? You kneeling through the group chat?"
The group burst into mocking laughter.
"I swear I'll kneel! Just please—someone help!" Linda typed frantically.
Ethan raised an eyebrow. He had all those meds in his vault space. But he didn't move.
In the apocalypse, medicine was just as critical as food. It wasn't about saving a kid anymore—it was about survival. And besides, he had no love for Linda or that brat.
Let them beg.
Eventually, Dr. Walker messaged again.
"I've managed to stop the bleeding for now, but this won't last. He needs proper surgery. If anyone else ever has a medical emergency, I'll try to help—just know I can't perform miracles."
That one message turned her into a beacon of hope.
Even Chris and that arrogant trust-fund brat Hunter praised her in the chat like devoted fanboys.
In better times, most people ignored Dr. Walker's cool attitude. But now? She was the most valuable person in the building. Everyone scrambled to curry favor.
Ethan, meanwhile, stayed silent, sipping his coffee while scrolling the chat.
Over the past few days, that annoying little princess Claire hadn't contacted him again. Probably still clinging to her "goddess" persona.
But he knew that wouldn't last. The snow wasn't stopping. The entire ground floor was now buried under five meters of snow. Leaving the building was out of the question.
Sooner or later, Claire would come begging.
Seven days had passed since the world froze over.
For those stuck inside, it felt like seven years.
Hope had almost completely vanished. Through the internet, people learned that it wasn't just their city—it was the whole world.
The snowstorm had reached apocalyptic levels. In some northern cities, temperatures had plummeted to minus 140°F. Entire regions were buried.
And while the government continued to issue optimistic broadcasts, claiming things were under control, one glance out the window told the real story.
Despair.
With food and warmth growing scarce, people's behavior started to change.
Linda, who now had nothing left, began ranting again in the chat like a madwoman, shouting about how she was a community leader and demanding everyone hand over their supplies.
But no one listened anymore.
People had learned. They weren't falling for it again.
Then, someone from the 12th floor named Mary Liu broke the silence.
"Does anyone have any food left? My baby and I haven't eaten in two days. I'll pay—whatever price you want!"
That one message triggered a quiet shift.
Until now, people still held onto hope that things would get better. Prices for food were high, but manageable—just a few times the usual rate.
But now?
Now food was life.
A minute later, someone replied:
"I've got a few packs of ramen. A thousand bucks each. You want them?"
A thousand dollars. For a single pack of instant noodles.
In the past, this would've been unthinkable.
Ethan leaned back on the couch, expression calm.
"And so it begins," he murmured.