Peter Chow knocked again, harder this time.
"Ethan! It's Peter, man—open up!"
"I've got something important to tell you!"
Inside, Ethan Cross leaned back, expression cold and bored. He casually reached over, unlocked the safety on his handgun, and rolled his neck with a soft click of his joints.
Outside the door, Peter made a subtle hand signal.
Claire and Natalie—his two scheming accomplices—tensed immediately, weapons gripped in hand. This was their first time trying to kill someone. They were nervous.
But the thought of a warm home and unlimited food—of not freezing to death in that shitty apartment—quickly filled their eyes with murderous resolve.
"I'm starving, man," Peter said, putting on his best pitiful act. "C'mon… we used to work together, right? Can't you help out an old colleague?"
Ethan leaned lazily against the inside of the door, smirking. "Sorry, man. No food here either. Can't help you."
Claire and Natalie gritted their teeth outside.
No food?
They'd seen the stocked pantry. The sea cucumber, dried scallops, abalone—all top-shelf stuff. That smug bastard was lying through his teeth.
But they were ready for that.
Peter gritted his teeth and pulled a small box from his coat.
"Ethan, I'm not asking for a handout! I'll trade—look, it's ibuprofen!"
In a world frozen to hell and back, medicine was damn near priceless. It was as valuable as food. Maybe even more.
And that's when Ethan had an idea.
Killing them would be easy. Gun. Crossbow. One clean shot. Hell, he could pop all three in under ten seconds.
But death? That was too merciful.
No… he wanted them to suffer.
He strolled over to the trash, pulled out an empty sports drink bottle, and grinned.
He'd just downed a six-pack of beer.
Perfect timing.
As he started filling the bottle, his voice came smooth and lazy through the door.
"Ibuprofen, huh? That's actually pretty useful… Give me a second to think it over."
Outside, Peter smiled wide.
Hooked.
Claire and Natalie couldn't hear exactly what Ethan was doing, but the faint sound of trickling water made them even more hopeful.
"I'm serious, man!" Peter said. "Let's just trade—two packets of ramen, that's all I want!"
In today's apocalyptic economy, that medicine could easily go for five packs, maybe more. Peter was lowballing hard—hoping Ethan would bite.
"Two packets?" Ethan chuckled. "That's robbery, Pete. I'd feel bad about that…"
He capped the now-steaming bottle and climbed up to the shooting hatch near the top of the door.
Then, with a devilish grin, he tilted the bottle and poured the contents straight onto the trio waiting outside.
Whooosh!
The hot liquid splashed over their heads. Peter jumped. Claire screamed.
Natalie shrieked, "WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS?!"
"It's… it's hot!"
For a brief moment, they thought it was water. Warm water! The holy grail!
Then the smell hit.
And the color.
And the frothy white foam.
Claire's voice broke into a soul-piercing shriek. "OH MY GOD, IT'S PISS!!!"
Natalie started dry-heaving on the spot, clutching her stomach.
Peter wiped his face and went red, then purple, and then lost it completely.
"YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!"
BANG! BANG! BANG!
He slammed his fists against the door, howling.
"You little fuck! I'll kill you! OPEN THIS FUCKING DOOR!"
But the thick alloy door didn't budge. It didn't even dent.
Inside, Ethan laughed like a man possessed.
"How's that taste? Refreshing, huh?"
"You dipshits really thought you could trick me?"
Outside, Peter finally realized they'd been caught. And played. Hard.
He snarled, ripped the knife from his coat, and began hacking at the door like a lunatic.
Clang!
The blade slammed into solid metal—and bounced off violently.
The shockwave ripped through Peter's arms. The knife pinged off the door, whizzed past his head, and slashed open his scalp. His hand split open at the webbing.
Cold steel. Numb skin. Excruciating pain.
And Peter—ever the dumbass—finally realized something.
This wasn't a normal door.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!!!"
He dropped to the ground, screaming like a pig in a slaughterhouse.
Claire and Natalie panicked. One look at his bloodied face and they bolted without a second thought.
So much for loyalty.
Inside, Ethan flipped the safety back on and considered opening the door and plugging them full of lead.
Just for the fun of it.
But he stopped.
Why?
Because they were already dying. Just slowly.
Going outside, even for a second, carried risk. Even a 0.1% chance of injury was too much.
He wasn't here to be a hero.
He was here to survive.
And thrive.
So he sat back down, fired up his game console, and went right back to slaying demons in 4K comfort.
Meanwhile…
Peter limped home, blood still dripping from his scalp, piss frozen onto his collar.
He collapsed on Claire's couch, shivering and shellshocked.
Claire took one look at him—and screamed.
"GET OFF MY COUCH! YOU'RE COVERED IN PISS!"