Those young guys who grew up in the resettlement block were trouble from the start. Their families had gotten big payouts when the old homes were torn down, so they never worked a day in their lives. Instead, they just hung out in packs, acting like wannabe gangsters. When the Great Heat came and their stash ran dry, they turned into predators—shaking down neighbors for "protection food." There were well over a hundred of them, all strong, cocky, and wild. Wherever they went, it felt like a storm rolling in—loud, reckless, and ready to fight. In the last life, they ended up taking over the nearby buildings, claiming them as their turf. They would make their rounds on schedule, demanding food. If anyone refused, they would drag them off and torture them.By the time they were dumped back home, they would be missing a finger or an ear, and still forced to bring back food. With no doctors around, living like that was worse than death. Yet, don't let their lazy vibe fool you—these punks were smart. They figured out that their power came from sticking together, and they made sure no one else could unite against them. They even ranked the residents. The obedient Level One residents only had to hand over one pound of food each month. The less obedient Level Two residents and the rebellious Level Three residents had to give three pounds and five pounds a month, respectively. Sometimes they would take food from the Level Threes and raffle it off as "rewards" for Level Ones, just to keep everyone competing to be the "good guys." Soon enough, people were not thinking about fighting back anymore—they were fighting each other just to stay at Level One. For a whole year, the building was bled dry. It only ended when a man from the next block, after his wife was killed by those animals, strapped explosives to himself and blew them all to hell. Natalie scooped up a spoonful of shaved ice, her thoughts cold and sharp. Last time, those thugs ruled everything. But this time? They were going to run into Owen with his gun. Both sides wanted to strip the residents of their supplies. No way they'd get along. As for her, she was not about to hand over anything. She had been wondering how to deal with those punks, but now Owen had stepped up to be the big target. Perfect. She would just sit back and enjoy the show. Owen loved waiting on the sidelines, letting others fight so he could swoop in at the end. Bet he never thought he would end up dragged into the fight himself. Olivia had been stressing about Owen running the building with that pistol, but when she saw Natalie cool as ever, slowly enjoying her shaved ice, she could not help but take a bite too. The cold sweetness chased away her nerves. She leaned back in her chair, copying Natalie's easygoing pose. Forget it. Owen never dared come up to the 14th floor anyway. Might as well live like Nat—take each day as it comes. The world's already chaos. Worrying about the future won't fix it. Meanwhile, in 1302. Owen lounged on the couch, eyes shut, while Elena massaged his shoulders, sweating from the effort. Ever since he had gotten the pistol, life had been sweet.He had so many supplies that he could not even fit them all in his own apartment. He had taken over the empty unit next door too, filling it wall to wall with food and gear. And really, who would dare rob him? Nobody in the building was crazy enough to go against him now. He stretched out, letting Elena work, and asked with a smirk, "Don't you think life's way better now than before?" Elena shot back, "No way! It's boiling hot, the air's stuffy, and there are cockroaches and snakes everywhere. I'm on edge every single day! Before the disaster, I'd be out shopping or sitting in a beauty salon right about now." Her eyes softened as she thought back to those days, when life was easy and she dressed herself up every day, a perfect, polished city girl. But now? She was stuck in a worn-out nightgown, clomping around in big old slippers, sweaty all over, with greasy hair tied back in a messy knot ... Now, she had to wait on Owen like some servant. When he was not looking, she rolled her eyes hard. Owen did not bother arguing. Sure, the world outside was miserable, but somehow he still felt happier. Maybe it was the way the neighbors looked at him in fear. Or maybe the way his lackeys fawned over him. Before, he had money to eat, drink, and play, but it never gave him this much satisfaction. Guess this was what real power felt like. Just then, his men walked in. "Boss, here's today's haul."Owen glanced at the pile. "Not as much as yesterday." The guy in front swallowed hard, eyeing the pistol in Owen's hand. "Boss, we've already searched the whole building a few times. This is the third sweep. I really think people are running out."