Since Nadia adamantly refused to keep one of the firearms, the three weapons were distributed evenly among the residents of Unit 1803. As for the rest of the scavenged goods, those were handed over to Nadia to manage as communal resources, with plans to trade them for other supplies in the future. "What about those two families downstairs?" Jasmine, always quick-tempered, snapped, "Let's go down there, break their doors, and throw them out. I'm sick of feeling like we've swallowed flies every time we deal with them." Caleb mused aloud, "And the Hadids?" The Hadids weren't too bad—they at least held their own. It was the other two families that were insufferable and scheming. "We don't have to worry about other people's business," Nadia said. "We just need to keep our floor secure."She wasn't interested in being overly generous. People couldn't expect to have it both ways—profiting from the group while shirking responsibility. Still, this time had taught the 18th floor a valuable lesson: they needed to be cautious whenever they left their units to avoid being targeted. "Life and death are up to fate," Jasmine said. "If I ever get caught by them, don't you dare do something stupid to try and save me." "I feel the same way," Caleb added, his expression equally determined. "I've got no family to worry about. If I die, no one will miss me. Don't fall into a trap over my worthless life." Levi hugged Jasmine tightly. "Even if I die, I'll die with you, honey." Nadia rolled her eyes. "Quit tempting fate. Are you all looking to die early?" "She's right! That's bad luck," Caleb said quickly. "We're going to live long enough to see the end of these disasters and watch the world rebuild civilization." Once Nadia and Harrison left the room, Jasmine suddenly remembered something. "Wait, where's our firewood?" She hurried downstairs, only to find no trace of it. Standing with her hands akimbo, Jasmine let out a thunderous roar that echoed through the building. "Who took our firewood? You've got half an hour to return it if you don't want to die. Bring it back, and I'll pretend nothing happened. If not, don't blame me for going door to door!" That firewood had been gathered at great risk. No way was she letting anyone steal it. After shouting her ultimatum, she went back upstairs to rest. Levi kept a close eye on the time. As soon as the thirty minutes were up, he went downstairs to check. Sure enough, the firewood had been returned, dumped in the hallway. After several trips, he brought it all back. Not a single piece was missing. Nadia couldn't help but reflect on how infamous the 18th floor had become.The firewood wasn't the issue—it was the people behind these petty acts. How would they deal with them going forward? Nadia knew where the troublemakers' base was. If they were going to strike, it had to be decisive—wipe them out entirely. The group behind the attacks called themselves the Black Talon Brotherhood. Why did she remember them so clearly? In her previous life, she had seen them publicly tried and executed by firing squad. But that was still months away—there was time yet. Back then, the Black Talon Brotherhood hadn't stopped extorting survivors for protection supplies. They committed countless atrocities: assaulting women, murdering government workers, and generally wreaking havoc wherever they went. Survivors lived in fear, and initial police investigations led nowhere. Eventually, the government deployed SWAT teams, military police, and even the army. A massive operation eradicated the group. Hundreds were either killed in combat or captured. During the public trials, the crimes of over 300 members were read aloud, so numerous and horrific that it took over half an hour to list them all. The death sentences they received couldn't have been more deserved. The memory of that time stirred something in Nadia. She sifted through her recollections, and little by little, crucial details surfaced in her mind. As evening fell, Nadia deliberately changed into worn, ragged clothes. Before leaving, she informed Jasmine, "I'm heading out for a bit." Jasmine looked worried. "What for?" "We can't just sit here waiting to die. I'm going to gather some intel. To win this fight, we need to know our enemy." "I'll go with you." "Two people are too conspicuous. Let me scout alone first. If things get tricky, we can figure it out together." "Fine, but be careful." Bundling herself tightly to ward off the cold, Nadia tucked her head low and made her way toward Regal Residences. Dressed in rags and carrying nothing of value, she barely attracted any attention. Pickpockets and muggers along the way didn't even bother looking her way—why waste their energy on someone with no payoff? By the time she reached Regal Residences, the sky was almost dark. Nadia found a sheltered spot to shield herself from the wind and took out her binoculars to observe from a distance. The main gate was guarded, and everyone entering or exiting had to show some sort of round pass and exchange a password. Watching their lips carefully, Nadia realized they were using rotating passwords for each of the four entrances, a detail she vaguely recalled from her past life during their trial. Under the cover of the night, Nadia stealthily scouted each entrance. She watched as the guards transported extorted supplies into the compound and swaggered out drunk and laughing, their red faces betraying their indulgence at the expense of survivors.Just as she was about to leave, she caught sight of a group of men dragging several young women into the complex. They were rough, brazen, and showed no hesitation. Once those girls crossed the gates, they'd have no chance of escape. A heavy weight settled in Nadia's chest. She slipped into her domain for cover and spent half an hour drafting a letter. Equipping herself with night-vision goggles and ice skates, she sped through the icy streets, the wind biting against her face. She arrived at the newly relocated police station, which was shrouded in darkness. With the city in chaos, law enforcement was overwhelmed. The rising tide of crime had turned them into prime targets for criminals, making even daylight patrols dangerous. At night, the station was completely deserted. Though the government had tried recruiting security patrol teams, the collapse of order made their efforts futile. While morgue and corpse-removal teams were in high demand, no one wanted to join the patrols. It wasn't hunger people feared—it was death. Only after the military and SWAT teams began cracking down on crime did public safety gradually improve. Nadia slipped the letter into the station's mailbox. It detailed everything she knew about the Black Talon Brotherhood, including their operations and locations. If the authorities took the intel seriously and acted quickly, they might be able to dismantle the gang early, saving countless lives and resources. The gang was already producing illegal firearms, and while their production was in its infancy, their potential for harm was immense. In her previous life, their eventual downfall came at the cost of dozens of lives. If the authorities moved now, they could avoid that bloodshed. Nadia knew she wasn't a hero. Even with a second chance, she was just trying to survive longer. This was as much as she could do. … On her way back to the SOHO Community, Nadia spotted a tall figure in the distance. Quickening her pace, she called out, "Harrison?" The shadow stopped. "Nadia?" Nadia was surprised. "What are you doing out here?" "Needed some air. What about you?" Harrison asked. Nadia nodded. "Same here." They exchanged a knowing smile and silently headed upstairs together. The corpses from earlier still lay frozen on the 16th floor, stiff and untouched. Frustrated residents had started complaining about the 18th floor's "lack of civic duty," loudly voicing their grievances as they worked together to toss the bodies out of the windows. As they turned back, they suddenly noticed Nadia and Harrison standing silently at the stairwell, watching. "Ahhh!" someone on the 16th floor screamed in terror. Pale-faced, they stammered, "W-We didn't mean anything by it! We weren't insulting you!" Without waiting for a reply, the group scattered like frightened rats, retreating into their apartments and locking their doors. Oh God, the people from the 18th floor are like ghosts—quiet and terrifying. They hadn't meant any harm with their complaints, but now they were praying fervently. Please don't come after us! Oh, Father Almighty, Jesus, protect us!