Semua Bab The Apocalypse Hoarder: Bab 21 - Bab 30

At that moment, Diana curled up in her rented apartment, wrapped in two thick quilts as tightly as she could. Even with the air conditioner cranked to 40°C, the room couldn't reach 0°C. She trembled all over, and every breath felt like icy wind drilling straight through her blankets.Then she saw the photo Cyrus had just sent. Her eyes widened in disbelief. How could this be?In this frigid weather, Cyrus lounged in nothing but thin pajamas, calmly eating steak and sipping red wine as if it were spring. They lived in the same building, yet it felt as if they were in entirely different worlds.Especially that steak—perfectly seared, juices glistening—sat beside a bottle of fine wine. Diana nearly drooled on the spot.As a seasoned manipulator, she had studied luxury items. That cut of beef? She recognized it instantly as top-tier, genuine A5 wagyu. And the wine? Chateau-level red, each bottle worth at least 5,000 dollars.Meanwhile, she was freezing half to death. A sharp sting of

Cyrus lounged on the sofa, bored, and let out a long yawn. While everyone outside was starving and freezing, he was living better than royalty. His home had perfect insulation and practically limitless fuel. His supply was enough to keep his safehouse at a steady, comfortable temperature all year round.At this point, he did not need to do anything. He only had to make sure each day was pleasant and carefree.The TV channels no longer showed anything interesting. Most live broadcasts had been shut down because of the extreme cold.After all, those pretty streamers he used to enjoy watching could not possibly endure -70, -80, even over -80 degrees below zero. Wearing skimpy outfits and dancing on camera was not feasible under such conditions. And if any of them actually could, Cyrus would give them a thumbs-up and say, "Now that's badass!"Instead, he opened his pocket dimension. In the electronics section, he had piled up consoles and ++A games. His collection included PS-AI7s, SWA

Cyrus treated Linda's words like farts. Since he had nothing better to do, he decided to amuse himself by taunting the old woman.[Oh ho, @Linda, so capable, huh? If you've got so much skill, why not call Jack and Vincent to shovel the snow?]He named names openly in the group, showing zero regard for anyone's status.Jack Brogan, known as "The Jackhammer," was a notorious street thug. In Cyrus' past life, when the mob had broken into his home, Jack had led the charge with a mountain-splitting axe in hand.Vincent Heinfeld, an arrogant heir, had been the first to stab Cyrus with a knife.In short, aside from a tiny handful of decent neighbors, nearly everyone had taken part in attacking or robbing Cyrus. He could even guess that after his death, they had divided his belongings among themselves.This time, he refused to play nice. He tore away their masks as blatantly as he could, just to provoke them.Linda's expression darkened as she stared at her phone. Cyrus' naming names ha

The moment the call connected, a torrent of vicious curses erupted from the other end. "You little shit, you looking to die? Who the fuck told you to bring up my name in the group chat? How dare you provoke me? Looks like you've got a death wish! I've got countless ways to make sure you can't stay in this city another day. You believe me or not?"Jack was a notorious thug in Volaris. He commanded a few hundred men, and rumor had it he already had blood on his hands from past crimes. Everyone in the neighborhood kept their distance. Nobody dared cross him.To assert his dominance, Jack lived by a simple rule: anyone who challenged him would pay dearly. For a street boss, reputation was everything.Thus, even though Cyrus had only casually mentioned his name in the group chat, Jack took it as a direct provocation.From the other end, Jack's voice grew more violent. "You are really looking for death? Running your mouth, huh? You think you're tough, bringing my name into this?"Cyrus

Fear finally hit Jack. He pulled out his phone and dialed 911. The call wouldn't connect. He tried for over two minutes, only getting a busy tone.His heart sank. In this weather, even hospitals were struggling to operate. And even if some were still open, the city was buried under snow. No ambulance was coming.Jack was tough, though. After a long hesitation, he resolved to operate on himself. At the very least, he had to remove the crossbow bolt.He staggered back home and rummaged through a drawer, pulling out a knife, an alcohol lamp, gauze, and hemostatic powder. A man who fought as much as he did always kept a kit like this handy.He slit his pant leg open and went pale at the sight of the wound. In the brutal cold, the gash in his calf had already iced over. That had temporarily slowed the bleeding, but the skin around it was turning a purplish blue. His lower leg felt completely numb.A wave of despair washed over him. In a moment like this, no one was coming to help. Self