Chapter3

On the third day of the apocalypse, the streets of Manhattan were stained dark brown with a thick layer of blood.

I sat in the 200-square-meter control room and casually switched the main screen on the wall to the wealthy area of Long Island.

With my memories from my past life and the Trojan horse I had planted beforehand, the Long Island police's surveillance system and the smart security cameras in that so-called mansion became my private VIP cinema.

In the video, my biological father and stepmother were no longer as arrogant and domineering as they were a few days ago when they forced me to hand over three million.

For the first two days after the water and electricity were cut off, the biological father used an expensive golf club to brace the mahogany door, while the stepmother guarded the meager amount of canned food and truffle cookies in the basement.

But by the third day, the so-called wealthy neighborhood had completely collapsed.

"Bang--!"

A loud crash came from the surveillance footage as a modified pickup truck smashed through the ornate iron gate of the mansion. Seven or eight thugs armed with shotguns and baseball bats kicked open the living room door and began a frenzied free shopping spree. The biological father tried to stop them, but one of the thugs struck him squarely on the knee with a bat.

With a sickening crack of bone, my once-powerful father fell like a dog into a pool of blood, clutching his twisted, broken leg and letting out a piercing scream.

However, the real show has only just begun.

Faced with the thugs' rampage, the useless younger brother, who had been cowering behind the sofa, was cornered. Extreme fear caused his body to convulse violently; the next second, his eyes instantly turned bloodshot and crimson, and his muscles emitted a terrifying tearing sound like popping beans!

Macrophage genes have awakened.

I've seen this kind of mutant in my past life, a one-in-a-million physical enhancement type. In the surveillance footage, my brother, who was originally covered in fat, sprang up like a wild bear that had gone out of control, and punched the leader of the thugs in the face.

A muffled "thud" sounded!

The thug's head exploded like a watermelon falling from a high-rise building, splattering his brains and blood all over the stepmother's head and face. The remaining thugs were all stunned by this bloody scene; some even had their crotches soaked with sweat and knelt on the ground, frantically kowtowing.

Having superpowers means you can become king in the apocalypse? I looked at the screen and let out a mocking laugh.

God did give him a sharp knife, but didn't tell him that the handle was covered in barbs. The fundamental logic of macrophage genes is that cells extract energy from the host during rapid division. This means he must consume at least 20,000 calories a day; otherwise, his body will begin a frenzied self-retribution, burning away his sanity completely.

Sure enough, less than ten minutes after beating the thugs, the bloodshot in the younger brother's eyes did not fade. Instead, he clutched his stomach and let out a beast-like growl.

He was hungry.

He rushed into the basement like a ravenous ghost, tearing open expensive canned goods, biscuits, and even raw meat, stuffing them into his mouth, packaging and all. In just half a day, the meager rations his stepmother had painstakingly stockpiled were devoured by him in a whirlwind, leaving not a trace.

But he was still complaining of being hungry.

By the sixth hour, the younger brother, whose eyes were sunken from extreme hunger, stared intently at his biological father and stepmother, who were huddled in the corner, trembling. His gaze was no longer that of someone looking at humans, but rather as if he were looking at two steaming pieces of protein.

The stepmother was terrified by that look. She knew her son too well; if he went mad with hunger, he really would eat people! A fierce will to survive and extreme selfishness drove her mind to work at lightning speed. Suddenly, she screamed as if grasping at a straw:

"Your brother! Find your brother! He used our three million to buy an entire floor! He must have mountains of food there!"

"Go find him! Take all his things! He owes us that!"

Looking at my stepmother's face, twisted with malice and fear, in the surveillance footage, I couldn't help but applaud. Perfect logic indeed. Not only did she find a scapegoat for herself, but she also conveniently dragged me into this mess.

Driven to madness by hunger, the younger brother was incapable of thinking. The excruciating pain in his stomach made him want nothing more than to go on a killing spree. He let out a roar, kicked over the coffee table, grabbed his stepmother by the hair, gathered the terrified remnants of the thugs, and drove off in a pickup truck, making a grand rampage across Long Island.

I accessed the municipal traffic waste monitoring node and followed their convoy.

As night fell, the entire city of New York was plunged into a deathly silence and darkness.

As the dilapidated convoy crossed the Brooklyn Bridge, the stepmother leaned out of the passenger window, her trembling hand pointing towards the uptown area.

There, amidst endless dark ruins, my Manhattan penthouse stood like an inviolable beacon, shining the only solitary light in the entire city.

"Look... right there! Your ungrateful brother is probably living the high life in there right now!" The stepmother's voice was hysterical in the cold wind.

"Eat..." The younger brother let out a thick, hissing roar, slamming his foot down on the accelerator. The engine roared under its own weight, carrying the horde of demons as it hurtled toward me.

I stood in front of the screen, picked up my freshly brewed black coffee, and slightly raised the cup towards the viewer.

Come, my dear family.

The guillotine has been polished and is just waiting for you to stick your necks in.