Chapter 3

At exactly 3:00 p.m., the skyline beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows tore open.

The blazing sun looked as if an invisible giant hand had pinched it out. A nauseating crimson swallowed the sky in an instant. There was no howling wind to warn anyone—temperature plummeted at a rate that mocked physics.

The deep freeze arrived on schedule.

A violent geomagnetic storm instantly crippled global communications. Three seconds of despairing silence—then screams erupted across the city, shredding the hush.

I reclined on a leather sofa, staring coldly at the surveillance tablet on the table—running off an independent satellite signal source.

On-screen, the heavy steel doors of Luke’s suburban warehouse slammed down, sealing out the blizzard.

Only ten minutes into the drop, dozens of neighbors from the industrial park—skin turning purple, eyebrows crusted with ice—rushed the warehouse gate. The “apocalypse” had barely begun and most people still had food at home, but minus fifty Celsius could kill in half an hour. They hammered the door and screamed, begging to be let inside to avoid freezing to death.

Luke didn’t open it.

Wrapped in top-tier cold-weather gear, he stood atop a towering shelf line, looking down through ballistic glass at the dying crowd outside.

His eyes burned with the fever of absolute control over life and death. He casually cracked open a small ventilation hatch and tossed out a military-grade, high-tech thermal blanket that flashed silver.

“It’s minus fifty out there! Want to live? Kneel!” His arrogant laughter blasted from a loudspeaker. “First one to bow and call me boss gets the blanket!”

Watching people abandon dignity and drop to their knees just to avoid freezing, Luke spread his arms wide, drowning in the warped pleasure of becoming ruler of a new world.

Snap—the surveillance tablet went black, overloaded by signal strain in the extreme cold.

The shrill laughter cut off. In its place came the soft, steady glug-glug of soup simmering beside me.

I wasn’t in that city apartment at all.

Days ago, I’d moved alone to this remote old lakeside cabin in the countryside. Beneath the weathered wood, an insanely expensive independent geothermal system—and backup solar circulation—was running at full power.

Outside, the frozen wasteland could split steel in seconds. Inside, I wore thin cotton loungewear, barefoot on a warm floor at 26°C.

That afternoon, I even pulled on a coat, stepped out the back door onto my private lake—frozen solid—and calmly drilled through half a meter of ice with an electric auger, hauling up a fat, live black bass.

Now, milky fish soup rolled in the pot. Steam filled the kitchen with rich aroma.

Day one of paid leave—perfect.

Night fell, and the temperature dropped off a cliff again.

At 8:00 p.m., the high-power longwave radio on the corner of my dining table lit a harsh red indicator and crackled with urgent static.

“Zzz… you useless piece of trash—still not frozen stiff?”

Luke’s malice slid through the airwaves. He was dying to hear my teeth chatter, dying to hear me beg and sob under lethal cold.

I didn’t answer.

I picked up a top-tier tomahawk lamb chop, flicked my wrist, and dropped it precisely into a scorching cast-iron skillet.

Szzzz—!

The roar of fat exploding was captured perfectly by the high-fidelity mic I’d deliberately moved closer. Then I lifted a decanter and poured warmed red wine into a glass, the crisp sound of liquid streaming clear.

On the other end, Luke sucked in a sharp breath.

“What the hell is that sound?! Are you… frying meat?!” His voice jumped, arrogance cracking under the seductive sizzle. “You said you only bought one box of trash cans! Where are you?!”

I lifted the glass, took a small sip of hot red wine, and gave him four cold words:

“In the countryside.”

“You played me?!” A huge crash came through the radio like someone kicking over a steel barrel. Luke’s furious howl nearly ripped the speaker apart. “You just wait! I swear I’ll come personally with men and stomp your face into the ground! I’ll make you—”

Click.

I cut the radio’s power with my fingertip.