Chapter 3

Five days later.

The extreme heat hell had finally arrived.

Over these five days, I'd been preparing for the coming war.

The underground freezer had been fortified into an impregnable fortress—I used the station's TNT to set up a minefield at the tunnel entrance, high-voltage electric nets covered all possible invasion routes, and fuel traps were scattered throughout key chokepoints.

Any enemy attempting forced entry would taste the flavor of hellfire.

Meanwhile, I'd moved both trucks of contraband pharmaceuticals to the deepest storage chamber, protecting them with layers of heavy steel plates and combination locks. In the extreme heat apocalypse, these military-grade medications were more precious than gold.

Through the bulletproof glass, I watched the entire town of Blackwater transform into a furnace within the shimmering heat waves.

Day one: When temperatures hit 104°F, the town's elderly began collapsing from heat stroke.

Day two: The 113°F heat softened asphalt roads, car tires exploding one after another along the streets.

Day three: At 118°F, the first air conditioner exploded, followed by the second, the third...

Day four: The entire power grid began partial collapse, every household's cooling equipment failing in unison.

Today, the thermometer read 122°F.

At such extreme temperatures, any ordinary cooling equipment was useless.

Except for my ability.

I held a ice-cold beer, leisurely sitting in my constant 64°F office. Tomahawk steaks in the underground freezer emanated enticing aromas, Corona beers chilled to perfection.

This ultimate contrast between heaven and hell filled every breath with the ecstasy of revenge.

Over these five days, Bill's calls had never stopped.

Day one, he still played tough: "Jack, last chance!"

Day two became pleading: "Please, buddy! Those Mexicans are already looking for me!"

Day three was hoarse screaming: "You bastard! I'm going to kill you!"

Day four, his voice carried tears: "Jack... I was wrong... I was really wrong..."

This morning's final call contained only desperate whispers: "Jack... I'm going to die today... but I won't die alone..."

Outside, residents were already wandering the streets with knives and axes, their skin cooked red, eyes wild with madness, looking exactly like man-eating beasts.

Social order teetered on the brink of collapse.

RRRRRR—

Engine roars interrupted my thoughts.

I set down my beer and peered through the blinds.

Over thirty heavy pickups and Harley motorcycles thundered in from the distance, bikers aboard each wielding AK-47s, ammunition belts gleaming metallic in the sunlight.

Bill stood in the first pickup's bed, his face cooked by the heat like a well-done lobster, but his eyes burned with desperate madness.

"Jack! Even if I die today, I'm dragging you to hell with me!"

CRASH!

The heavy pickup smashed straight through the station's outer barriers, debris scattering everywhere.

Thirty fully armed thugs leaped from their vehicles, surrounding the station like rabid dogs.

I let out a cold laugh and walked toward the weapons locker.

The previous me would have tried communication, attempted reasoning.

But in this life, I only believed in firearms and explosives.

I retrieved the Remington 870 shotgun, expertly loading 12-gauge shells.

The metallic sounds echoed particularly crisp in the quiet office.

Marine Corps combat instincts awakened in my veins.

Rat-tat-tat-tat—

AK-47 fury suddenly erupted, bullets hammering the bulletproof glass like hail.

Spider web cracks instantly covered the surface, but the military-grade tempered material remained unbreachable.

"Get inside! Those drugs are in there!" Bill screamed hoarsely.

Several bikers charged the station's main entrance with AKs, wildly spraying the door locks.

Amid flying sparks, the heavy steel door began deforming.

Time to teach these animals a lesson.

I took a deep breath and unleashed my "Absolute Zero Field" at full power.

Ice-blue frost burst from my pores, instantly forming thick ice armor around my body.

The cold wrapped around me like a living thing, temperatures plummeting enough to freeze bullets solid.

This was my ability's ultimate state—frost body protection.

Under this defense, even AK-47 bullets would freeze and lose effectiveness instantly.

I carried the Remington shotgun up to the second floor.

Here lay specialized sniper positions—elevated terrain advantage combined with heavy firepower created a perfect killing machine.

I opened the firing port, the black muzzle aimed at the thugs below.

The first biker to reach the door had just raised his crowbar when I pulled the trigger.

BOOM!

The 12-gauge shell unleashed devastating power at close range.

The thug's entire head exploded instantly, red and white matter splattering everywhere. The headless corpse stumbled forward two more steps from momentum before collapsing heavily.

"Fuck! There's a sniper!"

Fear began spreading through the crowd as several bikers frantically sought cover.

But in this open station courtyard, there was no protection whatsoever.

I quickly reloaded, aiming at the second target.

BOOM!

Another thug's chest was blown open with a bowl-sized bloody hole, his entire body flying back three meters to crash against a pickup, leaving a bloody smear.

"He's on the second floor! Focus fire! Focus fire!" Bill frantically commanded as AK gunfire resumed.

Bullets struck the reinforced concrete walls, sparking, but more bullets shot directly toward me.

However, when bullets contacted the frost shield around my body, they instantly froze into ice chunks, losing momentum and clattering to the floor.

I continued harvesting these animals' lives.

BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!

The shotgun became death's scythe in my hands, each trigger pull claiming a life.

The carnage made the remaining bikers grow timid, their attacks becoming chaotic and disorganized.

"Damn! This cop's insane! Bullets can't pierce him!" one subordinate shouted tremblingly.

"Don't be afraid! He's just one man!" Bill roared hysterically. "Charge! Flank from the sides!"

A clever biker took advantage of my reloading gap to quietly circle to the station's side window.

He carefully climbed onto the windowsill, attempting to ambush me from behind.

I didn't even turn around.

Marine Corps battlefield instincts alerted me to the threat behind. I raised the shotgun backwards, relying on years of muscle memory for a blind shot.

BOOM!

The shell fired through the window, hitting the ambusher's waist dead-on.

The massive impact tore him in half, upper and lower body separating as he fell from the second floor, organs scattered everywhere.

The screaming stopped abruptly.

The remaining bikers completely collapsed. What had been an arrogant assault became one-sided slaughter.

They began fleeing in panic, the casualty rate breaking their fighting spirit entirely.

Bill hid behind a pickup, watching his men fall one by one in pools of blood, desperate madness flashing in his eyes.

In desperation, he pulled out a hand grenade, yanked the pin, and hurled it toward the station's first-floor lobby.

BOOM—!

The massive explosion shattered all first-floor glass, the shockwave blasting through the floor and blowing a huge gap in the street-facing bulletproof glass wall.

After the smoke cleared, a bowl-sized hole appeared in the ground. Probably a utility conduit from construction, later simply patched with cardboard and cement—unable to withstand the blast like the rest of the structure.

A bone-chilling cold air gushed from the hole.

Damn! The basement was exposed!

Bill's eyes widened. Through the blast crack, he clearly saw the basement scene: cases of premium beef, mountains of pharmaceuticals, and those frost-emanating beers.

In this 122°F hell, there was actually a 0°F paradise here!

"This... this is impossible..." Bill muttered, eyes full of shock and greed. "How do you have so many supplies? How is it so cold here?"

I rushed downstairs to kill him, but Bill had already crawled out through the blown glass wall gap.

"Jack!" He dragged his blast-injured leg, fleeing while looking back with a sinister grin. "You think killing my men ends this? I saw it! I saw everything! The stuff in the basement! That cold air!"

He frantically pulled out his phone, stumbling toward the town's depths while shouting:

"The whole town will know this secret! Everyone will come for your life! In this 122°F hell, you're hogging paradise all to yourself!"

I raised the shotgun to kill him, but Bill had vanished into the shimmering heat waves.

Minutes later, my phone began ringing frantically.

First call from the town bakery owner: "Sheriff Jack? Someone said you have cold air and food there?"

Second call from a gas station worker: "Sheriff, please, my child is dying from the heat..."

Third call from Lily: "Jack... my dear ex-fiancé... Bill told me everything..."

My expression turned ugly.

Soon, all of Blackwater would know the police station basement hid a frozen paradise.

Under 122°F torture, those desperate civilians would be even more insane than the bikers.

Because they had nothing left to lose.