Chapter 40: Shooting Sound
Phoenix acted swiftly, igniting the stink bomb and lobbing it out through the shooting hole above the door. Immediately, a billowing cloud of black smoke unfurled in the corridor, and the putrid stench that followed was akin to a decade's worth of festering waste. Mira and Iris, besieged by the foul odor, succumbed to violent retching.
"What is this...?" Mira gagged.
"Phoenix, you're despicable!" Iris managed to exclaim between heaves.
As the stench intensified, the two women stumbled away, desperate for fresh air. Phoenix, secure inside his home, closed the firing hole. His house was a fortress, sealed off from the outside world and equipped with a sophisticated air filtration system that prevented any external odors from penetrating.
Watching Mira and Iris flounder in misery through his surveillance feed, Phoenix couldn't suppress a triumphant chuckle. However, his laughter was soon interrupted by a disgruntled message from the couple living next door. They were appalled by the stench. But Phoenix had long since abandoned the niceties of neighborly relations, especially now, when survival was his only concern. Curtly, he blocked his neighbor and turned a blind eye to their grievances in the group chat.
The calm of that afternoon was shattered by a resounding "Bang!" that echoed through the building. It sounded like a gunshot. Phoenix leapt to his feet, adrenaline pumping, and activated his surveillance system to survey the scene. The sight that greeted him made his blood run cold: Alexander, a man known for his ruthlessness, stood on the third floor, brandishing a gun with a chilling ease.
Below Alexander, the door to a resident's home hung open, revealing the lifeless limbs of its occupant. Alexander's underlings sauntered out with food and candles, smirking triumphantly at their conquest. Clearly, the resident was either dead or wouldn't last long without their stolen supplies.
Usually, this was the time when residents would collectively gather snow to melt for water—a daily ritual of survival. But Alexander had seized the moment for a more sinister purpose.
Phoenix's phone pinged insistently with messages. A voice note from Alexander resonated with a cold authority, proclaiming himself the new ruler of their building. The accompanying images—a handgun and the bloody aftermath of his assertion of power—quelled the chatter in the group chat into a stunned silence.
Lying on his sofa, Phoenix couldn't help but admire Alexander's cunning. Soft and hard tactics were cleverly employed, not merely to terrorize the residents but to ensure their compliance.
Even though Alexander was armed, Phoenix knew that ammunition was likely scarce. If the residents banded together, they could potentially overpower him. But for now, the fear of death held them at bay, each hoping they wouldn't be Alexander's next target.
Amidst these reflections, Phoenix's phone buzzed with a barrage of notifications. He'd been added to a new group chat—this one conspicuously devoid of Alexander and his cronies. Some residents, driven by fear, sought solidarity.
Phoenix observed the discussions passively. His safety was assured, and he felt no compulsion to involve himself in the plight of his neighbors. They were unwilling to resist, and he was certainly not going to sacrifice himself for their sake.
In this world blanketed by snow, where the blizzard had trapped them within walls of ice and fear, Phoenix remained an onlooker, his own survival his only creed.