Chapter 42: Reserves

The creation of the new group chat unleashed a frenzy of messages among the residents. The fear was palpable:

"Alexander has gone mad! He's broken into three homes already."

"The guys in 301 tried to fight back. They were shot dead on the spot."

"And 302 and 401? They handed over everything without a fight. Now they're sitting ducks, waiting to starve."

Indignation swelled within the chat. "We must stand against tyrants like Alexander!"

Agreement surged through the digital crowd. "There are more of us than them!"

"But he's armed," someone noted, casting a shadow of doubt.

"So what if he has a gun? He can't have that many bullets!"

The bravado was strong until reality set in. "When do we make our move?" Silence descended. Nobody wanted to be the first to face Alexander's gun.

"Let's be smart about this," someone finally said, opting for strategy over brute force.

Watching this unfold, Phoenix shook his head. Moments ago, they were all talk about tackling Alexander with martial arts moves. Now they were backpedaling to 'wisdom.'

Uncle Isaac, the veteran security guard, weighed in. "We can't let Alexander continue. I'm ready to lead the charge."

Support poured in. "Uncle Isaac is a hero!"

But when it came to joining him, the chat fell silent. It was all encouragement and no action.

Uncle Isaac's frustration was evident. "I can't go alone. We need numbers."

The chat quieted, especially from the households with able men. The women, lacking male protectors, were quick to stir the pot:

"We can't handle Alexander. It's up to the men now!"

"Show us your courage!"

The men bristled at the pressure. "Where's the equality? Now you expect us to fight your battles?"

"If it's my family, I'll protect them. But I'm not dying for strangers."

The debate turned into a full-blown gender war. The women accused the men of cowardice; the men resented being seen as disposable.

Phoenix observed, detached. The same patterns were emerging as in his previous life. When Alexander ruled through fear, no one dared to challenge him.

Uncle Isaac tried to refocus the group, but Mary, a fiery young tenant, was relentless in her attacks, even targeting Uncle Isaac.

"Why are you acting noble? You men should be fighting!"

The group spiraled into chaos, and Phoenix turned away, amused. He was an observer in this apocalyptic madness, focused on his own survival.

In his kitchen, he prepared a comforting meal of potatoes and beef brisket stew, his well-stocked foreign space offering fresh ingredients. The world outside might be descending into chaos, but inside Phoenix's home, life was as savory as the stew simmering on his stove.

Messages from Mira and Iris popped up again, their pleas more desperate. They feared Alexander's wrath and saw Phoenix's secure home as a sanctuary.

"Phoenix, you once cared for me. Can you really just watch me die?" Mira pleaded.

Iris went further, "I'll do anything to stay in your safe house, even if it means being at your mercy."

Phoenix felt their terror, and it thrilled him. He didn't respond directly but sent them a video of his cozy home, the stew, and the crackling fire—a stark contrast to their bleak predicament.

As night fell, Phoenix noticed movement through his surveillance. Alexander's men were disposing of corpses—familiar faces, not from their building. They were the minions Alexander had summoned earlier.

The cold logic hit Phoenix like a slap—these bodies were potential food reserves for Alexander. The thought sent chills down his spine, but he accepted this grim reality. In dire times, history had shown that humanity could resort to unspeakable acts for survival.

"Alexander, how ruthless," Phoenix muttered, acknowledging the harshness of the man who could view his own comrades as mere sustenance.

Many understood such desperation, but few could act on it with such callous efficiency. Phoenix, who had once been a victim of such brutality, now watched, fortified in his solitude, aware of the thin line between civilization and savagery at the world's end.