We were trying to survive, not loot.

Tamsin took the notebook. At the mention of compensation, she curled her lip slightly.

Garrick pried open a large cardboard box in a few quick motions.

"Shit!"

Inside was the latest PS5 console. He kicked the box in frustration. "What the hell is this good for right now?!"

Rhys picked a wooden crate and forced it open.

A cold, raw scent hit us immediately—premium Australian wagyu. Everyone’s eyes lit up for a second, then dimmed just as fast.

Garrick scratched his head. "How are we supposed to eat this? We don’t even have a pot."

I couldn’t let them keep guessing. I pointed at a box stamped with a food company logo. "Open that one."

Garrick sliced it open halfheartedly then froze. A second later, he burst out, shouting in excitement, "A stove! A portable stove!"

Soon, four steaming portions sat in front of us, fragrant and rich. It was the first hot meal we’d had since everything began.

After we finished, I stopped him before he could start tearing into more boxes. "Don’t act rashly."

I led them to a neatly stacked row of shelves. "The logistics area is divided into zones. This section handles polar expedition gear and outdoor brands. Search here."

As expected, we quickly uncovered brand-new down jackets, snow boots, sleeping bags, and professional camping cookware with gas canisters.

The wagyu problem was solved.

Just then, my phone buzzed. It was an old neighborhood group chat that I’d forgotten to exit.

Delilah's message popped up: [I'm freezing to death here! What the hell is this weather?! Are the property managers all dead?! The villa’s like an icebox! Whoever brings me a down jacket, I’ll pay you $10,000!]

I looked at the message, then took off my outerwear, leaving only a short-sleeved shirt. Standing in front of the pile of newly unpacked down jackets, I snapped a photo of myself eating meat, with the stack of winter gear clearly visible behind me.

A friend request from Delilah came through.

A smile tugged at the corner of my mouth as I accepted it.

The video call came instantly. She was screaming the moment it connected.

"Where the hell are you?! Where did you get all those clothes?! Get them to me right now! I’m ordering you, did you hear me?!"

Her lips were purple from the cold, and her face pale. Wrapped in a thin blanket, she shivered violently inside the villa.

Right in front of her, I picked up an expensive down jacket and calmly wiped the dust off my shoes with it, then tossed it straight into the heater’s open flame.

"This thing," I said into the camera, "burns warmer than it wears."

Watching her face twist in fury, I smiled. In my last life, she had stripped me of my clothes and thrown me out into the cold without a second thought.

"You’re a grown man. You can handle the cold."

"You—"

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of Tamsin. Her gaze flickered, and she muttered under her breath, "How can you just waste something like that..."

I hung up and didn’t bother responding.

That night, we all changed into new gear and climbed into thick sleeping bags.

Rhys used the new cookware to boil a big pot of rich beef soup.

Then I noticed that Tamsin wasn’t asleep. She was staring out through the narrow gap in the window, at the frozen, lifeless world outside.

I narrowed my eyes. In a world like this, people who couldn’t let go of their so-called kindness were liabilities.

On the fourth day, we gathered around the table, eating wagyu broth. The marbled beef swished through the broth before being dipped into premium gravy.

Grease glistened on Garrick’s lips as he ate.

"Boss, I’ve never had meat this good in my life. It's totally worth it," he said, grinning. "Even if I freeze to death after this, it’s worth it."

I had just picked up a slice of beef when Rhys walked over, his expression grim. "Boss, I checked the generator. We’re running low on backup diesel."

Garrick froze. "How low?"

Rhys lowered his voice, "Three days, at most. In three days, the heat’s gone. The cameras go dark. This place turns into a steel coffin."

Silence fell over the office.

I set my cutlery down. "Meeting."

I gathered them in front of the surveillance screens and pointed at the dozens of semi-trucks stalled out in the snow.

"Those trucks?" I said, tapping the monitor. "They’re our fuel depot. We strip the tanks and bring the fuel back before the power cuts."

"We've got to go outside?" Garrick’s face went pale. "It’s almost -100 out there! What if there are still people—"

Rhys cut in, "At those temperatures, you’ve got minutes outside. Fifteen, tops."

"Then we do it fast. And we do it hard." I looked at them. "We need weapons."

We didn’t have guns.

I had Garrick bring a few long pry bars to the loading dock. I turned on the fire hose and aimed it at the tips.

"Declan, what are you doing? Washing them?"

I didn’t answer. I kept the water flowing over the steel. The moment it hit the air, it froze layer by layer, building outward. Within minutes, each bar had grown a long, tapered spike of solid ice.

An ice spear.

Garrick stared, wide-eyed.

I grabbed a few stab-resistant vests, put one on, then sprayed water over the surface. A thin layer of frost formed almost instantly, hardening into a crude shell.

Ice armor.

"Ice spears. Ice armor!" Garrick swung one experimentally, grinning. "How does your brain even work? This is better than an axe!"

Rhys tested the tip against the ground. The frozen surface cracked easily under the strike. He nodded, satisfied.

Only one person stood apart. Tamsin stayed back, watching us turn tools into weapons.

There was confusion in her eyes, and something deeper. Fear.

"Mr. Mercer…" she finally stepped forward, her voice trembling. "Do we really have to do this? The people outside… maybe they just need help…"

I was adjusting a manual fuel pump, not even looking up. "It’s just a precaution. You don’t need to do anything. Stay in the office."

We were preparing to move at dawn the next day when something appeared on the surveillance feed.

Delilah and her family.

The three of them stood outside the compound gates like ghosts, pounding against the alloy doors, screaming, begging.

Tamsin could see the same feed from the control room upstairs. She saw Delilah’s mother, Mrs. Helena Carrington, drop to her knees in the snow while bowing over and over toward the warehouse.

We were downstairs, checking equipment.

Then suddenly, every emergency light in the warehouse snapped on. A blaring alarm tore through the entire facility.

I spun around.

Through the reinforced glass of the second-floor control room, I saw Tamsin standing at the console with both hands pressed down on the red unlock button. Her face was set, almost resolute.

"Mr. Mercer, we can’t just let them die. One day, you’ll thank me."

The moment the words left her mouth, the massive alloy door we depended on for survival shuddered.

With a grinding, bone-rattling screech, it opened.