Zhang Yi sat alone in his apartment, waiting calmly for the frenzied crowd below. His expression was solemn; the table before him was packed with weapons. A message popped up from Uncle You, the building's doorman: "Xiao Zhang, run! They're coming for you—bringing tools!"
A flicker of warmth passed through Zhang Yi's chest. Good people were rare these days. He replied, "Uncle You, don't worry. I can handle it."Uncle You went silent for a moment—there was nowhere to run anyway. Resistance was the only option left. Finally, he sent back: "Xiao Zhang, I hope you survive. I'm sorry I can't help."
He felt ashamed. Zhang Yi had warned him early on to stock up, which was why he could still live in relative comfort now—yet he could do nothing in return. Zhang Yi answered, "Not joining them is already kindness enough. Don't worry about me."
Soon, the floor beneath his feet began to tremble. Hundreds of people were charging up the stairwell—the elevators had been dead for a long time. On the surveillance screen, he saw neighbors from the same floor: a man from 2402 clutching a kitchen knife and a wrench, eyes burning with envy at Zhang Yi's comfortable life. The hallway quickly filled up, packed shoulder to shoulder. Some even held umbrellas, trying to shield themselves from possible bursts of cold water.
Someone slammed hard on the door."Zhang Yi—come out! This is your last chance!"
Zhang Yi noticed something immediately: neither Sun Zhichao nor Chen Zhenghao was at the front. As expected, they were letting the neighbors act as cannon fodder.
Silently, Zhang Yi flipped a switch.
High-voltage current surged through the door.
The young man pounding on it convulsed violently, screaming as the electricity ripped through him. Because the hallway was packed, the current spread instantly."It's high voltage—run!" someone yelled in panic.
People tried to retreat, but it was too late. Those closest—nine in total—had no chance to escape. Their bodies blackened, spasmed, then went still.
Ten seconds later, Zhang Yi cut the power.
Nine corpses lay on the floor, smoke curling from their charred bodies. The hallway reeked of burnt flesh and melted fabric.
The crowd froze in horror. Several women bent over and vomited—only bitter acid coming up, since they'd been starving for days.
Those who tried to flee toward the stairs were stopped cold. Chen Zhenghao stood below, gun in hand, blocking the way."Go back!" he barked.
He wanted them to fight Zhang Yi to the death, then swoop in and take whatever remained. Sun Zhichao, still injured but vicious, shouted from behind the crowd:"Zhang Yi's a beast! Kill him for revenge! Use wood—ram the door! Don't touch it directly!"
Driven by fear and rage, the crowd obeyed. They dragged up a thick wooden beam and began slamming it into the door again and again.
From inside, Zhang Yi turned on the speakers.
"Fuck While You Edge."
The obscene music echoed through the corridor, pure mockery.
After dozens of deafening impacts, the door still stood firm—only a few superficial scratches marked its surface. One man in the crowd, a former bank employee, stared in disbelief and muttered,"That's a vault door… Even explosives wouldn't crack it. Only top-tier lockpickers would have a chance."
Inside, Zhang Yi calmly lifted his crossbow.
The counterattack was about to begin.