Night had fallen, but the darkness was no longer absolute.
Flickering orange light danced under the gap of the heavy steel door, accompanied by the thick, toxic stench of burning plastic and treated leather.
[Indoor Air Quality: Poor] [CO2 Level: Rising]
Alex sat in his armchair, watching the readout on his wall panel. The neighbors had gotten creative. Unable to break the vault door, and freezing to death in the corridor, they had started a bonfire.
They were burning everything they could find: designer handbags, Italian leather shoes, and mahogany chairs dragged up from the lower floors. It was a desperate attempt to stay warm, but Johnson had directed the smoke toward Alex's ventilation vents, hoping to choke him out.
Cough. Cough. Cough.
The sound of hacking coughs echoed through the steel.
"He has to come out!" Johnson's voice was raspy, damaged by the smoke and the cold. "Nobody can breathe in there! When he opens the door for air, we rush him!"
Alex shook his head. "Amateurs."
He walked to the utility closet and flipped a switch labeled [Positive Pressure Protocol].
Whirrrrrr.
The military-grade filtration system kicked into overdrive. It sucked in freezing air from the outside, scrubbed it through three layers of HEPA and charcoal filters, heated it, and pumped it into the penthouse. The air pressure inside the apartment rose instantly, higher than the pressure in the hallway.
Physics took over.
The smoke trying to seep in under the door was suddenly pushed back out.
"What the...?" Outside, a voice cried out. "The smoke! It's blowing back on us!"
"My eyes! It stings!"
Alex checked his System Interface.
[Current EP: 230]
"You guys like smoke?" Alex muttered, opening the System Shop. "Let me upgrade your experience."
He scrolled past the food items. He didn't need bread. He needed crowd control.
[Shop Level 1 - Weapons/Utility]
Combat Knife: 20 EP
Pepper Spray (500ml): 30 EP
CS Tear Gas Grenade (Military Grade): 50 EP
Alex grinned. "Purchase two CS Grenades."
[Transaction Complete. -100 EP.]
Two heavy, olive-drab canisters materialized on the coffee table. Cold steel. The pins were taped for safety.
Alex picked them up and walked to the door. He put on a gas mask—part of his original stockpile—just in case.
He approached the defensive gun port next to the door frame. He could hear them right on the other side.
"Keep the fire going!" Johnson was yelling. "Burn his door down if we have to! I know he has women in there! I know he has meat!"
"I'm so hungry..." Another voice whimpered.
Alex unlocked the gun port. The metal screech made the hallway go silent.
"He's opening it!" Johnson shouted, sounding triumphant. "Get the knives ready! Rush him!"
"Special delivery," Alex whispered.
He pulled the pin on the first grenade. Ping. He pulled the pin on the second. Ping.
He shoved both canisters through the small hole and slammed the port shut, locking it tight.
Clank. Clank.
The grenades hit the concrete floor of the hallway.
"What was that?" someone asked. "Did he drop food?"
HISSSSSS.
A violent sound, like a pressurized snake, erupted in the corridor. Thick, white smoke billowed out, filling the narrow, unventilated space instantly.
CS gas isn't just smoke. It is microscopic shards of chemical pain. It attacks the mucous membranes, the eyes, the lungs, and the skin.
For a split second, there was silence. Then, hell broke loose.
"AAAAHHH! MY EYES!" "IT BURNS! I CAN'T BREATHE!" "GAS! HE HAS GAS!"
The coughing changed. It wasn't the smoker's cough from the bonfire anymore. It was the retching, dry-heaving gag of people whose lungs were trying to turn inside out.
On the monitor, Alex watched the chaos. The hallway was a white fog. Figures stumbled blindly, clawing at their faces. They trampled the fire, scattering burning embers across the floor.
Johnson was screaming, but it was indistinguishable from the others. The mob that had been united by greed was now a stampede of blinded animals.
"Let me out! I need air!" "The stairs! Go to the stairs!"
But they were disoriented. The smoke was too thick.
Then, the catastrophe happened.
In the blind panic, the neighbor who had killed the dog—the man with the hammer—swung his weapon wildly, trying to fight off an imaginary attacker.
CRASH!
The hammer didn't hit a person. It hit the large, single-pane window at the end of the hallway—the window that looked out over the city.
The glass shattered.
The hallway had been heated to a meager -5°C by the bonfire and body heat. Outside, the temperature was -62°C.
The pressure differential was explosive.
WHOOOOOM!
The window didn't just break; it imploded. The Arctic wind roared into the hallway like a freight train. It cleared the tear gas in seconds, but it brought something much worse.
The Flash Freeze.
The sweat on their skin froze instantly. The tears streaming from their gas-blinded eyes turned to ice needles. The moisture in their lungs crystallized.
The screaming stopped. Not because they calmed down, but because the cold air seized their vocal cords.
Alex watched on the monitor as the white fog of the gas was replaced by the crystal clarity of the freeze. Figures dropped to their knees, clutching their chests. The fire was snuffed out instantly.
The hallway, once a place of siege, had become a tomb.
[System Log:] [Target Neutralized: Neighbor 2304 (Hammer Guy). Cause: Thermal Shock.] [Target Neutralized: Neighbor 602. Cause: Suffocation/Freeze.] [Harvested Mass Terror: +200 EP]
"Fresh air," Alex said, watching a snowflake drift past the camera lens.
He took off his gas mask. The threat at the door was gone. But as he looked at the screen, he saw one figure moving.
Johnson.
He was crawling. He had been furthest from the window. He was dragging himself toward the stairwell door, his skin turning blue, his eyes shut tight against the gas residue. He was like a cockroach that refused to die.
He disappeared into the stairwell.
"Resilient," Alex admitted. "But now you have nowhere to sleep."
Alex turned away from the door. The immediate danger was over, but the shattered window meant the entire floor was now exposed to the outside temperature. His apartment walls were insulated, but the hallway was now part of the exterior.
He checked his phone. Battery: 98%. Signal: Dead. The internet was gone. The cellular towers had frozen over. The "Global Freeze" had reached Phase 2: Total Isolation.