Two weeks into the freeze, Henderson Base made contact.
Ethan was running diagnostics on the air filtration system when his radio crackled to life with a direct hail on his private frequency. Someone had found his signal, traced it, and was specifically calling him.
"Unknown station, this is Henderson Base Communications. We've detected your transmission signature. Please respond."
Ethan considered not answering. But they'd already found him electronically. Ignoring them would only make them more curious.
He keyed the microphone. "This is a private station. What do you want?"
"We're conducting survivor outreach. Can you confirm your location and number of individuals at your facility?"
"I can confirm I'm alive," Ethan replied. "Beyond that, I'm not inclined to share information with strangers."
There was a pause, then a different voice came through, older and carrying more authority. "This is Colonel Marcus Webb, commanding officer of Henderson Survivor Base. I appreciate your caution, but we're trying to coordinate relief efforts. Every survivor matters."
"I'm handling my own relief," Ethan said. "I don't need rescue."
"That's good to hear. But we're still trying to get an accurate count of who survived and where. Even if you don't need immediate assistance, knowing your location helps us map survivor clusters and plan supply routes."
"Supply routes?" Ethan was skeptical. "Colonel, I've been monitoring conditions. There are no supply routes. Nothing is moving out there."
"We have specialized vehicles, military grade all-terrain. We're making it work. Look, I'm not asking you to trust me blindly. What if I prove we're legitimate? What would you need to see?"
Ethan thought for a moment. "Send me your mission statement and organizational structure. Let me verify you're what you claim to be. Then maybe we'll talk."
"Fair enough. Stand by."
Thirty minutes later, Ethan's computer received a data packet containing detailed information about Henderson Base. It was impressive, almost too impressive to be believed. The base had been a classified military research facility, already designed for isolation and self-sufficiency. When the freeze hit, the commanding officers had opened it to civilian survivors, creating a structured community of nearly three thousand people.
They had geothermal power, hydroponic farms, medical facilities, and apparently a mission to gather and protect as many survivors as possible. The organizational chart showed a hybrid military and civilian leadership, with committees handling different aspects of community management.
It all looked very noble and altruistic. Ethan didn't trust it for a second.
"Received your data," he radioed back. "Impressive setup. But I'm still not interested in joining your community."
"Can I ask why?" Colonel Webb's voice was curious, not accusatory. "We're offering safety, community, shared resources. Most survivors are jumping at the chance."
"Because I have my own safety and resources," Ethan replied. "And the community is overrated. People are the problem, not the solution."
Webb laughed, surprising Ethan. "You're not wrong. But isolation has its own problems. No backup if systems fail, no one to share the burden, no future beyond just surviving. We're trying to build something that can last, that can eventually rebuild."
"Rebuild what? The world ended, Colonel. There's no going back."
"Maybe not back," Webb agreed. "But we can go forward. Create something new. Better, hopefully. Look, I'm not trying to pressure you. You want to stay independent, that's your right. But keep this frequency open. If you change your mind, or if you need help, we're here."
The transmission ended. Ethan sat staring at his radio, considering. Henderson Base represented both an opportunity and a threat. If they were legitimate, they could be valuable allies or trading partners. If they weren't, if this was some kind of power grab or resource collection scheme, they were dangerous.
He needed more information, but gathering it would require revealing more about himself.
While he was pondering, shouting erupted from the residential section of the bunker. Ethan's first instinct was to ignore it, let them sort out their own drama. But the shouting intensified, and he heard something crash.
Sighing, he left the command center and headed toward the noise.
He found Dylan and Robert in a physical confrontation, Dylan despite his injured feet, grappling with his father while Margaret tried to separate them. Jessica cowered in a corner, tears streaming down her face.
"Enough!" Ethan's voice cut through the chaos like a blade.
They froze, both men breathing hard, faces flushed with anger.
"What the hell is going on?"
"He's been hoarding again," Dylan spat, pointing at Robert. "I found food hidden in his bedding. After everything that happened, he's still stealing!"
Robert's face was defiant. "My rations have been inadequate. I'm still weak from hypothermia. I was just,"
"Stealing," Ethan finished. "Again. After I explicitly warned you about consequences."
"You're starving us!" Robert shouted, his composure finally cracking. "Half rations, bare minimums, treating us like prisoners! What did you expect? We're desperate!"
"You're alive," Ethan countered. "You're warm, sheltered, and fed. That's more than ninety-nine percent of the world's population right now. But apparently, it's not enough for you."
"It's not about enough," Margaret interjected. "It's about being treated with basic human dignity. You're punishing us every single day, finding new ways to make us miserable. Is this really how you want to live? In constant conflict?"
Ethan looked at each of them in turn. Dylan, furious and self-righteous. Robert, caught and defensive. Margaret, exhausted and pleading. Jessica, terrified and small.
They were breaking down, the stress and confinement and resentment eating away at whatever civility they'd been maintaining. If this continued, the situation would become unmanageable. Someone would do something stupid, someone would get hurt, and the delicate balance would collapse entirely.
He had three options. Tighten control even further, crush any hint of rebellion, rule through fear and absolute authority. Relax the restrictions, try to build some kind of functional coexistence, risk being taken advantage of. Or eliminate the problem entirely by expelling some or all of them.
The old Ethan, the one from before his death and rebirth, would have chosen option two. Would have tried to make peace, find common ground, and believe that people could change.
That Ethan was dead.
But the new Ethan, the one who'd built this fortress and survived through calculation and ruthlessness, wasn't sure option one was sustainable either. You couldn't rule through fear forever in close quarters. Eventually, desperate people did desperate things.
"Here's what's going to happen," Ethan said finally. "Robert, you're going to return whatever you stole. Again. Then you're going to move to solitary quarters. There's a small room near the water treatment facility. You'll stay there for the next two weeks, isolated from the others. Your meals will be delivered. You'll have no contact with anyone."
"You can't," Margaret started.
"I can and I will," Ethan interrupted. "This is the consequence of repeated theft. If it happens a third time, Robert goes outside. Permanently. Am I being clear?"
Robert's face was white with fury, but he nodded.
"The rest of you," Ethan continued, "I'm increasing your rations to seventy-five percent of full portions. You'll also get one hour per day in the recreation room, where you can watch movies, read, or do whatever you want without supervision."
They stared at him, confused by the sudden shift.
"But," Ethan added, "any violation of rules, any theft, any violence, and we revert to the previous restrictions. Possibly worse. The choice is yours. Behave like civilized people and you'll be treated accordingly. Act like animals and you'll be caged like them."
He turned to Jessica. "You're still on food preparation. But I'm also giving you access to the library database. You mentioned studying psychology before all this. Continue your education. Maybe it'll help you understand why you're all such disasters."
The insult stung, he could see it in her eyes, but she nodded.
"The meeting was adjourned. Robert, start packing your things. Dylan, get off those feet before you make the damage worse. Margaret, clean up this mess. Jessica, come with me. We're starting dinner preparation early tonight."
As he left with Jessica following, Ethan heard Margaret whisper to Dylan, "He's trying. In his own broken way, he's trying."
Maybe she was right. Or maybe he was just trying to maintain stability so he didn't have to deal with chaos on top of everything else. Ethan wasn't sure which it was, and he wasn't sure it mattered.
In the kitchen, Jessica worked silently beside him, following his instructions for meal preparation. After several minutes, she spoke quietly.
"Thank you. For the library access. I know you didn't have to do that."
"I didn't do it for you," Ethan replied. "I did it because bored people cause problems. Keep yourself occupied and you're less likely to make my life difficult."
"Still," Jessica said. "It was kind. Even if you won't admit it."
Ethan didn't respond, just continued chopping vegetables for the stew. But later, when Jessica wasn't looking, he added slightly larger portions to her bowl than he'd planned. Not much, just enough to matter.
Maybe Margaret was right. Maybe some broken part of him was trying to be something other than cruel.
Or maybe he was just getting soft, forgetting the lessons he'd learned, falling back into the trap of caring about people who didn't deserve it.
That night, Ethan lay in his private quarters, staring at the ceiling and thinking about Henderson Base. About Colonel Webb's offer of community and purpose. About whether survival alone was enough or if there needed to be something more.
His radio crackled softly. He'd left it on, monitoring the frequency.
"This is Scout Team Four to Henderson Base. We've lost contact with Scout Team Seven. The last known position was thirty miles northeast. Requesting search and rescue authorization."
"Henderson Base to Scout Four. Authorization granted. Exercise extreme caution. Weather conditions are deteriorating again."
Ethan listened to the chatter, the organized efficiency of people working together toward a common goal. It was seductive, that sense of purpose and belonging. Dangerous, too.
He was still listening when sleep finally claimed him, dragging him down into dreams of ice and fire, of being both the frozen and the one who watched the freezing, unable to tell which was worse.