The world outside had long since crumbled into chaos. The familiar hum of civilization—the traffic, the chatter, the endless noise of modern life—had been replaced by an eerie silence broken only by distant screams and the occasional crash of collapsing structures. In this new reality, power belonged to those who could adapt, and survival was the only currency that mattered.
Inside the dimly lit apartment, the atmosphere was thick with tension.
Elric stood before Natasha, his tall frame casting a shadow across her face. The distance between them could be measured in mere inches, yet it felt like a chasm—one that would determine both their fates. His dark eyes bore into hers with an intensity that made her skin prickle, as if he could see straight through every defense she'd ever built.
When he spoke, his voice was low and unwavering, each word carefully measured.
"Professor."
The title hung in the air between them, a reminder of what she had been—what she might never be again.
"I told you from the very beginning—I don't want a girlfriend."
Natasha's breath hitched slightly. She had suspected this moment would come, had felt it building like a storm on the horizon, but hearing the words spoken aloud made them devastatingly real.
Elric's expression remained unchanged, carved from stone. "I want you to be my woman."
The distinction was clear, brutal in its honesty. Not a partner in the romantic sense. Not someone to be wooed with flowers and sweet promises. Something else entirely—something more primal, more transactional, yet somehow more honest than any relationship she'd had in her previous life.
"I'm not interested in slow dates or playing at romance," he continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "I don't have the time for that in this world."
Of course he didn't. None of them did. The apocalypse had stripped away all pretense, all the carefully constructed social rituals that humanity had built over millennia. There was no room for courtship when death stalked every corner, when every day could be your last.
Elric leaned in slightly, his presence overwhelming. "You need to decide now."
Natasha's heart hammered against her ribcage. Her legs felt weak, her mind racing through possibilities, calculating outcomes with the same analytical precision she'd once used to dissect literary texts and philosophical arguments. But this wasn't theory anymore. This was survival.
"Nod, and it means you accept." His voice dropped even lower, taking on an almost hypnotic quality. "From this moment on, I'll make sure you never have to worry about food or water again."
Food. Water. The two things that had become more precious than gold, more vital than any achievement or accolade she'd ever earned. Her stomach twisted painfully, a hollow ache that had become her constant companion over the past days. When had she last eaten a proper meal? When had she last drunk clean water without wondering if it was contaminated?
The professor title she'd worked so hard to earn, the respect of her peers, her carefully maintained dignity—what did any of it matter now? Could pride fill an empty stomach? Could professional accomplishments quench thirst?
"Shake your head, and it means rejection."
The alternative. The path back to uncertainty, to hunger, to the slow deterioration of body and spirit.
Elric's next words fell like hammer blows.
"If you choose that, walk out right now. Don't expect me to share a single meal with you again."
There would be no second chances. No room for negotiation or reconsideration. This was a one-time offer, delivered with the cold efficiency of a business transaction—because that's exactly what it was.
"And don't come knocking on my door when hunger finally breaks you."
The implication was clear: others would take her place. In this new world, resources attracted people like moths to flame. If she walked away, someone else would accept what she had refused. Someone with fewer qualms, less pride, more desperation.
Or perhaps someone smarter, who understood that survival trumped dignity every single time.
Elric's expression remained calm but deadly serious throughout his ultimatum. There was no cruelty in his face, no sadistic pleasure in her predicament. Just a cold, calculating assessment of reality.
Natasha felt her throat tighten. Her breath came in short, shallow gasps as panic warred with pragmatism inside her chest.
"I…" she began, but her voice cracked.
The word hung incomplete in the air, a testament to her hesitation. Part of her—the part that still clung to the remnants of her old life—wanted to refuse, to walk out with her head held high, to prove that she couldn't be bought or coerced.
But that part was growing quieter by the day, drowned out by the more primal voice that screamed for sustenance, for shelter, for safety.
She hadn't expected him to corner her so quickly. She'd thought there would be more time, more opportunities to build rapport or find alternatives. But Elric had struck while she was weakest, when her defenses were crumbling under the weight of hunger and exhaustion.
It was cruel in its efficiency. It was also undeniably effective.
Her stomach twisted again, this time so violently that she nearly doubled over. The hollow ache had become a constant companion, a gnawing emptiness that consumed her thoughts and sapped her strength. Pride, dignity, professional titles—all of that meant nothing when death by starvation was the alternative.
The truth crashed over her like a wave: she knew if she didn't eat soon, she'd collapse.
How long could the human body survive without food? She'd read the statistics once, back when such knowledge was academic rather than practical. Three weeks, give or take, depending on various factors. But she was already weak, already compromised. Another few days and she might not have the strength to even make this choice.
Her body trembled, whether from weakness or emotion she couldn't say. Perhaps both.
The words came out barely above a whisper, so soft that in the old world they might have been lost in ambient noise. But in the oppressive silence of the apocalypse, they rang clear as a bell.
"…just… be gentle."
Three words. A request wrapped in surrender, the last vestige of agency in a situation where she had almost none.
Then, slowly, deliberately, she gave the smallest nod.
It was barely perceptible—a tiny dip of her chin, a fractional movement that might have been missed if Elric hadn't been watching so intently. But it was enough. The contract was sealed, the transaction complete.
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