The sun was setting behind the ruins of Los Angeles, bleeding crimson across the sky. The base had grown quiet after the long day. Only the distant growls of the infected broke the silence.
Inside the compound, Ethan leaned against the couch, flipping through an old military logbook. Around him, the few survivors he'd gathered worked in silence, moving supplies from the armored truck they'd captured earlier.
"Careful with those crates," he said calmly, not looking up. "The rifles go to the basement armory. Ammunition stays here."
The survivors nodded and hurried off.
From the upper floor, Rachel descended, her ponytail bouncing slightly. She wore a loose gray hoodie and jeans, the kind of clothes that couldn't hide her celebrity charm. Even in the end of the world, she looked like someone who didn't belong here.
"Dinner's ready, Ethan," she said lightly. Then her gaze drifted toward the two women standing at the hallway entrance—Elsa, the former police captain, and Yana, her frightened young partner.
Elsa's hands were cuffed behind her back. Her eyes, however, were cold and sharp.
"Alas… wait, you're Rachel, right?" Yana blurted, eyes widening.
Rachel smiled faintly. "Yeah. Not that it means much now."
Her gaze swept over the two women, stopping at the cuffs. "So, you're one of the new ones Ethan found out there. Let me guess…" Her smile turned mischievous. "Still not used to his rules yet?"
Elsa said nothing. Her silence was sharper than any insult.
Rachel led them upstairs toward the dining area. "You'll get used to it. Everyone does."
When the three women disappeared up the stairs, Emily, Ethan's older sister, emerged from the shadows of the hall. Her white coat was smudged with soot, her calm eyes unreadable.
"She's got fire in her," Emily said softly. "That policewoman. You really think she'll fall in line?"
Ethan exhaled. "She will."
"Do you want me to… help her adjust?" Emily's tone was gentle, but there was something chilling beneath it.
Ethan hesitated. "I appreciate it, sis, but… no. I'll handle this one myself."
Emily smiled faintly, the corners of her lips curving in a way that made him uneasy. "You're starting to sound like one of your patients, you know that?"
Then she turned and went upstairs, her footsteps quiet as smoke.
Ethan watched her go, a bead of sweat rolling down his temple. She's been different lately, he thought. Colder… or maybe just more honest.
He pushed the thought aside.
By the time the last crate was stored, night had fallen. The building's generator hummed softly, filling the halls with a faint warmth.
Ethan sat on the couch, finally allowing himself to breathe. Rachel entered again, wiping her hands with a towel.
"How are they?" he asked.
"Yana's harmless," Rachel said. "Scared of everything that moves. But Elsa… she's different. You can't scare her, not easily. She believes in rules, in justice. She'll fight you every step."
Ethan chuckled. "That's fine. People like her are predictable. They have something they'll always protect."
Rachel tilted her head. "You think you can turn her?"
He gave a slow smile. "Not turn. Convince."
A few minutes later, Elsa was brought downstairs again. Her clothes had been changed into clean tactical gear, but the cuffs remained. Yana followed behind nervously.
"Ethan," Elsa said firmly. "You've made your point. You want obedience, fine. But if this is another game, end it now."
Ethan leaned forward, elbows on his knees. His eyes met hers—calm, unflinching.
"This isn't a game," he said. "It's survival. And right now, I'm offering you a place where you and your friend won't starve or die out there. You just have to follow the rules."
Yana trembled. "Please, just let her go," she pleaded. "She hasn't done anything—"
"Yana," Elsa said sharply. "Enough."
Ethan watched the two of them—one defiant, one terrified. He stood up slowly and approached Elsa, stopping just close enough that she had to tilt her chin up to look at him.
"You're a police officer," he said softly. "That means you swore to protect people, didn't you?"
Elsa's breath caught, but she didn't look away. "I did."
"Then protect them here," Ethan said. "This base, these survivors—they need someone like you. I go out there for supplies, but someone has to guard this place when I'm gone."
He let the words hang in the air.
Elsa frowned. "You're trying to use my oath against me."
"Not against you," he corrected. "Through you. You can help me keep these people alive. But if you refuse… then when I'm gone, and something attacks this base—tell me, Officer, how will you feel watching them die?"
Elsa's jaw clenched. She hated that he was right. Her sense of duty—what was left of it—wouldn't let her ignore that kind of threat.
"Fine," she said finally. "I'll help you guard your people. But don't think this makes me one of you."
Ethan smiled faintly. "That's all I needed to hear."
As he turned away, Elsa looked down, her thoughts a storm.
He's dangerous, she thought. Not because of his strength… but because he knows exactly how to pull the strings.
In the corner, Rachel watched silently, her expression unreadable.
And upstairs, Emily leaned against the balcony rail, listening to the distant hum of the generator, her lips curving into a knowing smile.
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