Ethan had dismissed all his staff and taken down the store signs.
His mission for the next few days was strictly receiving shipments.
He contacted every major supplier, slaughterhouse, and every other ranch owner.
Delivery trucks kept arriving, one after the other.
Most of the inventory consisted of raw meat, but there were also essential daily cleaning supplies, like Windex, Clorox wipes, and a brand-new Dyson vacuum.
In some respects, these items were even more important to Ethan than the food!
"Mr. Cross, your Amazon Prime delivery is here."
Several guys in 'FedEx' uniforms began hauling package after package into the store.
Soon, cardboard boxes were piled high, forming small mountains.
They were noticeably heavy.
Because these were the 'weapons' Ethan had purchased online!
The hoard included one hundred Compound Bows, one hundred Crossbows, along with hundreds of tactical knives, machetes, and axes.
In the early stages of the apocalypse, the lethality of these cold weapons would be considerable.
Ethan might be turning into a zombie, but as a zombie with intact Logic, using weapons was perfectly reasonable, right???
Time flew by, and soon it was the day before the apocalypse.
Ethan was almost out of cash. Though he started with two hundred million, his purchasing power had far exceeded that, thanks to upfront deposits.
He had virtually monopolized the market, running several major suppliers dry.
It was evening now. The sun was setting, casting its last rays into the empty supermarket.
All the shelves were gone, tucked neatly into Ethan's storage space.
Tomorrow morning.
The end of the world would begin.
Ethan was ready to become something less than human…
But first, he meticulously polished the floor with a Swiffer mop until the entire place was spotless. Cleanliness had become second nature to him.
He looked out the window. The street was still bustling with traffic; commuters hurried home, and schoolchildren crossed the road in neat, orderly lines.
Parents picking up their kids smiled happily.
It felt like any other mundane, peaceful twilight.
But Ethan knew that by tomorrow, all of it would be gone.
His mood was calm.
He was savoring the final moments of tranquility.
CRASH!
Just then, the security roll-up door, which had been pulled down, was violently yanked up, grating against the metal guides with a terrible screech.
Three figures were silhouetted against the setting sun.
"Hey, Boss, we're hungry. Hook us up with some food."
The leader was a young guy with dyed blonde hair, looking smug and greasy—a typical local thug, known for shaking down businesses for free food or cash.
Business owners hated guys like this.
They caused trouble every few days and hurt business, so most people just put up with them, handing over a few bucks to make them leave.
Ethan didn't even lift his eyes.
"The store is closed. There's no food."
"What the hell?"
The thugs stared dumbfounded at the empty shelves. Business had been booming, so why close now?
They remembered him hauling insane amounts of inventory in just a few days ago.
"The store's closed? Does that mean… we can't flirt with the hot manager anymore?" One of the sidekicks groaned, disappointed.
"Blonde, what do we do?" the other asked.
The leader, Blonde, studied Ethan.
"Listen, Boss, even if the store's shut down, you can't let your brothers starve. Loan us some cash, we need to grab some Tacos."
Ethan wanted to enjoy his last moments of peace and didn't want these lowlifes ruining his mood. He couldn't be bothered to talk to them, so he pulled out a stack of hundred-dollar bills—easily a grand—and tossed it to them.
To him, soon to be a zombie, money was basically just paper.
"Holy sh*t!"
Blonde's eyes went wide. He couldn't believe Ethan was so generous.
He concluded the guy must be terrified of him.
That's why he was handing over so much cash.
"You're a good kid. You know how to play ball."
The two sidekicks were ecstatic, feeling important hanging around Blonde. They could walk into any store on the street and the owner would cough up cash.
That's what being a thug was all about, right?
"Blonde's got the pull, man, no one messes with him."
"Seriously, follow the big boss, and you get nine Steaks in three days!"
"…"
"Alright, boys, let's roll."
Blonde waved his hand dismissively, strutting. But then, perhaps from too much smoking, his throat felt scratchy.
Heh, tui!
He hawked a thick wad of phlegm onto the floor Ethan had just finished cleaning.
"Hold on."
Ethan suddenly looked up, stopping them. His eyes fixed on Blonde. He hated The Mess…
"Huh?"
The three thugs turned back, confused.
"What's the deal? You need something?"
"The floor is dirty."
Ethan began walking toward him, one deliberate step after another.
"Pffft!"
Blonde couldn't help but laugh.
"I just spit on your floor. Big deal, huh?"
The two sidekicks folded their arms, looking him over. They weren't worried. He just gave us cash; what's a little spit going to do?
Slish!
But in that instant, Ethan's hand moved, a flash of steel in the air. His sharp Tactical Knife cut through the silence, finding its mark instantly.
The blade plunged into Blonde's neck, piercing clean through!
Blonde's eyes bulged wide.
His expression instantly became one of terror and total disbelief.
He opened his mouth, trying to scream or speak.
But only blood gushed out.
Thud!
Blonde's body crashed to the floor. To his last breath, he couldn't comprehend why Ethan had suddenly exploded with such murderous rage.
The two sidekicks were paralyzed by the sudden, terrifying sight.
"Wha…"
"What the hell happened?"
Their tough-guy leader, Blonde, had been killed!
They were just petty criminals; they had never witnessed real murder. Their lips trembling, eyes wide with fear, they looked at Ethan, whose expression remained coldly detached.
Was this guy some kind of Serial Killer?
To Ethan, with his memories of the zombie apocalypse, this scene was child's play, completely inconsequential.
The two thugs grabbed the empty shelves for support, their legs turning to jelly.
"P-please… Boss, don't kill me! I'm sorry!"
"Yes! Forgive us, sir! We swear we won't say a word!"
"…"
A slight upturn appeared at the corner of Ethan's mouth. He suddenly smiled.
"You guys can go. I won't kill you."
"O-okay… Thank you."
Relief washed over them. They quickly turned and started scrambling toward the exit.
Behind them, however,
Ethan raised a Crossbow, sighted one of them, and squeezed the trigger.
Thwack!
A sharp bolt effortlessly pierced the back of the man's skull, pitching him face-first onto the ground.
"NO!!!"
The last thug saw his friend collapse, an arrow sticking out of his head. The image was purely horrifying.
He frantically whipped his head around.
Ethan had already nocked another bolt, pulled the string taut, and was aiming straight at him.
The thug was hysterical with terror.
He said he wouldn't kill me!
This guy doesn't follow the Street Code!
"B-Boss…"
Pshhhht!
The arrow slammed through his forehead before he could finish the word. The sound cut off instantly as his body fell to the floor.
Silence returned to the empty supermarket.
"The crossbow's power is decent," Ethan analyzed, looking at the bodies.
Then, with a casual wave of his hand, he stored all three corpses in his spatial dimension.
Because, to him, they were all 'Inventory.'
He wasn't just stockpiling the living; he was stockpiling the dead, too...