The mattress was soft, and the sheets smelled of fabric softener. The air conditioner was whispering. The feeling of physical security was so alien, so overwhelming, that Jessy felt nauseous. It was not the bed that was churning her stomach, but the awareness of what she had done to deserve it.
She could feel the dull ache in her hips and muscle fatigue; it was not from the journey she made, but from the service she had just performed. As she turned her head, Dan's heavy figure slept beside her, occupying most of the mattress. He was her owner now, her protector, and her price.
Just two weeks ago, Jessy considered herself an intelligent survivor. She fled her apartment when the power failed and the water was cut off, finding refuge in the basement of an abandoned library. She lived on cold cans, filtered rainwater, and constant fear.
Jessy's life in the basement was reduced to despair. For the last few days, hunger had become a constant physical pain. She saw a man die a few blocks away from dehydration, not from an infected. She understood that her youth and attractive physique, which were once social advantages, were now her only real currency.
She had been so reluctant to sell herself. Her morals screamed. Every time she checked her dying cell phone, she saw posts from other women offering themselves for a plate of food or a bottle of water, and she felt a chill. She would never stoop that low.
But hunger is an acid that corrodes morality. When her last can of beans ran out, and the rainwater was murky, the fear of starving to death surpassed the fear of the infected. More so, it overcame the disgust of submission. She forced herself to turn on her cell phone. It took her almost an hour to write the message. She wanted to be discreet, to offer companionship, "mutual aid," not a simple sexual trade.
But Dan Olsen, the man on the Link network who offered food, was direct. His reply was cold: "If you come, it's on my terms. Obedience. Whatever I want, whenever I want."
When she saw the picture of his apartment, the light on, the full refrigerator he had simulated, the promise of a normal life... she broke.
The decision to go was an act of desperation, but she forced herself to see it as an act of pragmatic survival. I need resources and security. Dan is the only one who can offer me this. She repeated to herself: I have to be brave. Upon arriving and seeing the fortress, the generator running, her resolve solidified: the fear of death by starvation was stronger than her own will.
The moment at the door: the humiliating groping, the search, the submission to the bat. She did not dare to protest. She did not dare to feel. She became an empty object waiting for orders.
And then, the steaming plate of noodles. The tears came while she ate, not from sadness over the recent humiliation, but from the relief of hunger. Her body, broken by need, absorbed the nourishment. And then, the hot water bath. That was what broke her. It demonstrated the power he had, a power normal people could only dream of. He could make hot potable water, at will. A god of scarcity.
That's it. I did it. I'm alive. She thought, closing her eyes. Her body ached, but her stomach was full, her skin clean, and she was warm. The price was her will. But what was will worth if the body starved to death?
Jessy slowly turned away, giving Dan her back, looking for sleep. The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon.
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Dan woke up with the morning sun, feeling rested and with renewed power. He looked at Jessy's figure curled up beside him. Her "conversion" had been a complete success. She was now his property, and her obedience was absolute. The fortress was more than cement and steel; now it had a companion.
He got up, his body slightly sore from the previous night's activity, and went straight to his cell phone to contact Irene. He had a feeling this would be a great day.
The new day had begun, and the objective was clear: frozen chicken and the plan for the weapons.
Dan knew that Jessy's faith in him could not be based solely on noodles and hot water. He needed a tangible demonstration of his access to the impossible.
He went to the kitchen and took out of his inventory what was necessary for an abundant breakfast that would brutally contrast with Jessy's life in the basement: a new bowl of noodles with egg and an already prepared cup of coffee. The smell of cooking would serve as a new layer of control.
Jessy woke up with the aroma. She got up timidly, the oversized pajamas covering her.
"Good morning," Dan said in a neutral tone, without looking directly at her. "Eat breakfast. Then clean your things."
She sat at the table and ate in silence, watching him.
Just as they finished, Dan's cell phone vibrated. It was 8:45 a.m.. Lucas.
"I'm leaving. Lock all the bolts and don't open for anything in the world, not even if you hear me screaming."
Dan armed himself with his bat, his backpack, and went downstairs.
He unlocked the front door, just enough to see Lucas, a large, dirty, nervous man with a canvas bag.
"Mr. Olsen. Here you go. Three whole chickens, frozen, wrapped in plastic. It cost us our skin, but it's here."
Dan took the heavy bag and placed it on the floor, paying Lucas double the agreed amount with products from his inventory, cementing his merchants' loyalty. As soon as Lucas left, Dan dragged the canvas bag to the doorway.
—Store Frozen Chicken (3 Units). —BEEP.
The bag disappeared, and Dan locked the front door.
He went up the stairs empty-handed and signaled Jessy to approach the kitchen.
Dan leaned over the counter, and with an almost imperceptible flash, took out the three frozen chickens directly onto the counter. Jessy gasped, her eyes fixed on the frozen meat.
"This is what my contacts risked their lives to get," Dan said, pointing to the chickens. "It is the most valuable thing we can have. Understand what this means: I can achieve the impossible. You have access to this, as long as you are obedient."
The contract had been reconfirmed with fresh meat.
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It was 9:30 a.m. Dan had the morning off. The fortress was secure, Jessy was clean and submissive. It was time to seek the lethal advantage: a firearm.
"Stay here. Go to the living room and check the map on my cell phone for me. I want you to locate any police station or military facility within a twenty-block radius. I need information on access."
Dan armed himself with his bat, his backpack, and headed to the police station marked on the map. The risk was high, but the weapon was worth it.
The road was long, eight blocks of pure tension. Dan moved through the alleys to avoid the main avenues, where abandoned vehicles offered too many hiding places for the infected or worse, for other looters. He stayed close to the walls, the bat clenched, breathing shallowly.
At the fifth block, turning down a narrow alley full of overturned garbage containers (a magnet for the infected), he stopped dead. There were three infected. They were feeding on something he couldn't identify, making a guttural, wet sound. They hadn't seen him, but they were right in his path.
Shit. Three of them.
If he used the bat, the noise would attract the whole neighborhood. The only option was extreme stealth. He waited, his heart pounding against his ribs, until one of them moved awkwardly to the side. The gap opened.
Dan slipped around the opposite side, using the containers as a shield. His senses were on edge. One of the infected, the one closest to him, growled as he felt the slight vibration in the air and turned his head. Dan froze, his muscles tense, the bat raised. The infected sniffed, uninterested, and returned to its meal.
Stealth was successful. Once past that point, Dan moved faster, understanding that the cost of slowness was exposure.
He reached the eighth block, and the police station became visible. The place was a mess, as he had predicted. The main door was forced.
He entered with extreme caution. The silence was deafening. There were bodies of fallen officers, not from bites, but from gunshots or hatchet blows. Looters had fought the officers. Too many people, too much risk.
He quickly moved toward the weapons storage arsenal, which was marked by a reinforced metal door. It was open! The lock had been blown off with explosives or a heavy tool.
The arsenal was empty. Only metal shelves and bullet casings remained. The looters had already taken everything.
He felt a pang of frustration. I'll have to get more creative.
As he left, he checked the desks. In an overturned drawer, he found something of value: a light bulletproof vest (Level IIIA). It wasn't perfect, but it was real protection.
—Store Light Bulletproof Vest. —BEEP.
He found a locked locker. He opened it with the help of a piece of steel from his inventory. Inside, there was an electric discharge gun (Taser) and a can of pepper spray. Non-lethal weapons, but useful for gaining time.
—Store Electric Discharge Gun (Taser). —BEEP.
—Store Pepper Spray (Large Can). —BEEP.
The firearm mission was a failure, but the protection mission was a success. The return was equally tense, but he already knew which alleys to avoid.
He returned to the base.
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It was 12:30 p.m. when Dan entered the apartment. Jessy was sitting in the living room, exactly where he had left her, concentrating on the cell phone map. The relief on her face was evident.
Dan took off his backpack.
"Show me what you found," Dan ordered, without saying thank you.
Jessy slid the cell phone toward him. She had accurately marked three points on the map: two small police stations (probably empty) and, crucially, the location of a National Guard Station about twenty blocks away. The effort and obedience in her task were evident.
"Well done, Jessy. Information is the first step to survival."
Dan went to the kitchen counter. With a simple movement, he took two Level IIIA bulletproof vests out of the inventory and threw them onto the sofa.
—Take out Light Bulletproof Vest (2 Units). —BEEP.
Jessy was speechless, not only at seeing the security duplicated, but because she hadn't seen Dan's backpack with such a bulky object.
"This is a reward for your obedience and for the information. I will wear mine. The other is yours, but with conditions. You will wear it whenever we go out, and you will keep it next to you when you are alone or in danger. It is your armor. Take care of it. It is a privilege, not a right."
"Yes, Dan. Thank you," Jessy whispered, grabbing the vest.
Dan put his on, looking at her.
"Now, I want you to tell me something that has been running through my mind. I checked you and I know you are a fearful person. If you are so afraid of the infected, how did you get to my door safe and sound? The journey is not short."
Jessy hunched over, fidgeting with the edge of the vest.
"Because the fear of starving to death was greater than the fear of zombies, Dan," she explained, looking at the floor. "But the main reason is that... I'm very cautious. I saw a video on the network about a method. Supposedly, if you cover yourself with dry mud and a mixture of strong herbs, it neutralizes part of the human scent for the infected. I thought it was nonsense, but I was desperate. I covered myself with mud from a park, wrapped myself in plastic bags... I did everything so they wouldn't notice me. I think it worked, or I was very lucky. I wouldn't do it again, the terror was... absolute."
Dan nodded, a shadow of appreciation crossing his face. She was weak, but she was not stupid. Her fear made her useful, and her learned "method" was a foolish trick that posed no real threat of escape.
Dan used the afternoon to establish the routine and rules, etching them into Jessy's mind.
"Rule number one: The provider eats first, and eats whatever he wants. Rule number two: Total obedience in public and private. Rule number three: You are responsible for the cleaning, the cooking, and my comfort in this apartment."
"Now, we will both put on the armor." Dan put on the vest under his shirt, showing that he was also protected. "You'll get used to the weight."
While Jessy was buckling her vest, Dan went to the kitchen. It was time for dinner, and he was going to use his most precious resource.
He took one of the frozen chicken breasts off the counter and put it in a pot with noodles, water, and the rest of the ingredients for a thick soup. The smell of chicken cooking spread throughout the apartment.
Jessy stopped, setting the cell phone aside, looking at the pot with desperate fascination.
"Chicken? Did you really get it?" Jessy asked, her voice filled with astonishment and adoration.
"Mine, yes." The correction was subtle but definitive. "It's the reward for my effort. Whatever you get will have worms. Now, go to the room. This will take time to be ready, and I want you to wait for me there."
Jessy obeyed without grumbling, retiring to the bedroom.
Dan waited until the chicken and noodles were perfectly cooked in a thick soup with egg. It was time to solidify the illusion of abundance.
He took out a bowl, served a portion, and then put the entire steaming pot of soup into the inventory.
—Store Chicken Noodle Soup. —BEEP.
Then, he took out a new identical pot of Chicken Noodle Soup from the inventory and left it on the stove.
Now, I have infinite chicken.
At 8:00 p.m., Dan called Jessy.
"Dinner is ready."
He served the soup in two bowls: a large, generous bowl for him, and a full, though slightly smaller, bowl for her. The tender chicken and rich broth were an obscene luxury. Dan ate with satisfaction, savoring the luxury and watching Jessy eat with a gratitude that bordered on adoration.
Jessy, unable to restrain herself, took out her cell phone. She was trembling. She opened the camera and, quickly, took a photo of her plate full of chicken and noodles.
"What are you doing?" Dan asked, with a raised eyebrow.
"Nothing. I just... wanted to document the last good meal I remembered," Jessy lied. Dan looked at her strangely, but did not insist, returning to his plate.
After they finished eating, Dan called her into the living room. He leaned back on the sofa.
"Tell me something, Jessy. I already know what you're good for in bed and what you're good for with a bat, but... what else are you good at? What is your talent?"
Jessy hesitated, surprised by the question.
"I'm good... at cooking. Before all this, I handled shopping and managed the household budget."
Dan nodded, thoughtful. "Administration... that's interesting, but I don't need that right now. But cooking, yes. You need to maintain the value of this."
He pointed to the pot he had just taken out of the inventory (the infinite soup).
"Starting tomorrow, you are responsible for the food. You will decide the menus. You will use the refrigerator. I will store new things I get on my trips every day." Dan lied, pointing to the refrigerator, which would actually only store what Dan decided to take out of the inventory. "You are not afraid of poisoning me, since you couldn't leave this house. If the food is bad or you try any nonsense, you will starve. Do you understand?"
"Yes, Dan. I understand," she said, with a mixture of fear and the pride of having a valuable task.
After establishing the rules, Dan called her to the bedroom. The day was over, and the service was the reward.
"Come here, Jessy." Dan lay back on the bed, looking at her. "It was an exhausting day. It's time for you to fulfill your night service."
Jessy approached the bed. She did not hesitate, she did not protest. Her will had been sacrificed to the god of survival. She took off her pajamas and approached him. The submission in her eyes was not resignation; it was the acceptance of the new and brutal reality.
Dan smiled. Day 4 had been a success on all fronts. The base was safer, the resources consolidated, and the domination completed.