The "rug over the head" strategy was failing. Between the staccato rhythm of Kafka's rifle and the high-pitched screeching of whatever she was shooting at, Daniel realized the beanbag chair was no longer a viable nap zone.
He sat up, the rug sliding off his shoulders. Across the aisle, Sophia had regained her composure, though her eyes remained fixed on Daniel with a predatory curiosity.
"The back of the store," she said, her professional mask sliding back into place. "It sounds like a cult. Or worse—fanatics."
Daniel dragged his feet toward the sound. In the pharmacy section of the Global-Mart, Mia was cornered behind a counter of overpriced vitamins. Facing her were a dozen men dressed in tattered white robes stained with purple Mana-mold. They weren't Infected—not yet—but their eyes held the glazed, frantic look of people who had seen the end and decided to start worshipping it.
"The Purge is coming!" their leader shouted, waving a jagged piece of glass. "The Maiden in White must be sacrificed to appease the rot!"
Kafka was pinned behind a wall of canned soup, her rifle jammed. "Stay back, Mia! One of these lunatics has a Mana-Grenade!"
Daniel stepped into the pharmacy light, blinking against the glare. He looked at the robed men, then at the "Mana-Grenade" (which looked suspiciously like a glowing purple potato), and finally at the clock on the wall. It was nearly lunch.
"Excuse me," Daniel said, his voice cracking with a yawn. "The 'Purge' is scheduled for next Tuesday, I think. Can you guys do this somewhere else? I'm looking for the memory foam section."
The cultists froze. The leader turned, his face twisting into a snarl. "Who is this heretic? A man who dares walk through the valley of Death without a robe? Slay him!"
The leader lunged, his jagged glass raised high.
Daniel didn't move. He just felt a sudden, sharp itch on his ankle. He bent down to scratch it at the exact moment the leader swung. The jagged glass sliced through the air where Daniel's neck had been, instead striking a shelf of pressurized oxygen tanks used for medical emergencies.
Hiss.
The oxygen sprayed directly into the leader's face, blinding him. He stumbled back, his foot catching on a discarded bottle of industrial-strength floor cleaner. He slipped, his arms flailing, and accidentally tossed the "Mana-Grenade" directly into the center of his own cult.
"Wait, no—"
BOOM.
The explosion didn't produce fire; it produced a wave of localized purple energy that froze the cultists into instant, shimmering statues of Mana-Husk. They were perfectly preserved, their faces stuck in expressions of absolute shock.
Daniel stood up, rubbing his ankle. "Well. That was loud."
Back at the penthouse—now equipped with a literal truckload of supplies and a "borrowed" luxury mattress—the atmosphere had shifted.
The ladies had seen it again. A dozen fanatics neutralized without Daniel even raising a hand. As they unloaded the supplies, the "competition" Daniel had feared began to take a more physical turn.
"You're covered in dust, Daniel," Mia said, her voice dropping an octave as she pulled him toward the newly installed bathroom. "As a doctor, I insist on a decontamination. The Mana-mold is very dangerous."
"I can wash myself, Mia," Daniel protested, already half-asleep against the doorframe.
"Nonsense," Kafka interrupted, sliding her arm around his waist, her grip like iron. "You're too tired to scrub your own back. I'll handle the heavy lifting. Besides, I need a shower too."
"Actually," Sophia said, appearing with three glasses of expensive, pre-apocalypse wine she'd scavenged. "We should all discuss the 'Luck Field' while we're in there. It's the most efficient use of our time. And space."
Daniel looked at the three of them—the brilliant strategist, the lethal commander, and the curvaceous medic. They were all looking at him with a hunger that had nothing to do with the canned food in the kitchen.
"Is the shower big enough for four?" Daniel asked, his eyes already closing.
"We'll make it fit, Daniel," Mia whispered, leading him inside. "We'll make everything fit."
As the steam began to rise, Daniel realized that while his [Lucky Charm] could protect him from falling buildings, cultists, and the literal end of the world, it was absolutely powerless against three determined women who had decided he was the only thing worth saving.
He sighed, leaning his head back against the cool tile.
At least the water is warm, he thought, right before a pair of soft hands started unbuttoning his shirt.