Ethan pressed the button to open the gate.
The decision wasn't born from mercy or forgiveness. It was pure calculation. If Margaret was telling the truth about his birth mother, he needed her alive long enough to verify it. And if she was lying, well, he could always throw them back out into the cold once he had his answers.
The gate swung open slowly, its motors straining against the accumulated snow. Through the cameras, Ethan watched the three conscious figures drag Robert's limp body through the opening. They stumbled toward the bunker entrance, following the illuminated path he activated remotely.
Ethan met them at the inner airlock, a sealed chamber he'd designed specifically for decontamination. When the outer door opened and they collapsed inside, he sealed it behind them without entering himself. Instead, he spoke through the intercom.
"Strip off your wet clothes. All of them. There are thermal blankets in the cabinet to your left. Once you're wrapped up, I'll let you into the main bunker."
Margaret looked up at the camera, her face haggard and blue with cold. "Robert needs medical attention now. We don't have time,"
"You have exactly the amount of time I give you," Ethan interrupted. "I'm not contaminating my bunker with wet, frozen clothing. Strip, or go back outside."
It took them nearly ten minutes, their fingers so numb they could barely work zippers and buttons. Dylan had to be undressed by the others, semiconscious and shivering violently. Robert remained motionless throughout, though Ethan's thermal sensors showed he was still alive, barely.
When they were finally wrapped in the silver emergency blankets, looking like pitiful refugees from some disaster film, Ethan opened the inner door.
The warmth hit them like a physical force. Jessica actually cried out, whether from relief or pain as blood returned to frozen extremities, Ethan couldn't tell. They staggered into the medical bay he'd prepared, a room outfitted with supplies he'd hoped never to use for them.
"Put Robert on the table," Ethan commanded, still speaking through the intercom rather than showing himself. "Margaret, there's a medical kit in the cabinet marked 'Hypothermia.' Follow the instructions exactly."
He watched from the command center as Margaret, her hands still shaking, pulled out the kit and began working on Robert. Heated IV fluids, warming blankets, oxygen. The instructions were clear and simple, designed for non-medical personnel in emergency situations.
Dylan lay on the floor, wrapped in blankets, his feet elevated. Even through the camera, Ethan could see the blackened toes, the telltale signs of severe frostbite. Those feet would need serious medical attention, probably amputation of at least some digits, but that could wait.
Jessica huddled in a corner, her arms wrapped around herself, rocking slightly. She kept looking at the camera, her eyes wide and frightened.
"Thank you," Margaret whispered as she worked on Robert. "Thank you, Ethan. I know you hate us. I know we don't deserve this. But thank you."
Ethan didn't respond. He was already pulling up the information Patricia Hamilton had sent him. The message contained a detailed breakdown of the Chen family's financial situation, and it was worse than even Ethan had planned.
The business was completely bankrupt, assets seized by creditors. The house was in foreclosure. Their bank accounts were frozen pending multiple lawsuits from investors who'd lost money when the company collapsed. Robert had apparently taken out several high-interest loans in a desperate attempt to save the business, using the house and their personal assets as collateral.
They had nothing. Even if the world hadn't ended, they would have been destitute.
Ethan felt a cold satisfaction reading the numbers. His subtle sabotage had worked perfectly, accelerating their downfall just in time for the apocalypse to finish what he'd started.
After an hour of treatment, Robert's vital signs stabilized. He was still unconscious, but his breathing was regular and his core temperature was slowly rising. Margaret slumped in a chair beside the table, exhausted.
Dylan had drifted into a fitful sleep. Jessica remained in her corner, watching the cameras.
Ethan finally entered the medical bay, his first direct contact with them since opening the gate. They all turned to look at him, and he saw the moment they registered how different he was. Well-fed, clean, healthy, radiating the confidence of someone who'd been comfortable while they suffered.
"Ethan," Margaret started to rise, but he held up a hand.
"Don't. We're not doing tearful reunions or apologies. You're here because I allowed it, and you'll stay only as long as I permit it. Is that clear?"
Margaret nodded slowly, sinking back into her chair.
"Now," Ethan pulled up a second chair and sat, maintaining a careful distance. "You mentioned something about my birth mother. I want details. All of them. And if I find out you're lying, you go back outside. Permanently."
Margaret took a shaky breath. "Her name was Sarah. Sarah Mitchell, before she married. She was my younger sister, three years younger than me. We were close growing up, but we drifted apart after I married Robert and she moved to Seattle."
"Why didn't you ever mention having a sister?"
"Because it hurt too much," Margaret said quietly. "She died giving birth to you, and I, I blamed myself. I should have been there with her, should have convinced her to deliver in a better hospital, should have done something. Instead, I was here, building my perfect life with Robert, too busy to visit."
Ethan studied her face, looking for signs of deception. She seemed genuine, but he'd learned not to trust his ability to read the Chens. "Continue."
"Sarah made me promise, in her last lucid moments, to raise you as my own. She didn't want you to grow up knowing your birth caused her death. She wanted you to have a family, to be loved. So Robert and I adopted you. We were going to tell you the truth when you were older, but then Dylan was born and everything changed."
"You mean I became expendable," Ethan said flatly.
Margaret flinched. "Yes. I suppose that's exactly what happened. Having Dylan, our biological son, awakened something in Robert and me. Something selfish and terrible. We started seeing you as the obligation you were rather than the gift Sarah had given us. And we treated you accordingly."
"Why are you telling me this now? Why not years ago?"
"Because I'm dying," Margaret said simply. "And I want you to know the truth before I go. You deserve to know you came from love, even if you ended up in a house that forgot how to give it."
Ethan sat back, processing. If this was true, it recontextualized his entire childhood. He wasn't just some random orphan they'd picked up and discarded. He was family, blood family, and they'd still chosen to treat him as disposable.
Somehow, that made it worse.
"The documents you mentioned. Where are they?"
"Safe deposit box at First National Bank, like I said. Box 2847. The key is in my jewelry box at home, in a hidden compartment under the main tray. There are photos of Sarah, letters she wrote to you before she died, her diary from when she was pregnant. Everything you'd need to know about her."
Ethan made a mental note. The bank was almost certainly inaccessible now, buried in snow or looted, but eventually, he could verify this story. "And my father? Sarah's husband?"
"There wasn't one," Margaret said. "Sarah never told me who your father was. She just said he wasn't in the picture and never would be. I assumed it was some brief relationship that ended badly, but she wouldn't discuss it."
Before Ethan could ask more questions, Dylan stirred on the floor, groaning in pain. "My feet. God, my feet are on fire."
"That's the circulation returning," Ethan said without sympathy. "You have severe frostbite. You'll probably lose some toes, maybe more depending on the damage."
Dylan's eyes widened in horror. "What? No, you have to, there has to be something you can do!"
"There is. I can keep you alive while your body decides what tissue is salvageable. Beyond that, you'll have to accept the consequences of your choices. Walking through a blizzard in inadequate footwear tends to have permanent effects."
"You son of a," Dylan started, then stopped as Ethan stood abruptly.
"Finish that sentence and you're out in the snow. I'm housing you out of necessity, not kindness. Don't mistake the two."
Dylan fell silent, his face twisted in pain and rage.
Jessica finally spoke, her voice small. "Ethan, I'm sorry. For everything. I know that doesn't mean anything now, but I need you to know I regret it. All of it."
Ethan looked at her, this girl he'd once thought he loved. She seemed smaller now, diminished by suffering and fear. Whatever feelings he'd had for her were long dead, frozen out in his first timeline.
"Your regret is noted," he said. "Now get some rest. All of you. We'll discuss the rules of this bunker tomorrow."
He left them in the medical bay and returned to his command center. The cameras showed Margaret helping Dylan to a cot, Robert still unconscious on the table, Jessica curling up under a blanket in the corner. They looked like what they were, broken people clinging to survival.
Ethan should have felt triumphant. He'd won. They were completely dependent on him, stripped of everything that had made them powerful in his life. They were at his mercy, and he had very little mercy to give.
Instead, he felt empty. Revenge wasn't as satisfying as he'd imagined.