Chapter 2

The pounding at the door echoed like thunder.

On the security feed, Ethan hammered his fists against the thick alloy entrance, desperation written all over his face.

"Victoria! Samantha!" he shouted. "I know you're in there. Open up. There are monsters everywhere out here."

Behind him, Lily stood trembling in her mud-stained white dress. "Ethan, do you think maybe they're not home?"

Ethan's jaw tightened. "No. In my previous... Ahem, I got reliable information. They're here, and they have enough supplies to last years.

"Those two always did what I told them. I ask, and they hand everything over. That's how it works."

I listened to the audio coming from the surveillance feed and raised an eyebrow.

That was how it worked? The original versions of Victoria and me had practically worshiped him.

When the apocalypse hit, he said jump, and they asked how high. They handed over every last can of beans, every bottle of water.

And in return? He used them as bait, shoved them straight into a horde of zombies. There wasn't enough left of them to bury.

Victoria spat a sunflower seed shell into the trash can. "The audacity of this guy. It's almost impressive."

The system urged us on. 'Go. This is your moment. Walk out there. Mock him. Tell him he's worthless, that he doesn't belong in your home. Then let him march right in and take what's his.'

I nodded. "Alright, I'll give you what you want."

I walked to the center of the living room, where a cast-iron skillet sat on the stovetop, butter already sizzling.

A plate of thick-cut dry-aged ribeyes rested nearby, marbled with fat, seasoned with nothing but salt and cracked pepper.

Next to it, a basket of golden-brown onion rings waited on a wire rack, still glistening from the fryer.

Victoria picked up a pair of tongs and laid two steaks into the skillet. The sound that followed was pure indulgence. A deep, violent hiss that sent a plume of fragrant smoke toward the ceiling.

"Still want to roast him?" Victoria asked.

I pressed the button for the whole-house audio system and adjusted the powerful exhaust vents to point straight toward the front door. Then I brought the microphone close to the stove.

"We don't need to say a word," I said, bringing the microphone close to the hotpot.

The crackle of steak hitting hot cast iron roared through the speakers, loud, primal, unmistakable.

Then came the sound of butter being spooned over the meat. A satisfied hum from Victoria. The clink of a glass being set down.

"Samantha, grab me a cold beer," I called out. "Make sure it's ice cold."

A moment later, the hiss of a bottle cap twisting off echoed through the system, followed by the crisp fizz of carbonation.

Outside, the rich scent of seared beef and melted butter rolled out of the vents in a thick wave.

Outside, Ethan's hand froze in place as he was pounding on the door.

Behind him, Lily's stomach growled so loudly it might as well have been its own warning siren.

They hadn't eaten in two days. The zombies, the running, the terror, none of it compared to the torture of smelling that steak from ten feet away.

Ethan swallowed hard, his eyes taking on a desperate gleam. "Victoria. Samantha. Are you seriously cooking steak right now?

"Come on. Open up. It's me, Ethan. I'll keep you safe."

Victoria and I exchanged a glance and couldn't help but laugh.

Keeping us safe. With that rusted iron rod he was carrying? Or was he planning to fall back on his specialty, using women as shields?

The system's voice grew frantic. 'Hosts. This is not following the script. You are supposed to submit. You are not supposed to make the male lead stand outside salivating.'

I picked up an onion ring and bit into it with a satisfying crunch. "What's the rush? I can't watch the show on an empty stomach."

Ethan's composure finally cracked. He had been transmigrated into this world, believing he was the main character. There was no way he was going to let two women who used to worship him lock him out.

"Ungrateful," he spat, stepping back and raising his rusted iron rod. "If you won't open the door, I'll open it myself."

He swung the rod with everything he had, slamming it hard against the electronic lock on the door.

Lily whimpered behind him. "Ethan, please. Maybe they're scared. Maybe we shouldn't—"

"Shut up," he snarled.

The rod was inches from the lock when I pressed the blue button on the remote.

Blue-violet arcs of electricity rippled across the surface of the door.

Ethan screamed as the current hurled him backward like a rag doll.

He flew yards through the air and slammed onto the concrete, his hair standing on end, thin wisps of smoke curling from his clothes.

The iron rod in his hand had partially melted. He lay there twitching, foam gathering at the corners of his mouth.

Lily clapped both hands over her mouth, her scream muffled. "Ethan!" She wanted to go to him, but couldn't make herself move.

My voice came through the speakers, cold and clear. "Breaking is a crime. Consider that a warning. Next time, I won't turn it down to half power."