Fat Sheep Waiting to Be Slaughtered

Maggie clamped a hand over her mouth, trembling uncontrollably as she stared at the cleaver embedded in her sister's forehead. Tears streamed down her face, her whole body frozen in fear. But her sister's gaze, even in her final moments, carried a message—find her daughter.

Elliot bent down, yanked the cleaver out, and swung it down again.

Bang! Bang! Bang!

"I'm doing you a favor. Don't blame me."

"Garrick, I'm sending her to you. You two can be together now."

Maggie watched as her own sister was hacked to death before her eyes. Her face was mangled beyond recognition, and even as brain matter splattered onto her own eyes, she didn't dare make a sound.

As the door slammed shut, the terror and despair inside her finally surged out. Hiding beneath the bed, she wept softly, biting her lips to keep herself from screaming. In that moment, her world collapsed.

In the garage, the men from Building 2, Building 4, and Building 5 had gathered—fifty-three in total. Of course, some had chosen not to join. Maybe they didn't want to turn into mindless killers. Maybe they were afraid that once the world returned to order, they'd be rounded up and executed.

Each of the fifty-three men carried a blade—kitchen knives, fruit knives, anything they could get their hands on.

Franklin, Mallory, and Bobby, the three ringleaders, wielded massive machetes nearly fifty centimeters long.

The three of them smoked calmly, excitement glinting in their eyes like wild beasts anticipating a feast.

"After we're done with Building 1, let's set a time to take Cole's supplies from Building 3," Franklin said, exhaling a puff of smoke. "That so-called gunman—how many bullets can he have? More than we have men?"

Franklin was a wiry man, oddly tall at nearly six feet, with a mole at the corner of his mouth that made his face look unbalanced. A career criminal, he had done time for theft. Short of murder, there was little he hadn't done.

Mallory was nothing more than a low-level thug, the type hired to keep an eye on businesses. Bobby, on the other hand, was a construction foreman who had dealt with his fair share of ruthless men. He was round-bodied, but when he got mean, it was enough to send chills down anyone's spine.

None of them were good people. Not a single one.

Bobby took a deep drag of his cigarette, squinting as he exhaled. "What's there to discuss? We hit this place tonight, that place tomorrow. You in or not?"

The three of them knew Building 3 was more dangerous than Building 1, but it also had way more supplies.

"I'm in," Mallory said, flicking his cigarette ash.

"I want those two women," Franklin's eyes gleamed with perverse excitement, a true predator at heart.

Mallory and Bobby weren't about to agree to that. Angela and Maisie were the kind of women any man would kill to have.

Mallory smirked. "We take the women, auction them off for supplies."

"Now that's interesting. Fine," Franklin said, not objecting. Bobby didn't either. But all three were already thinking the same thing—find the right moment, take the others out. Best to team up with someone first to make it easier.

Just then, Elliot came running out of the elevator. His face was covered in blood, making the others pause for a moment.

Shhkkk.

The rolling metal gate screeched open. The monsters were about to be unleashed.

Elliot's voice trembled. "You three promised not to touch my family." He was terrified they'd go back on their word.

Bobby clapped Elliot on the shoulder. "Relax. We got a code, man. We don't screw each other over. Alright, boys—go! Kill all the old ones, take the young ones. Anyone who resists—waste 'em!"

"Yes, boss!"

None of them took the elevator. Instead, they stormed up the stairs like a pack of rabid dogs.

The three leaders strolled up at a leisurely pace, letting their men do the dirty work first.

Within less than a minute, the sounds of screams, wails, and desperate pleas for mercy filled the air. The whole neighborhood turned into a scene straight out of hell, the glow of knives reflecting in the chaos.

Across from Elliot's place, an old woman heard knocking on her door. She grumbled, setting her remote down as she shuffled over.

"The hell's wrong with people? Middle of the damn night. Instead of gathering supplies, they waste time on this nonsense."

The old woman didn't even bother checking the peephole before swinging the door open. When she saw two young men standing there with knives, she didn't flinch. Not one bit.

Instead, she started lecturing them.

"What the hell are you two doing? Waving knives at an old lady? If you've got the guts, go raid some real supplies outside! Kids these days—no respect for their elders."

The two young men just stood there, dumbfounded.

What kind of weirdo lives in this building?

And how the hell had she survived this long?

"Quit staring and get lost!" she snapped, reaching to slam the door shut.

But one of the young men shoved his hand against the door, forcing it open. A twisted grin stretched across his face.

"Old hag, I've been wanting to cut you up for a long time," Ning sneered, raising his cleaver.

Thwack!

The blade sank into her shoulder. She yelped and collapsed to the floor, still cursing under her breath.

"That's for blasting your damn loudspeaker all day, messing up my games!" Ning growled, bringing the cleaver down again. And again. And again.

By then, Elliot had reached his doorway, watching it all unfold.

The old woman, barely clinging to life, turned to him. "Elliot... help me…" she wheezed.

But Elliot just stood there. He didn't even blink. In fact, there was the faintest smirk on his lips—like he'd been waiting for this moment for a long time.

The cleaver kept falling. The old woman stopped moving.

She was dead.

The two young men stepped over the body and started rummaging through her apartment.

"Holy shit, she was hoarding a whole box of yogurt, two crates of water… and diet Coke?!"

They were stunned.

How the hell did some old hag manage to stockpile all this?

Of course, the answer was simple—she begged for it.

If the two of them had known that, their minds would've been shattered all over again.

Meanwhile, in Building 3, Cassius stood by his window, glancing over at Building 1 with a smirk.

"Quite the lively night," he murmured.

"Building 1 has fallen to the others." Angela's voice carried a trace of unease. With Building 1 gone, their own building would be next.

Maisie continued scrubbing the floor, her tone calm but firm. "Angela, that's not our concern."

Angela pressed her red lips together, glancing toward the bedroom where a corpse still lay cold. Her eyes hardened. "I'd rather die than end up in their hands."

Cassius chuckled, exuding confidence. "If I'm still alive, you're not dying. Let them come—I'll kill every last one of them."

An hour later, the massacre in Building 1 was nearly over. One by one, crates of supplies were hauled down to the underground parking lot.

The sheer amount of loot stacked up like a mountain, leaving the three leaders momentarily stunned.

Nearby, the captured residents of Building 1—men on one side, women on the other—sat on the ground, their faces reflecting the same disbelief. Hadn't they been told there was no food left?

Franklin popped open a crate of chips, tore into a bag with his teeth, and crunched down hard. "Damn, that Garrick guy was sitting on a goldmine."

One of his lackeys grinned, eager to please. "Boss, most of this came from the old geezers' apartments."