I Don’t Feed Useless Trash

Ethan Cross looked at the crowd of neighbors before him and nodded in satisfaction.

Now that they'd killed someone with their own hands, they were finally usable. Soldiers. Cannon fodder.

Perfect for future raids or defending against other buildings.

And all it cost him was a pile of near-rotten food and some hollow promises.

Clap. Clap. Clap.

Ethan applauded slowly with a smile.

"Well done. You saw it yourself—when we fight together, what's there to be afraid of?"

He waved at two young men who had fought the hardest.

"You two, come here."

They rushed forward, faces streaked with blood and sweat, eyes filled with excitement.

Without a word, Ethan bent down, grabbed handfuls of food off the ground, and shoved them into Leo Chen's arms.

Bread swollen with moisture, moldy cookies, dried vegetable scraps, a big hunk of gray frozen meat.

Premium apocalypse-grade goods.

The crowd swallowed hard, watching with envy as the two men were showered with food.

Ethan gave the same pile to Jesse Lee and patted both of them on the shoulder.

"Keep this up, and I'll take care of you."

The two were shaking with emotion.

Tears filled their eyes.

It had been so long since they'd had real food.

"Big bro Ethan! We're with you forever!"

"We'll follow your every word!"

From this moment on, Ethan was no longer just their leader—he was their salvation.

Others in the crowd started regretting not doing more during the fight.

Exactly the reaction Ethan wanted.

After rewarding his two lapdogs, Ethan turned to the rest of the group.

"Now, let's hand out the food. One by one."

He'd been watching carefully during the scuffle.

The more effort someone showed, the more they got.

If you barely lifted a finger? You got crumbs.

Most people received either a half-stale roll or a palm-sized pack of soggy cookies.

Ethan had owned dogs before.

He knew the rule:

"Don't feed them too well, or they get lazy and stop listening."

The trick was to keep them hungry. Hungry dogs obey.

And people?

No different.

Some neighbors were clearly disappointed, but no one dared complain—not after what they'd just seen.

Ethan had made it crystal clear:

Work = reward.

Slack off? You eat dirt.

He spotted someone.

"Logan."

The rich kid shuffled over, holding out both hands eagerly.

"Where's my share?"

Ethan looked him up and down with disgust.

He kicked through the food scraps, grabbed a lone hard candy, and dropped it in Logan's hand.

"Here. That's yours."

Snickers echoed from the crowd.

Even those who got barely anything felt better now.

"At least I'm not Logan."

Logan stared at the candy in disbelief. The humiliation was unbearable.

"Are you kidding me? A single piece of candy?!"

Ethan smirked.

"You've got the nerve to complain?"

"While everyone else was fighting, you were in the back pretending to help."

"I saw you, Logan. You waved a stick around and yelled, but your feet never moved."

Logan shouted back.

"That's not fair! There were too many people in the way—I couldn't even get close!"

Ethan's smile vanished.

"Not my problem. I don't care about excuses. I care about results."

"And you? You're nothing but a parasite."

Logan clenched his fists.

"This is bullshit! You're just targeting me!"

Ethan laughed coldly.

"Targeting you?"

"You think I care enough to target you personally?"

"You're not even worth that effort."

"I'm not asking for cooperation. I'm ordering it. Understand, you worthless piece of trash?"

He turned to Leo and Jesse.

"What do we do with someone who defies orders?"

The two didn't hesitate.

They carefully set down their food and pounced on Logan.

Logan tried to argue, tried to explain—but the first punch landed hard in his gut.

The second knocked him to the ground.

In the apocalypse, talking things out was for fools.

Only fists mattered now.

Ethan let them beat Logan until he was groaning, curled up in a trembling ball.

Then, finally, he raised a hand.

They stopped.

Ethan looked down at the bloodied man.

"Let this be a lesson."

He turned to the crowd.

"This is what happens when someone disobeys their floor captain."

"You think I'm being unfair? Then leave. Drop your food and walk away. I won't stop you."

No one moved.

Not a soul.

Food was life. No one was stupid enough to give it up.

Ethan nodded.

"Good. Then we understand each other."

He walked over to Logan.

The guy was trembling, face twisted in agony.

Still, his hand was clenched tight—protecting that single candy like it was gold.

Ethan's eyes went cold.

He raised his boot and stomped.

CRACK.

Snow boots. Steel soles.

The candy rolled away. Blood poured from Logan's mangled hand.

"AAAGHHH!"

Logan screamed.

Ethan kicked the candy across the floor, stared down at the shattered man, and said:

"Next time, follow orders. I don't feed trash."

With that, silence fell.

The message had landed.

No one dared speak.

They stood in line like obedient animals, waiting patiently as Ethan finished handing out food.

Only a few were left empty-handed.