The Sniper’s Romance

After finishing the briefing, Ethan Cross watched the residents quietly calculating the pros and cons in their heads.

Then, someone raised their hand.

"Ethan, I get why you and Dr. Chloe don't need to take shifts. But… why not Uncle Ray? He's the strongest fighter we've got."

Ethan's eyes narrowed.

"Exactly because he's our top combat asset. I need him rested—for when the real battles come."

It was a flimsy excuse. But no one dared argue.

The truth?

Ethan wanted Uncle Ray alive.

The rest were cannon fodder—expendable at best.

But Uncle Ray? Loyal. Skilled. Decent.

The kind of man Ethan could use long-term.

After assigning shifts, Ethan ordered everyone back to their rooms—except the guards stationed near the fourth floor.

Whoever wanted to invade the building would have to come through there.

Whether they tunneled up from below or climbed through a window, the fourth floor was the chokepoint.

Once the orders were given, Ethan and Dr. Chloe headed back to their unit.

He never left his back exposed—not even now.

As the crowd dispersed, Sherry stepped forward with a forced smile.

"Ethan, you didn't forget our share of food, right?"

Ethan glanced at her coldly.

Uncle Ray quickly tugged on her sleeve.

"What are you saying?"

But she continued anyway.

"You know Ray fought harder than anyone. It's only fair…"

Ethan cut in.

"Relax. What I gave out earlier? Just scraps."

"The good stuff—I saved."

He looked at Uncle Ray.

"Come by in ten minutes. I've got your supply."

That shut her up real fast.

"See? I knew you were a man of your word!"

Uncle Ray shot her a glare.

"Told you—Ethan's solid."

Ethan didn't respond. He just smiled faintly.

—

Back in his apartment, Ethan pulled a crate of instant noodles from his storage space and dropped it by the door.

Then he sent Uncle Ray a message: "Come get it in ten."

He peeled off his heavy-duty cold gear.

CLANK.

The skillet tied under his leather jacket hit the floor.

Dr. Chloe picked it up, laughing.

"Paranoid much? There's probably no one out there."

Ethan smirked.

"Won't need it anymore."

Because now, he had something better.

Police-grade body armor. Lightweight. Close-fitting. Bullet-resistant.

Sitting in the warmth of his apartment, Ethan felt a wave of comfort wash over him.

The cold outside was brutal—-94°F at times. Even bundled up, riding the snowmobile felt like slicing through a freezer.

He pulled out some food and laid it on the table.

Dr. Chloe hadn't eaten all day. When Ethan left earlier, he'd taken everything with him. If he starved, she starved too.

Now they sat together, devouring their meal.

"How's the outside look?" Chloe asked.

"Like a frozen graveyard," Ethan said. "Low-rise buildings? Buried."

"Even if the snow stopped now, it'd take weeks to melt."

Chloe nodded.

"And it's not stopping. Winter's just starting. It'll only get worse."

"That's fine," Ethan replied. "Snow's not the problem."

"People are."

"In this world, humans are worse than demons."

After dinner, Chloe snuggled up beside him, wrapping her arms around his shoulder.

"What now?" Ethan asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Warming up," she said sweetly, pressing her soft, well-cushioned body against him.

Ever since Ethan "awakened" her, she'd been clingy like a kitten in heat.

Good thing Ethan had stamina. Most men wouldn't survive her appetite.

He gave her a smack on her round, firm butt.

"Not now. Go shower. Wait for me in bed."

She threw him a sultry look and obediently walked off.

—

So, what could possibly pull Ethan away from sex?

Guns.

He pulled out the weapons he looted from the station and laid them out like sacred relics.

Ethan wasn't new to firearms—he used to be a member of the Bayview Marksman Club, spent weekends at the range.

But police gear? A massive upgrade from the shady handguns he bought on the black market.

He tossed his old sidearms aside and replaced them with two police-issue pistols, fully loaded, polished, clean.

Holsters? Tactical rigs? All set.

Then came the big boys—rifles and one glorious sniper rifle.

That sniper… was a thing of beauty.

His old gun club didn't even carry long-range gear like this.

But the internet?

Still online. Barely.

Some major networks and military-grade servers were clearly still running, supported by whatever remained of the government.

"Gotta hand it to them. Keeping the web alive through the apocalypse? Impressive."

With the help of online manuals and old training videos, Ethan learned the rifles fast.

He already knew the basics—grip, reload, safety, handling.

Accuracy?

Not guaranteed.

But intimidation? Guaranteed.

Ethan fully loaded every magazine, clicked every safety off, and stashed them neatly in his spatial vault.

Just in case.

But the sniper rifle… that one?

That stayed out.

Men love guns. It's biology.

He lifted it slowly, adjusted the scope, and aimed out the window.

Across the street—about 150 feet away—he could clearly see the window latch of the opposite building.

"Perfect weapon for assassinations…"

"Forget charging in. Why fight fair when you can drop them from across the street?"

Ethan smiled coldly.

This was the real thrill.

Not brawls.

Sniping from the shadows.

One shot.

One corpse.

No one even knows who pulled the trigger.