Dancing with the Deaths

Chapter 3 - The Potato Chip Dictatorship

The black claw stopped a millimeter in front of Marsel’s cornea.

The wind generated by the claw’s swing made Marsel’s bangs flutter. The Crawler’s breath—a mix of ammonia and rotting meat—slapped his face. The creature hissed, ready to press down just a little more to turn Marsel’s head into a kebab.

Suddenly, a giant, glossy brown hand gripped the Crawler’s neck from the side.

"IMPOLITE!" Tyrex roared.

With a brutal yank involving triceps muscles the size of a 3-kilogram gas cylinder, Tyrex pulled the Crawler away from Marsel. The creature shrieked, its legs scraping the ceramic floor, creating a jarring *skreeet* sound.

"Release the King!" Tyrex slammed the creature onto the floor.

CRASH!

The Crawler tried to get up—its flexibility was incredible—but Tyrex gave it no chance. The bodybuilder leaped, his knee landing squarely on the creature’s back. The sound of cracking bone was crisp, like a dry branch crushed by an elephant.

Tyrex raised his clasped hands high into the air.

"HAMMER SMASH!"

THWACK!

The Crawler’s head instantly flattened. Black fluid splattered everywhere, staining Tyrex’s tank top and the supermarket’s white floor.

Marsel was still lying on the floor, his chest rising and falling rapidly. He felt his torn shoulder. Warm blood seeped through his uniform shirt.

"Marsel!" Nana ran over, her face ghostly pale. She knelt beside him, her hands trembling violently as they hovered over the wound. "Don't move! This... this is really deep."

"It hurts, Na. Seriously, it hurts so much," Marsel hissed, his eyes watering. The stinging felt like being sliced by a hot knife.

"Hold still," Nana said. A soft green light emanated from her palm again. "I don't know how it works, but... heal. Please."

A cold sensation spread across Marsel’s shoulder, countering the heat of the wound. It felt like an ice pack. Marsel watched in amazement as his torn skin tissue began to knit back together, closing the gaping wound in seconds, leaving only a pink scar and his ripped shirt.

[HP Restored: +30]

[Status: Stable]

"Insane..." Marsel took a long breath, then looked at Nana. "Are you an angel, Na?"

Nana’s cheeks flushed. "Just a nurse."

"My King!" Tyrex approached, dragging the Crawler’s carcass with one hand as if it were a rag doll. "The enemy has been neutralized! Can we burn this black meat for protein?"

"Don't eat that, Tyrex. Please," Marsel stood up with Nana’s help. "System, scan the carcass."

Marsel aimed his scanner.

[Ecorrupt Crawler Corpse]

[Option: Absorb Energy?]

"Absorb," Marsel commanded.

The carcass disintegrated into blue light dust, sucked into Marsel’s scanner.

[Fortress Energy: +15%]

[Total Energy: 50%]

The supermarket lights, which had dimmed, now shone brightly again. A faint hum from the walls sounded steady. Marsel felt a little relieved, though his legs were still weak from the adrenaline rush.

Suddenly, a loud clearing of the throat came from the baby diaper aisle.

"Ahem!"

Marsel, Tyrex, and Nana turned simultaneously. Tyrex had already adopted a combat stance.

Standing there was a middle-aged man in a gray suit that was rumpled but still looked expensive. His hair was slicked back (though slightly messy in the back), and he held a silk handkerchief over his nose. His face radiated the familiar arrogance of a bureaucrat.

It was Mr. Budi. The VIP customer who often complained that the air conditioning wasn't cold enough.

"You people are very noisy," Mr. Budi said, stepping out while fastidiously avoiding the pool of black blood. "I was trying to sleep in the tissue storage room, but all this slamming and shouting is severely disrupting my rest."

Marsel stared at him in disbelief. "Mr. Budi? You... you survived?"

"Of course I survived," Mr. Budi scoffed, adjusting his tie. "A leader must know when to make a tactical retreat. The moment people started biting each other, I immediately secured myself in a strategic location."

"You hid in the staff bathroom, didn't you?" Marsel guessed flatly.

Mr. Budi waved a hand dismissively. "The details are irrelevant. What matters now is crisis management. Marsel, right? Good that you’re still alive. I need a situation report. How much food stock do we have? When is the SAR team arriving? And please, tell this gorilla to take a shower; he smells quite fishy."

Tyrex let out a low growl, the muscles in his neck tightening. "Who is this old man, My King? May I throw him outside the Wall?"

"Don't," Marsel raised a hand, restraining Tyrex. He looked at Mr. Budi. "Sir, the situation is a little different now. The world ended. There is no SAR team. There's only us, this store, and monsters outside."

"Don't be dramatic," Mr. Budi interrupted, walking toward the imported snack aisle. "I am a former Echelon 2 Official; I know emergency procedures. In a power vacuum, hierarchy must be established based on seniority and experience. Therefore, effective immediately, I am taking command of logistics."

Mr. Budi reached out toward the shelf of Sour Cream Pringles—an expensive imported item.

"And I am hungry. My metabolism requires premium intake," he continued.

Before Mr. Budi’s hand could touch the chip canister, Marsel raised his scanner.

BEEP!

A transparent red glass panel—a mini *Barrier*—appeared, covering the imported snack shelf. Mr. Budi’s hand struck the hard, invisible surface.

CLACK!

"Ow!" Mr. Budi pulled his hand back, startled. "What is this? Glass?"

"Inventory Security System," Marsel replied coldly. He lowered his scanner. "Sorry, Sir. There are no Echelon 2 officials here. There is only the Fortress Manager, and that's me."

Mr. Budi's face turned crimson. "You... you dare block my access to logistics? Do you know who I am? I could sue this company until it goes bankrupt!"

"The company is already bankrupt, Sir. The whole world is bankrupt," Marsel countered casually. He walked to the opposite shelf, grabbed a cheap bag of local balado cassava chips, and tossed it onto Mr. Budi’s chest.

"Your ration for today. Balado cassava chips. Energy efficient."

Mr. Budi stared at the cheap bag of chips with horror, as if Marsel had just thrown rat droppings at him. "Cassava? You give me cassava? My cholesterol!"

"Eat it or starve," Marsel said, turning away. "Tyrex, Nana, follow me to the generator room in the back. We need to check the power status. Mr. Budi, if you want to be useful, please tidy up the fallen sardine cans in aisle 3."

"Me? Tidy up cans?" Mr. Budi’s voice rose to a high pitch. "I am the brains, not the brawn! This is an insult!"

"Here, if you don't work, you don't eat, Sir," Nana replied softly, but her tone was firm. She was starting to get fed up with this man's attitude.

They left Mr. Budi standing frozen, his face purple with suppressed rage, clutching the bag of cassava chips until it was crushed.

*