Reborn Apex: The City Is My Cage

Chapter 3: Breaking the Leash

Marcus clawed at the iron grip crushing his windpipe, his face turning a mottled, suffocating purple as his legs kicked uselessly in midair.

"Let... let go... you psychotic bastard!" Marcus choked out, his eyes bulging with sheer terror as the absolute weight of Ethan's grip crushed any lingering arrogance he possessed.

Down the hallway, Brenda shrieked in horror, stumbling backward until her spine hit the wall. "Marcus! Drop him! Ethan, are you out of your mind? If you kill him, you'll spend the rest of your life in a prison cell!"

Ethan didn't flinch. His expression remained a sheet of glacial ice, entirely unmoved by their panic. In the previous timeline, these exact two parasites had manipulated him with threats of police reports, legal ruin, and social isolation while bleeding his bank accounts dry. Now, with the global apocalypse looming exactly ninety days away, human laws, police stations, and societal contracts were about to become entirely worthless.

"Prison?" Ethan's voice carried a chilling, mocking edge that cut straight through the narrow corridor. "You think prison frightens me, Marcus? Compared to the frozen wasteland your family left me to rot in, a jail cell is a luxury resort."

With a flick of his wrist, Ethan exerted a fraction of his returning physical strength and hurled Marcus backward down the hallway.

Crash!

Marcus slammed violently into a decorative wall console, shattering porcelain vases and scattering picture frames across the hardwood floor before collapsing into a groaning heap, clutching his bruised throat and gasping for air like a landed fish.

Brenda rushed forward, dropping to her knees to cradle her whimpering son while glaring up at Ethan with venomous hatred. "You're insane! You've completely lost your mind! We are calling the police right this second, and we are throwing you out of this house with nothing!"

"Go ahead," Ethan said coldly, turning his back on them and walking back into his bedroom. "Call the police. Call whoever you want. But before you pick up that phone, realize one thing: this house is legally registered under my name, purchased with my inheritance before I ever met Chloe. The moment the police arrive, you and your precious son will be the ones dragged out into the street for trespassing and extortion."

Brenda froze, her trembling hand hovering over her smartphone. Her face drained of color. She opened her mouth to argue, but the stark legal reality hit her like a physical blow—Ethan was right. The deed had always belonged to him.

Without waiting for their paralyzed response, Ethan slammed his bedroom door shut and locked the heavy deadbolt from the inside.

He didn't have time to waste on emotional games with petty leeches. Ninety days. That was the absolute countdown before the sun went black and the global temperature plummeted into the frozen abyss. In the past timeline, governments collapsed within the first week because nobody was prepared. Infrastructure failed, electricity grids shattered under sub-zero demands, and supermarkets were cleaned out within hours of the temperature drop.

To survive—and to exact a thousandfold vengeance on everyone who had wronged him—he needed an astronomical mountain of resources.

Ethan walked over to his mahogany desk, pulled out his laptop, and opened his digital banking applications. Fifty thousand dollars in his personal checking account. Two hundred thousand in a high-yield investment portfolio. A clean line of credit across three major credit cards totaling one hundred fifty thousand dollars. Four hundred thousand dollars of liquid capital, ready to be deployed instantly.

In peacetime, four hundred thousand dollars was a comfortable sum. In the pre-apocalypse hoarding market, it was a drop in the bucket compared to what was required to build an impenetrable, self-sustaining fortress. He needed millions.

His eyes locked onto the sleek smartphone sitting beside the keyboard. A dark, predatory smile touched the corners of his mouth.

He didn't need to save his own money when he had a house full of assets owned by people dumb enough to mortgage their entire future for short-term luxury. He picked up the phone, unlocked the screen, and dialed a number he knew by heart—the private liquidation broker who specialized in rapid, no-questions-asked property and asset buyouts across the city.

The line rang twice before a raspy, professional voice answered on the other end.

"Apex Asset Group. How can I assist you today?"

"I want to liquidate a high-value residential property and all interior luxury assets for immediate cash payout within twenty-four hours," Ethan stated, his voice commanding and absolute. "Full market valuation discount accepted for instant transfer."

The broker on the other end paused, clearly stunned by the sheer urgency and scale of the request. "Sir, a full residential liquidation with immediate cash settlement requires notarized deeds and on-site inspection. Are you certain—"

"I am entirely certain," Ethan interrupted smoothly, his gaze shifting toward the locked bedroom door as muffled shouts of outrage began echoing from the hallway. "And you won't need to inspect the property long. The current occupants are about to be forcibly evicted."

Before the broker could respond, a deafening blast tore through the bedroom door. Splinters of oak flew across the room as the shotgun blast ripped the deadbolt from its hinges, sending deadly shards of wood crashing onto Ethan’s desk.