SORRY MISS CEO, YOUR BILLIONS ARE USELESS!

Chapter 3: Maximum Rage, Instant Noodles, and the Forbidden Laundry

      For a solid three seconds, the only sounds in the bunker were the deafening THUD-THUD-THUD of the giant mutant zombie hammering against the outer steel door, and the dripping of dirty mop water from Zahara’s designer blazer.

Zahara stared at Rangga. Her brain, highly trained in hostile corporate takeovers and underworld assassinations, literally stopped working.

"Clean... the floor?" she whispered. Her voice was dangerously quiet. The kind of quiet that usually preceded someone ending up at the bottom of the Jakarta Bay in a cement sleeping bag.

"Yeah," Rangga said, leaning back in his cheap plastic chair, completely unbothered by the fact that the ceiling was vibrating. "And the broken mug. Don't step on the glass, it's a pain to pick out of your soles."

"THERE IS A MUTANT FREAK TRYING TO TEAR THIS BUILDING APART!" Zahara finally exploded. Her voice echoed off the titanium walls, raw and unhinged. She pointed a trembling, perfectly manicured finger at the hologram screen. "AND YOU WANT ME TO WORRY ABOUT YOUR STUPID COFFEE MUG?!"

[SYSTEM ALERT: BABU STRESS LEVEL AT 85%... 90%...]

"I mean, the door is rated for a tank blast, so we have time," Rangga shrugged, crossing his arms. "But dirt? Dirt settles, Ms. Nasution. It stains. Now chop-chop. Or do you want me to deduct your breathing privileges?"

   Zahara’s face went from pale to a shade of red that Rangga hadn't seen since his neighbor ate a whole bowl of ghost peppers. Her fists clenched so hard her knuckles looked like they were going to pop out of her skin. She wasn't just mad anymore. She was experiencing a level of sheer, unadulterated disrespect that she had never felt in her thirty years of pampered, billionaire-mafia life.

"I am going to kill you," she snarled, taking a step toward him, completely ignoring the mop. "I don't care about the zombies. I don't care about the apocalypse. I am going to strangle you with my bare hands and feed your corpse to that thing outside—"

[BABU STRESS LEVEL: 100%!!!] [MAXIMUM RAGE ACHIEVED. KINETIC CONVERSION COMPLETE!] [POWERING UP ROOF ARTILLERY... 100%.]

"Alamak! That’s what I’m talking about!" the System’s voice boomed in Rangga’s head, sounding like an ecstatic uncle at a cockfight. "Energy fully charged! Unleashing hell in 3... 2... 1!"

Before Zahara could take another step toward Rangga's throat, a mechanical whirring sound resonated from the ceiling.

On the hologram screen, two massive, dual-barreled Gatling guns emerged from hidden compartments on the bunker’s flat roof. They aimed downward, locking onto the giant, grey-skinned "Deli Crawler" who was winding up for another swing with his broken streetlamp.

BRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRT!

The sound was apocalyptic. The bunker shook, but this time not from the zombie. The sheer recoil of the automated turrets sent a vibration through the concrete floor that made Zahara’s teeth rattle.

   On the screen, the mutant zombie didn't even have time to scream. A hail of high-caliber, blue-glowing tracer rounds tore into the creature. In less than five seconds, the two-meter-tall brute was reduced to a puddle of black sludge and shredded muscle. The streetlamp clattered to the asphalt, useless. The surrounding regular zombies were either vaporized or scattered like bowling pins.

The guns spun down with a high-pitched whine, smoking slightly before retracting back into the roof.

The silence that followed was heavy.

Rangga looked at the screen, then looked back at Zahara. He raised an eyebrow.

"Well," Rangga said softly. "Looks like the mutant freak is handled. Which brings us back to the floor."

Zahara’s mouth was slightly open. She looked at the screen, where the invincible monster from three seconds ago was now basically ground beef, and then back to Rangga. The fight completely drained out of her. The realization hit her like a freight train: this guy wasn't just some crazy dude in a bunker. He commanded technology that made her Syndicate’s armory look like a collection of water guns.

She swallowed hard. Her shoulders slumped. The terrifying Ice Queen of the Nusantara Syndicate slowly walked over to the overturned blue bucket, righted it, and picked up the wooden mop handle.

Without a word, she started mopping up the dirty water. Her movements were stiff, utterly humiliated, but she was doing it.

[DAILY MISSION COMPLETED: CLEANLINESS IS NEXT TO GODLINESS.] [REWARD GRANTED: 2 PORTIONS CHICKEN BROTH INSTANT NOODLES & 1 BOTTLE OF MINERAL WATER.]

    A compartment on the wall slid open with a soft hiss. Inside sat two iconic yellow-and-green packets of instant noodles, a large bottle of water, and a portable electric camping stove.

Rangga’s eyes lit up. "Oh, thank God. I was starving."

He walked over, grabbed the supplies, and set them up on his small folding table. He poured the water into a small pot, flicked the electric stove on, and waited for it to boil.

  Zahara kept mopping in silence, moving to the far corner of the room. She was trying to maintain her dignity, ignoring the fact that her blazer was ruined and her hair was a mess. But then, the water boiled, and Rangga ripped open the seasoning packets.

The smell of MSG, artificial chicken broth, and fried onion oil hit the sterile, ozone-filtered air of the bunker.

Zahara paused. Her stomach let out a loud, traitorous rumble that echoed in the quiet room. She froze, her face flushing with fresh embarrassment. She hadn't eaten since a light brunch at a five-star hotel at 10 AM, and it was now past dinner time in the apocalypse.

Rangga casually broke the noodle blocks in half and dropped them into the boiling water. "You know, for a billionaire, your stomach sounds pretty cheap."

"Shut up," she muttered, gripping the mop tighter. She refused to look at him. She was used to eating imported Wagyu beef and truffles, not sodium-packed peasant food. But God, the smell was intoxicating. It smelled like survival. It smelled like heaven.

Ten minutes later, Rangga was sitting back in his plastic chair, holding a steaming plastic bowl. He slurped the noodles loudly. Slurrrrp.

  Zahara stood by the wall, the floor now surprisingly spotless. She was trying not to look, but her eyes kept darting to the bowl.

Rangga sighed, picked up the second bowl he had prepared, and held it out. "Come here."

   Zahara hesitated. Her pride screamed at her to refuse. But her survival instinct—the same instinct that made her the youngest mob boss in Jakarta—told her to take the damn food. She walked over, keeping her distance, and snatched the bowl from his hand.

She didn't sit. She stood leaning against the cold steel wall, awkwardly using the plastic fork. She took a small, hesitant bite.

Her eyes widened slightly. It was salty, incredibly artificial, and easily the best thing she had ever tasted in her entire life. She practically inhaled the rest of the bowl in under two minutes, drinking the broth directly from the rim.

Rangga watched her with a smirk. "Not bad for a cheap kos-kosan, right?"

Zahara wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, regaining a tiny fraction of her cold composure. "Don't flatter yourself. I was just replenishing my calories so I can eventually figure out a way to take this place from you."

"Yeah, yeah. Get in line," Rangga chuckled, taking his empty bowl. "You can sleep on the sofa bed over there. Tomorrow is a big day."

Zahara frowned, crossing her arms defensively. "Why? Are we going out to scavenge?"

"Scavenge? No," Rangga said, a wicked grin spreading across his face. A new green panel had just popped up in his vision.

[TOMORROW'S DAILY MISSION PREVIEW: LAUNDRY DAY.]

"Tomorrow, Ms. Nasution," Rangga said, leaning forward. "Is laundry day. And as per our agreement at the door... I have a whole basket of dirty underwear that needs hand-washing."

Zahara dropped her plastic fork. It clattered loudly against the concrete floor. The cold, murderous aura returned to her eyes, sharper than ever.

"I will poison your noodles tomorrow," she whispered.

"Oh, she’s spicy, this one!" the System laughed in Rangga’s head. "I can't wait for tomorrow, Host!"

Rangga just smiled, turned off the lights, and lay down on his cot. "Goodnight, tenant. Don't let the zombies bite."