Chapter 137: The Billion-Dollar Shelter
After a night had passed, early the next morning, Steven instructed Elinor to check on Henry's condition.
The results left Elinor astonished. She reported to Steven, "He's recovering remarkably well, at a rate more than ten times faster than an average person!"
Steven's suspicions were confirmed: Henry must have awakened some sort of special ability.
"I see. Take good care of him and ensure he recovers fully!" He replied, giving Elinor a pat on the buttocks, which was accompanied by a suggestive glance.
Elinor nodded knowingly, then took a syringe from the medical kit and carefully injected its contents into Henry's arm.
Seeing they finished their conversation, Cara approached with a bright smile and made a request. "Steven, I forgot my charger. Could you get it for me? And don't forget the diapers for our baby."
She spoke as though she intended to stay indefinitely, her demeanor relaxed. In Cara's mind, Steven owed Henry a life, so it was only natural for him to take care of Henry. And as Henry's woman, she needed to stay too!
Steven cast a glance at the unconscious Henry on the bed. He was aware that people could sometimes hear even while unconscious. Smiling, he responded to Cara, "I have some urgent matters to attend to outside. I'll help you with that once I'm done."
Cara's smile widened. "Alright, don't forget!"
After providing them with food and water, Steven locked Cara and her child back in the small room. A vague plan was forming in his mind; it was high time to rid himself of this troublesome woman.
Steven geared up and then gathered the neighbors downstairs. He was ready to continue his mission to clear out the other apartment buildings.
The neighbors were a bit surprised by his decision. "Steven, didn't you say yesterday that you would only target the main offenders that attacked you?" one neighbor asked, curiosity tinged with apprehension.
Steven smiled and said, "Yes, but after my investigation yesterday, I found that people from several other buildings were also involved in the attack."
He continued, "Don't worry, I won't harm any innocent people. I'll only target those who pose a threat!" He spread his hands, painting a promising future for the neighbors. "Once we complete this operation, our unit will rule the entire community. I'll allocate these buildings for you to manage."
"Only by getting rid of the pests can we achieve true peace and happiness! Don't you agree?" he asked.
Many of the neighbors were delighted to hear Steven's words. Life in Building 25 had been fraught with anxiety, and the prospect of moving to other units and becoming building managers promised a much-improved existence.
Despite some lingering doubts, no one dared to voice them, out of a mix of fear and respect for Steven.
Among the crowd, Frank, a former wealthy scion, stood with a strange expression on his face, filled with fear and trepidation. His body trembled slightly.
A neighbor noticed Frank's odd behavior and asked, "Frank, what's wrong?"
Frank quickly swallowed and looked down. "Nothing, I'm fine! Just a bit cold."
The other person replied, "Alright, make sure to keep warm. If you catch a cold, you might not survive."
Then, Steven led his group, initiating a systematic purge of the stubborn forces entrenched within the apartment buildings.
Early in the morning, when most residents were still cocooned in their beds, Steven's merciless assault commenced. As the first light of day broke, thick smoke began to fill the air, rousing the bewildered inhabitants. By then, their chance of escape had already slipped away.
Steven employed a loudspeaker to address the entire community: "I'm not a man who slaughters the innocent! My investigation last night revealed that some among you participated in the attack on me."
He declared, "If you hand over those individuals, I will let bygones be bygones! Resist, and I will consider you accomplices and eradicate you all!"
Steven's announcement sent a chill through the community, silencing the buildings not yet engulfed in flames.
'Steven is reasonable; those people deserved to die.'
'As long as the fire doesn't reach me. Steven won't continue after this batch.'
'This has nothing to do with me; why would he kill me? Right, I don't need to get involved.'
'If I go out, I'll get beaten. It's better to stay home. I believe Steven is reasonable.'
This collective mentality ensured that no one took action. Meanwhile, Steven's fires provided a perverse benefit, raising the community's temperature and offering relief from the cold.
As the flames roared, residents in the affected buildings could no longer tolerate the heat. They selected a few people to speak to Steven, "Steven, those are the ones who plotted against you. We'll hand them over; just spare us!"
Steven eyed them with cold detachment, then calmly raised his gun and executed them all.
He announced icily, "Nonsense! You sound like thieves crying 'catch the thief.' Just because you claim they wanted to harm me, does that make it true? Where is your evidence?"
By midday, Steven had decimated the occupants of seven more apartment buildings. In total, twelve buildings had been completely cleared.
Of the remaining eighteen buildings, fewer than 500 survivors remained. Steven spared the weakest, non-involved buildings from the previous day's attack.
Steven rubbed his temples, feeling the weight of his actions. He decided that the killing could cease here; the remaining individuals posed no significant threat.
"Let's call it a day! I'll decide later whether to deal with the remaining apartment buildings."
With that, he turned and left, seeking respite.
Amidst the crowd still marinating in the chaos of barbecue and funeral rites, a solitary figure broke away and followed Steven.
The footsteps closed in behind him, prompting Steven to turn sharply. "What do you want?"
Frank quickly raised his hands in a gesture of peace. "Mr. Rogers, don't misunderstand. I have crucial information for you!"
Steven sneered, brimming with contempt. "Important information?"
His dominion over the community seemed absolute; what could possibly concern him now?
Frank glanced around nervously before lowering his voice. "Mr. Rogers, have you heard about the doomsday shelter that Brock, the son of the wealthiest man in the South, built for a billion dollars?"
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