Let them be afraid. Let them whisper. Let them think they're safe with their holy mother cop.

Because when the time comes?

They'll learn the truth.

The police beauty was organizing the crowd now, barking orders like she actually had control. "We'll ration the supplies. No fighting. No panic."

I rolled my eyes.

Ration?

No.

Supplies belonged to the strong. And I wasn't about to share.

Angela glanced at me, her lips curling. "You're going to let her keep playing cop for long?"

I leaned against the broken concrete, my arms crossed, my gaze locked on the police officer as she strutted around like a queen among peasants. The crowd—these pathetic, trembling fools—hung on her every word, their eyes filled with blind hope, as if she could save them from the hell they'd been dropped into.

Lisa grinned, leaning against the crumbling wall beside me, her voice a low, amused purr. "And when you stop letting her?"

I didn't answer. I didn't have to.

Because soon, they'd realize.

Soon, they'd understand that there was no law here. No rules. No saviors.

And when they did?

They'd tear each other apart.

The police beauty—this naive, self-righteous fool—had taken charge. She stood in the center of the clearing, her hands on her hips, her voice firm as she began distributing the meager supplies we'd scavenged.

"Alright, listen up!" she called out, her tone authoritative. "We've got packaged snacks, some drinks, and water bottles. It's not much, but it's all we have for now. We'll ration it fairly—no exceptions."

The crowd murmured in agreement, their faces a mix of relief and desperation. They lined up, eyes hungry, hands outstretched, like beggars waiting for scraps.

And scraps were all they'd get.

The officer started handing out the food—a single granola bar, a small bag of chips, a half-liter water bottle—to each person. The packaged snacks were dented, some were torn open, and the drinks were warm and flat. But the people took them like they were gold, clutching their meager portions like lifelines.

"Thank you, Officer..."

"Bless you..."

"We'd starve without you..."

I watched, my expression unreadable, as the sheep lined up, obedient, grateful.

Pathetic.

Finally, it was our turn.

We stepped forward, and the murmurs started instantly.

"Officer..." A man—some scrawny, wide-eyed coward—stepped forward, his voice whiny. "These scum don't deserve the food. They're criminals! We can't waste our supplies on them!"

A woman beside him nodded frantically. "Yeah! They threatened us! They tried to take everything for themselves!"

Another man—bigger, louder—pushed his way to the front, his face red with rage. "Officer, you can't be serious! After what they did? They don't get anything!"

The crowd erupted.

"They're dangerous!"

"They'll steal from us!"

"We should kick them out!"

The police officer held up a hand, her voice sharp. "Enough!" She turned to us, her eyes—firm, unyielding—meeting mine. "They get the same as everyone else."

The crowd exploded.

"What?!"

"That's not fair!"

"They'll take advantage of us!"

A young man—lean, with a cut on his forehead—shoved his way forward, his voice a snarl. "Officer, you're making a mistake! They don't belong here! They don't deserve our help!"

The officer didn't flinch. "They're people," she said, her voice steady. "And until we know what's going on, we don't turn on each other."

The crowd grumbled, but they backed down. Reluctantly.

She turned to us, holding out the food—a granola bar, a bag of chips, a water bottle.

I took it, my fingers brushing hers just long enough to see the flicker of doubt in her eyes.

"Thank you, Officer," I said, my voice smooth, mocking. "Your kindness is… overwhelming."

She narrowed her eyes, but didn't respond.

As we stepped back, the crowd glared at us, their faces twisted with hatred, fear, and resentment.

"This isn't right," one muttered.

"They'll take everything," another hissed.

"We should've stopped them..."

I smirked, leaning against the wall again, watching as the illusion of unity began to crumble.

Lisa crossed her arms, her voice a whisper. "They're already turning on each other."

Angela glanced at the crowd, her lips curling. "And it's only going to get worse."

The evening was descending quickly, the sky turning a deep shade of purple and orange as the last light of the day faded. The cold air bit at our skin, sharp and unrelenting, making our breath visible in the dimming light.

Around us, the others were scurrying for shelter—some crowding into cars, others huddling under makeshift tents made from scavenged debris. Their voices carried through the cold, a mix of fear and frustration as they tried to find warmth.

Angela and Lisa were shivering slightly, their expressions tight with discomfort. I wasn't about to let them suffer.

"Gather some wood," I ordered, my voice low. "We're lighting a fire."

Lisa nodded, moving quickly to scavenge dry branches and broken planks from the debris. Within minutes, she had a small pile at our feet. I pulled out my magical tool—a sleek, silver device—and with a flick of my wrist, it transformed into a lighter. The flame roared to life almost instantly, licking at the dry wood before catching, crackling as the fire spread.

The warmth was immediate, comforting. Angela and Lisa leaned in, their faces glowing in the flickering light, their shoulders relaxing as the heat seeped into their bones.

But the peace didn't last.

"Look... those bastards..." A man's voice, low and bitter, cut through the night.

"Damn... sons of bitches..." Another hissed, his voice dripping with envy.

"How the hell did they start a fire?" A woman's voice, sharp, accusatory.

I didn't look up. I didn't react. I just smiled, feeding another branch into the flames.

It didn't take long for the complaints to reach her. The police officer—our holy mother, our naive savior—stormed over, her boots crunching on the dry earth, her face set in a scowl.

"How did you start the fire?" she demanded, her voice sharp, her hands on her hips.

I looked up, my expression innocent, my smile easy. "Officer, is there a problem?" I spread my hands, feigning confusion. "I don't think lighting a fire is a crime."

She clenched her jaw, her eyes narrowing. "No, but all these people—" She gestured to the crowd, their faces twisted in resentment. "—are asking how you did it. Do you have a lighter?"

I leaned back, grinning. "Officer, are you feeling cold?" I let my gaze linger on her, slow, deliberate. "Why don't we both sleep together? Keep each other warm?"

Her face flushed, her eyes flashing with rage. "Give. Me. Your. Lighter."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "Officer, why should I give you my lighter?" I tilted my head, my voice mocking. "Are you trying to use force to take my things?" I clucked my tongue, shaking my head in false disappointment. "Police Officer, I'll sue you for abuse of power."

She stared at me, her chest rising and falling with furious breaths. "You... shameless—" She cut herself off, spinning on her heel and storming back to the crowd.

I watched as she rejoined the group, her voice a low, urgent whisper as she spoke to them. The murmurs turned to shouts.

"Motherfucker..."

"Who the hell does he think he is?!"

"We should take it from him!"

"He's mocking us!"

I laughed, low and dark, as the insults rained down.

Angela glanced at me, her lips curling in amusement. "You enjoy this, don't you?"

I shrugged, feeding the fire again. "Oh, I live for it."

Lisa smirked, her eyes gleaming in the firelight. "They're pissed."

I leaned back, stretching my arms behind my head, my voice a dark purr. "Good. Let them stew in it."

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