Gathering Supplies, Plotting Revenge
“Knock knock knock...”
Just as Xiao Yi was racking his brains, drawing on Andy Brandt's memories to plot his next moves, a sudden knock echoed at his door.
“Who is it?” Xiao Yi asked coldly.
“Big brother, it's me, Helen. Mom and Dad and Jerry went out to a party. Wanna have dinner with me?” came the eager voice of the little loli from beyond the door.
Xiao Yi frowned slightly. This half-sister of his seemed closer to him than to her full brother Jerry.
That was a good thing, but right now, he had no time to waste on Helen.
“No thanks, I'm not hungry. Thanks anyway, Helen,” Xiao Yi replied in a low voice, then pressed his ear to the door.
Only after hearing the little loli's mumbling footsteps fade away did he slowly crack the door open.
The family—Andy, Helen, and Jerry—lived on the second floor, while Pete Brandt and Stephanie Seymour had their own massive master bedrooms and bathrooms on the third.
The first floor housed the security guards and maids responsible for protection.
From Andy's memories, he'd only been up to the third floor once in his life, and Pete had shooed him off quickly.
Jerry and Helen, on the other hand, often played up there with their parents. If anyone knew the third floor best, it was probably Helen, the youngest and most spoiled.
Xiao Yi pondered for a moment but ultimately dismissed the idea of asking for her help.
Creeping silently up the lavish marble staircase, he emerged into a opulent European-style living room on the third floor, walls lined with artwork and the floor laid in rich redwood. Xiao Yi figured any single piece here could fetch a fortune.
But he had no time to fence art right now.
He needed cash and guns!
After a quick rummage through the living room, Xiao Yi slipped straight into Stephanie Seymour and Pete Brandt's bedroom.
Normal people wouldn't leave cash or guns out in the open, so the bedrooms were his prime targets!
It was a lavish, cozy master suite, dominated by deep purples under soft pink lighting that lent the room a mysterious allure, stirring faint desires.
On the heart-shaped king waterbed lay pristine silk sheets and down comforters. Xiao Yi imagined what a romp on that would feel like—pure bliss.
Wasting no time gawking, he rifled through the nightstands and wardrobe.
The closet overflowed with designer lingerie and kinky toys—useless in the apocalypse, but a dog collar chain and leather handcuffs caught his eye.
As a thirty-year-old man, he knew exactly what those were for, even if he'd only seen them in movies.
This... could still have some use, he thought, picturing Nicole Kidman's arrogant face. A wicked scene flashed in his mind, and the corners of his mouth curled up. He pocketed the set.
Besides the SM gear, his search turned up only a thin stack of dollars tucked in a nightstand corner—thirteen grand or so.
Xiao Yi carefully peeled off a thousand, replacing the rest unnoticed.
A grand. Enough for a top-notch chainsaw!
The cash-flush Brandt couple wouldn't notice a missing thousand.
Back out in the hall, Xiao Yi checked the time. Half an hour gone—two and a half hours left!
No guns in the bedroom... so where?
He crept along the corridor to another door. Surprisingly, it was locked—a sturdy steel security door. He gave up on forcing it.
Two more rooms yielded nothing. But in Stephanie Seymour's study, he found an antique Tang dao in a wooden case, inscribed: Gift from Jackie Chan.
The blade was short, about a foot and a half, razor-sharp with perfect balance.
Shed casually in a junk drawer, it clearly meant little to her. Xiao Yi tucked it lovingly into his coat and bolted downstairs.
No guns in Pete's room? Time to risk the guards.
From Andy's memories, Pete's bodyguards were retired U.S. Special Forces vets, always armed. And there was a juicy little secret buried in the kid's mind!
If Pete hid his guns so well, he'd have to hit the guards.
Grabbing a camcorder from Stephanie Seymour's study, Xiao Yi descended to the first floor, keyed in a code from memory, and entered the guards' and maids' wing.
Like a hotel, six rooms with numbered plaques. Mealtime meant it was empty.
He tested door handles stealthily. First three: locked.
The fourth: muffled groans of man-on-woman action leaked out!
“Oh! Fuck me!! Shit! Oh yeah!!...”
Slap! Slap-slap! Slap! Slap-slap-slap-slap...