Apocalyptic Rebirth: With a repairman system space, she rises again.-Chapter 666: Pretentious Character.

She paused, letting the silence hang in the air like a noose. It was obvious to everyone that there was an accusation in her words.

Leaning into Hades, she laughed softly and brushed her hair back. "It’s strange because I know for a fact that we aren’t in business with the Walden’s. We’ve never signed a single trade agreement with you. So, tell me_ how did ’single-handedly’ building a base involve so much of my inventory?"

Mark’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes flickering toward the stores they had just passed. The brilliant tour idea had just backfired, and for the first time since they arrived, the smugness in the air began to churn like sour rotting butter.

The tension in the air was so thick you could have sliced it with a combat knife. Mark Walden stood on the steps of the patched hotel, his chest puffed out like a peacock that had just realized its feathers were probably going to be plucked one by one.

He forced a smile that looked more like a grimace and let out a hollow, condescending laugh. "Ah, Mrs. Quinn. You’re so... literal," Mark said, his voice dripping with faux patience. "Have you never heard of middlemen? Secondary markets? Logistics? Not everyone gets their bread straight from the baker, especially in a world this broken."

He paused, his eyes scanning her up and down. "Before the apocalypse, being that you were a..." He trailed off, his mouth hanging open slightly as if he were searching for a word that wouldn’t get him slapped. He looked at her formal dress, then back at her face, the insult hovering on the tip of his tongue.

"A maid and babysitter?" Sunshine helped him, her voice as smooth as glass. She didn’t blink. She knew exactly what he was thinking_ that she was just a domestic worker who had lucked into power. It was the same exact thing every other rich person that had seen that article on her marriage to Hades thought.

Now that she thought about it, she should have robbed Jon’s house clean. Or, hit him with her hammer at least once.

Mark clapped his hands once, a sharp crack in the quiet afternoon air. "Exactly! I was trying so hard not to insult you, ma’am. I know you likely know nothing about the complexities of business or supply chain management. But your husband..." He turned his gaze toward Hades, offering a nod of ’man-to-man’ understanding. "Hades Quinn knows how things flow. He was a titan in business before the apocalypse. He understands that goods move through many hands before they reach the final destination. We purchased everything that you see here."

Beside her, Sunshine felt Hades’s arm go rigid. His lips folded into a thin, tight line, his knuckles turning white. She could practically hear the mental tally he was making of all the ways he could dismantle Mark’s jaw. Sunshine reached down, her fingers finding his hand and giving it a firm, grounding squeeze. Don’t let him get under your skin, the gesture said. We have work to do. 𝒇𝒓𝙚𝒆𝔀𝓮𝓫𝒏𝓸𝙫𝓮𝓵.𝓬𝙤𝙢

"One kick," He whispered to her.

She chuckled and punched him playfully in the stomach, as if her had made the funniest joke in the world. She kissed his cheek and whispered back, "Not yet."

Hades took a slow, controlled breath and let out a short, uncomfortable laugh. It wasn’t a sound of amusement; it was the sound of a man holding in his anger. "You...." he tweaked the tip of her nose playfully. "This is why I love you."

The air lightened up.

"Actually, Mark," Hades raised his eyes and said, his voice low and dangerously calm. "As a businessman, I can tell you one thing for certain: it makes absolutely zero financial sense to use middlemen when your supplier is your literal neighbor. Paying extra fees to buy Quinn grain from a third party when my gates are just a walk away? That’s not business. That’s just being a bad businessman."

The jab landed perfectly. He wasn’t just calling Mark a thief; he was calling him incompetent.

Mark’s forced smile twitched. He understood the insult perfectly, but he wasn’t in a position to start a shouting or showing his discontent. He swallowed his pride, though it clearly tasted like ash.

"Well," Mark said, gesturing toward the open doors of the hotel where the scent of roasted meat was beginning to waft out. "We could argue economics all day, but the dinner is running cold. And in this world, cold food is a sin, wouldn’t you agree?" He stepped back and motioned for them to enter first, a classic move of a host trying to regain control of the room.

Hades didn’t move an inch. He stood like a statue; his eyes locked on the entrance. He wasn’t about to walk into an enclosed space with his back to a man like Mark Walden.

That was how people ended up with literal knives in their backs. Such fools died with their eyes wide open, asking silly questions like ’why’ when the answer was obvious. Hades Quinn would never be such a fool.

"You first," Hades said, his voice flat and non-negotiable. "Show us the way. It is bad manners for a guest to walk into a house that is not theirs as if they own it."

Mark hesitated for a heartbeat, realizing he wasn’t going to win the contest. With a stiff nod, he turned and led the way into the hotel, his advisors and soldiers scurrying in behind him like rats following a flute.

The fortress four group followed. Some of them smiling already. If this was a competition of wits, then they had won the first battle.

Inside, the hotel was a bizarre relic of the old world. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling, their light reflecting off the polished marble floors. Some marble statues stood in the lobby.

A fountain of blue water had been carved in the middle, spraying water upwards, through the big lips of two fish. It looked nice enough for a world like this but to Sunshine, it felt like a tomb. The lights were too dim, the employees faces were grim. There was no joy.

She touched her earbud, "Lisha stay alert."

"Of course, Suni, I am here."

While the high-society drama was unfolding in the hotel, the real work was happening in the shadows of the Walden junkyard. Hadrian and his team moved like ghosts_ lethal, invisible ghosts that left a trail of silence in their wake.

The junkyard was a maze of rusted shipping containers and skeletal remains of pre-apocalypse machinery. It smelled of rust, old oil, and the sharp, copper tang of blood.

Hadrian didn’t need to bark orders; his squad was a well-oiled machine. They worked in pairs, slipping behind the Walden sentries with the practiced ease of predators.