18 Floors Above the Apocalypse
Chapter 377

Brandon wolfed down two bowls of spaghetti, the carbs filling him up enough to regain a semblance of dignity. Gone was the ravenous beast; in its place, a gentleman with poise. But the fire in his voice remained, "Sis, I caught a car thief."

Stella almost choked on her pasta, coughing violently. "Cough... cough cough..." she sputtered, barely managing to swallow.

Ungrateful punk, she thought. She'd even given him back half the meds, yet he was still hung up on the car. Nine years, and he still wouldn't let it go!

She was so close to smashing her bowl over his head. If not for the three souped-up Mustangs, she wouldn't have even considered giving back those meds.

But she forced a smile, masking her irritation. "Really? Who was it?"

"He got away," Brandon muttered between bites, "but if I get my hands on those jerks, I'll drink their blood and feast on their flesh. I'll chop off their heads and use them as soccer balls!"

Stella had enough, her tone turning icy. "Cars like that aren't unique, and who's to say it was yours?"

"I'd recognize that car even if it were ashes," Brandon shot back, burning with indignation. "Sure, there are more worldwide, but only one in the country!"

Stella wanted to slap him. "And how do you know it's the only one in the country?"

"My cousin handled the paperwork, it was the first one here."

Stella rolled her eyes. "Your cousin's a nutcase, taking meds daily. You believe everything he says?"

But Brandon was steadfast. "He might be sick, but he wouldn't lie about this."

Sensing Stella's growing frustration, Jasper chimed in. "Maybe it was smuggled in, or the paperwork wasn't processed yet. Predators are armored vehicles; the military might have them, and their records are top secret, beyond your cousin's reach." Brandon paused, considering the logic but still felt the car was his. "Sis, you wouldn't get it. That car is mine; I can smell it."

Stella twisted the knife. "Oh, you're so capable. How come you're in such a sorry state now?"

Enough was enough. Stella's guilt and conscience had run dry. If not for old times' sake, she'd have twisted his head off.

Maybe her words were too harsh. Brandon's sorrow welled up, and he couldn't finish his spaghetti. "Yeah, I'm a waste of space without Dad's shadow, worse than trash."

In the end, he was just a second-generation rich kid, living off his father's name. His sister's words pierced him, draining his spirit.

Stella felt a pang of pity. "Even if you got the car back, could you really keep it safe?"

Brandon's heart bled. Indeed, he couldn't.

Stella pressed on. "Complaining gets you nowhere. When you're strong enough, jets and cannons will be within reach."

The logic was sound, but Brandon knew his limits. He had arrived full of confidence, only to be slapped by reality.

Seeing Brandon's silence, Jasper asked, "What's your plan now?"

Brandon was lost. He'd failed the military exams, and a regular job was out of the question. Scavenging seemed the only option.

Going solo was unrealistic, so he joined a team, thinking it was strong. But there's always a bigger fish. They'd risk their lives for scrap metal. He'd played dead during a team fight, or he'd have been skewered. All for a pile of scrap!

He used to buy jets and yachts without blinking, and now he was fighting for scrap...

"Ha ha, ha ha ha..." The absurdity made him laugh, but soon tears followed. How humiliating, crying in front of his sister.

Even as a tycoon's son, he wasn't immune to harsh realities. Without his father's protection, he'd fallen from grace.

Brandon wanted to give up, but his father's words kept him going. He lived for the Porras family, not himself. But how to live well? He was clueless.

Lost, he asked, "Stella, what should I do?"

The car was in her Arcadia. She couldn't let him die!

Stella swore this was the last time. If he ever brought up the car again, she'd chop him into eighteen pieces.

Taking a deep breath, she calmed down. "You're not cut out for scavenging, and manual labor isn't your thing. Let Jasper show you a few tricks to pass the military exams. Becoming a fireseed operative is your best shot against the cataclysm. Shane would have wanted it."

Send him to the army, let them drill him to death, and see if he'd have time to nag about a broken car.

Brandon had aimed for the army but lacked the skills. If Jasper could coach him, what was there to worry about?

He looked at Jasper, hopeful. "Really? Brother-in-law?"

With that title, Jasper couldn't refuse. Besides, he knew Stella's intentions.

"I can give you pointers, but you'll have to work hard to pass," Jasper said.

Brandon didn't hesitate. "Thanks, Sis. Thank you, Brother-in-law."

What was dignity worth? He'd promised his old man he'd live well. And with a sister and brother-in-law so strong, he had nothing to lose.

Stella frowned, feeling duped. Second-generation kids were cunning. But her word was given; no taking it back.

The master leads the way, but the student must follow through. Jasper didn't teach fools. If Brandon lacked smarts, that was his problem.

Stella pointed to some boxes in the corner. "Brandon, these are the meds you overpaid for. They're yours now, don't forget them." After this meal, no more freeloading. And if he dared bring up the car again, she'd flip.

Leaving early, he still ran into a dust storm. Luckily, he didn't hit the eye, or he and his car would've been blown away...