"...Using this stuff to wipe, doesn't it sting?" Jeff Johnson asked, grimacing.

"You haven't tried it?" Eddie Drumpf raised an eyebrow.

"Nope. Haven't had a decent meal in two days. Haven't even had a decent shit," Jeff admitted.

"Yeah, it stings a bit. But what else are we supposed to do? Just leave it there?" Eddie shrugged.

"If you're really worried about the pain, there's another way," Peter Young chimed in, a mischievous glint in his eye.

"What way?" Wally Cox asked, intrigued.

"Use your fingers!" Peter declared, grinning.

A collective "Eww!" echoed through the group.

"It's a little gross, sure, but at least your butt won't be on fire," Peter defended his suggestion.

"You can't be serious. That's disgusting," Stan Strong said, wrinkling his nose.

"What's disgusting about it? Just wash your hands after. Of course, before you wash them, make sure to rub them in the dirt first. That's the only way to get them truly clean," Young explained with a straight face.

Charles Strong stared at him. "Have you... always done it that way?"

"If there's toilet paper, of course, I'll use that! But we're in the middle of nowhere. If you don't use your fingers, you're stuck with rocks," Peter said matter-of-factly.

The group fell silent, contemplating the grim reality of their situation.

Hank Fowler, listening in on the chat group, gritted his teeth. He briefly considered using a few leaves, but the thought of using his fingers was simply unbearable. Just as he was about to close the chat, a message popped up.

Lee Lightman: Hank Fowler, I have a roll of toilet paper. But I don't want food or water.

Hank: What do you want for it?

Lee: I'm dying for a smoke. If you have any cigarettes, we can trade.

Hank's eyes lit up. Hank: I do.

He'd just gotten a carton of "Smokey Joes" from a treasure chest. Perfect timing.

Lee: What brand?

Hank: "Smokey Joes".

Lee: Dude, I usually smoke Marlboro Golds, or at least some Camels or Pall Malls. You're offering me five-dollar "Smokey Joes"?

Hank: We're in a survival situation here. Beggars can't be choosers. You want to trade or not?

Lee: Fine, fine. Let's trade.

If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

They entered the trading hall. Hank successfully traded his "Smokey Joes" for a roll of precious toilet paper.

With his rear-end needs secured, Fowler felt a wave of relief. He quickly took care of business. Five minutes later, he emerged, feeling lighter than air. After refilling the hole he'd dug, he strolled back into the Hut for a well-deserved nap.

...

An hour later, Hank woke up, his mind racing. He opened his status panel.

Survivor: Hank Fowler

Area: 10001

Level: 3

Experience: 200/400

Physique:

Strength: 8 (+20)

Agility: 10 (+20)

Defense: 5 (+20)

Spirit: 11 (+20)

Talent: Healing

Seeing his experience at 200, Hank's heart skipped a beat. Just 200 more, and he'd hit level 4. How many people could have reached level 4 at this stage? Probably very few.

Fowler knew one thing for sure: to survive in this cruel world, he needed to constantly get stronger. And the way to do that was simple: hunt.

A plan began to form in his mind. He grabbed his bug spray and headed out of Thatchy. He remembered a certain ant colony he'd spotted earlier. He'd been wary of their numbers before, but with the bug spray, he was practically a god of extermination.

...

Leaving his shelter, Hank headed northeast towards a pile of rubble. That was where the ant colony had made its nest. Instead of rushing in, he opened his Spatial Bag and pulled out the entrenching tool and a fish. The terrain around the rubble was uneven, making it difficult to maneuver. He'd use the fish as bait to draw the ants out.

"Boss, what are you doing here?" the entrenching tool asked curiously.

"There's an ant colony in that rubble. I'm going to wipe them out," Hank replied casually.

"Their individual combat power isn't high, but there are a lot of them. How do you plan to deal with that?" the tool inquired.

Hank's eyes gleamed with a hint of cunning. "With strategy!"

The entrenching tool was silent for a moment. "..."

So, he was going to play dirty again? Those poor ants... how did they end up on Fowler's hit list? Today was probably going to be their last. The entrenching tool offered a moment of silence for the soon-to-be-extinct colony.

Hank chopped up the fish and placed the pieces on a clearing outside the rubble. Then he hid in a nearby bush, observing patiently. After a few minutes, a large, black ant, about the size of a peanut, emerged from the rubble. It seemed to catch a whiff of something delicious and stopped to investigate.

Its antennae soon locked onto the pile of fish. The ant froze for a moment, then scurried over to the feast. It cautiously took a bite, its tiny ant-mandibles working furiously. After confirming there was no immediate danger, it started munching with gusto.

The ant seemed to dance in delight at the taste, then grabbed a piece of fish and scurried back the way it came.

"Boss, that lone ant is getting away! Aren't you going to do something?" the entrenching tool prompted.

A sly grin spread across Hank's face. "One ant isn't worth my time. Just wait, Digger. Soon, a whole army will be here. Then it'll be showtime."

"But if there are too many, won't it be dangerous?" the tool asked, a hint of worry in its tone.

Fowler chuckled. "Everything is under control!"

Three minutes passed in a flash. Suddenly, a rustling sound echoed from the rubble. Then, a seemingly endless stream of black ants poured out, like a miniature, chitinous river. When they saw the fish pieces, they went wild with excitement.

"Little Qiang wasn't lying! There really is fish here!"

"Brothers, charge! Let's bring this bounty back to the queen!"

Hundreds of ants swarmed the fish, completely engulfing it in a writhing mass of black bodies.

Seeing his opportunity, Hank leaped out of the bushes. His sudden appearance startled the ants, but they quickly recovered. They had numbers on their side.

"Human, what are you doing here?" a slightly larger ant, probably some kind of squad leader, demanded, its voice surprisingly high-pitched.

"I'm here for one thing," Hank said calmly, "to exterminate you."

"Kill us?" The ant leader paused, then burst into a fit of what could only be described as ant-laughter. "You? Alone? You think you can kill all of us? Don't make me laugh!"

"You think I can't?" Hank raised an eyebrow, then whipped out the bug spray, aiming it at the mass of ants. "Let's find out, shall we?"