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As night enveloped Liao City Base Command, while Chen Liu and his team slept soundly, the top-floor office blazed with light. Three men—two generals in uniform and a suited middle-aged man—sat in a tense discussion. Known as the base’s three giants, they were seasoned leaders, unshaken even by the apocalypse’s chaos. General Zhao, in his early sixties, sat at the head, clearly the man in authority. “Staff Officer Liu, how’s the southern district cleanup?” he demanded. Staff Officer Liu, a middle-aged general, replied, “General, our manpower’s stretched thin. At this pace, we need another week.”
Only a thousand mobile troops? Liu thought, grimacing. With Jiangchuan’s forces totalling under ten thousand, over forty percent were scattered on relay station missions or covert operations, leaving fewer than three thousand to garrison Liao City. Routine duties—checkpoints, surveillance, guarding key sites—whittled that number further. The eastern district, home to the command centre, was fully restored, but the southern district lagged, with the western and northern districts remaining untouched. The online hype oversold this place, Liu thought, aware of the gap between perception and reality. General Zhao growled, “Too slow!” Turning to Director Xu, the civilian affairs chief, he asked, “How are things on your end?” Xu, whose initiatives like the Integrated Service Centre and housing policies kept the base functional, replied, “We’re seeing 500 new survivors daily, and the number’s climbing. The eastern district will soon be overcrowded.” The southern district’s critical now, Xu thought, his words unspoken but clear. Liu suggested, “General, maybe recall some outposted troops.” He’d always doubted the province-wide relay network, favouring a focus on Hong City’s surroundings. Zhao’s brows twitched, displeased. “The outposts stay. We promised to protect all survivors, not just those near Hong City.” Abandoning them would break our word, he thought, though he knew the ideal was nearly unattainable. “Instead, starting tomorrow, increase mission rewards to encourage survivor teams to clear the southern district,” Zhao ordered. Combat teams won’t risk their necks without incentive, he thought, recognising that the default attitude of survivors who were safe at the base would be to shun fighting the undead.
Arming civilians wasn’t an option yet. Even trained soldiers needed ten rounds on average for a headshot against agile undead; civilians would fare worse, wasting ammo and likely dying. The military’s limited ammo stockpile, without resupply, made firearms a finite resource. We’ll either restart weapons factories or ditch guns entirely, Zhao thought grimly, then remembered something. Turning to Xu, he eagerly asked, “Plenty of ability users among the newcomers?” Xu nodded. “About ten per cent, many with combat teams.” That’s our edge, Zhao thought with relief. He gave an instruction: “Increase crystal rewards alongside contribution points for missions.” The eastern district cleanup had amassed crystals, stored as strategic reserves after supplying military ability users. Liu and Xu nodded; the plan was set.
The next morning, Chen Liu woke early with a clear goal in mind. I’m here to become a mature one, fast, he thought, itching to fight. “Let’s check the service centre for missions,” he said, his determination sparking enthusiasm in his group. They piled into the Wrangler, drawing more snide remarks from passersby. Rookies again, Chen Liu thought, smiling wryly. “Should’ve brought mountain bikes from the sanatorium,” he said. Zhang Chong shrugged, grinning. “Cars are still badass.” At the service centre, the hall buzzed with activity. “More crowded than yesterday,” Zhang Chong noted. Something’s up, Chen Liu suspected, catching snippets of conversation. The base had boosted mission rewards, including crystals, spurring the crowd. Fortunately, he was always ready to seize a good opportunity.