Atlanta Quarantine Zone.
The QZ main gate.
After passing through the ever-shrinking safe corridor outside the Quarantine Zone, the convoy rolled slowly through the gate under the watchful eyes of the stationed soldiers, coming to a stop at the designated area.
"Ahh—! Back again!"
Mike hopped down from the cargo truck, stretching his arms wide with an exaggerated groan. He glanced around at the familiar surroundings and muttered without thinking, "We brought back so much good stuff this time. Wonder whose pockets it's all gonna line."
Bryan had barely set foot on the ground when he caught the remark. Without hesitation, he reached over and smacked the back of Mike's head, hissing under his breath, "How many times have I told you? Keep thoughts like that in your head. Why do you have to say it so loud—you want people to hear?"
"Ow!" The smack reminded Mike of his chronic foot-in-mouth problem. He clamped a hand over his lips immediately, eyes darting around to check if anyone nearby had been listening.
"Hahaha—!"
The rest of the squad couldn't help but laugh at his panicked expression. Moments like these were among the few bright spots in their otherwise bleak lives.
While the squad was chatting, the QZ civilians began climbing out of the cargo truck's rear compartment one by one. Their smiles were even wider than the soldiers'—not only had they survived the trip, but they'd earn bonus supply rations for participating, plus six months of guaranteed safety within the QZ walls.
"Hmm?"
Bryan's gaze swept across the cluster of civilians, and he immediately spotted Chen Shi among them. The little boy's face was deathly pale, his head hanging low, eyes hollow and unfocused. He looked completely shattered.
Bryan raised an eyebrow and walked over to Norman, tilting his chin toward the boy. "What happened to him?"
Norman followed his line of sight and chuckled softly. "The kid? He probably saw the bodies lying outside when we left the golf course. Scared him pretty bad, I'd guess."
"You couldn't have covered his eyes or something? What if it traumatizes him?" Bryan shot back, exasperated by Norman's cavalier attitude.
But Norman was unfazed. He sighed and said, "He's going to face all of this sooner or later. Cruel as it might be, it's better he sees it now than freezes up at a critical moment and gets himself killed. Besides..."
His gaze drifted to the QZ gate, heavy with meaning. "Who knows how much longer this place will even hold together..."
That quieted Bryan. He lowered his eyes, falling silent. The QZ's situation was deteriorating rapidly—he knew that much. He had no idea how other Quarantine Zones were faring, but as far as Atlanta was concerned, it didn't matter whether FEDRA or the Fireflies came out on top. This place was destined to crumble, becoming just another ruin in a city of ruins.
"Captain, Barlow's here." Mike appeared at Bryan's shoulder, his voice low. His face, however, was written with undisguised disgust.
Bryan turned to look and sure enough, five or six soldiers were heading their way. At the front was a weasel-faced white man with a perpetually shifty look about him—the kind of person who radiated sleaze from every pore.
The man's name was Barlow, a low-level official at the Supply Management Center. His job was to take the supplies the convoys brought in from the outside, inventory them, and distribute them to supply stations across the QZ's districts.
His personality matched his appearance perfectly—greedy to the bone and utterly self-serving. He spent his days skimming from other soldiers' and civilians' supply rations, pocketing everything he could get his hands on. Insatiable didn't begin to describe it.
People had tried reporting his excessive exploitation to higher-ups, but Barlow was a master at currying favor with his superiors, regularly greasing palms with generous "gifts" of supplies. The resulting punishments were always laughably light, and afterward, he'd retaliate ruthlessly—cutting off the whistleblower's supply allocations entirely, making an example of anyone who dared cross him. Eventually, no one bothered anymore.
Bryan, however, wasn't afraid of him. Beyond the supply reward allocations, Barlow had zero authority over his affairs. And honestly, the pittance Barlow doled out as "rewards" was barely worth mentioning. Still, petty men were dangerous in their own way, and Bryan saw no reason to invite unnecessary trouble.
"Hey, Captain Bryan! Congratulations on making it back safe!" Barlow sauntered up with his lackeys trailing behind, a greasy smile plastered on his face. His eyes slid over the three fully loaded trucks, naked greed flickering in them. "You're back a day early. Looks like quite the haul. I just hope... you won't make things difficult for me."
The smile never left his face, but his tone sharpened with unmistakable menace. Everyone within earshot caught the implied threat.
"Too kind."
Bryan's brow furrowed almost imperceptibly, but he played along. He gave a polite nod, pulled a cigarette from his jacket, offered one to Barlow, and lit it for him. "Got plenty of good stuff this time. Take the trucks, inventory what's inside."
"Now that's what I like—a man who doesn't waste my time."
Barlow's grin widened. Most convoy leaders haggled with him when he showed up, fighting for every scrap they could keep, terrified of being squeezed too hard. Only after reaching some agreement would they hand over the trucks—though he'd always find reasons to extract more afterward. That was just internal squad business, and even he knew not to push too far. But this young captain? Handing over the trucks without a word of protest? That was a pleasant surprise.
He shot a glare at his lackeys, who were still loafing around behind him. "What are you standing there for? Get those trucks moving!"
"Yes! Right away!"
The soldiers scrambled to obey, flashing obsequious grins as they jogged to the vehicles and climbed into the driver and passenger seats.
"Well then, I'll go start the inventory. You all get some rest." Barlow was in an unusually good mood—it wasn't every day someone was this cooperative. He climbed into the passenger seat of one of the trucks, and the whole entourage drove off without another word.
Watching the trucks disappear, Mike spat on the ground, his lip curling with contempt. "Disgusting. Every time I see those people's faces, it makes me sick."
The rest of the squad hadn't taken the veiled threat any better. None of them had ever imagined being pushed around by human garbage like that.
Bryan could read their frustration plain as day, but there was nothing to be done. This was the reality of the QZ—soldiers like them were just another exploited class. It was one of the reasons he'd started working with the smugglers in the first place, carving out his own path to survival.
He thought back to his mindset when he'd first arrived at the QZ. He'd planned to climb the ranks, build a comfortable life within these walls. But by the time he'd graduated from the school, the QZ had already rotted into this. Reality had a way of shattering plans with a sledgehammer.
Walking over to his squadmates, Bryan clapped each of them on the shoulder. "Forget about him. Don't waste your energy on people like that—we don't depend on him to survive. Think about what we brought back today. That should put a smile on your faces."
That helped. Their expressions softened as they remembered the supplies they'd soon be dividing among themselves.
Once they'd settled down, Bryan turned to the dozen or so QZ civilians still standing nearby. "Head to the Supply Distribution Station to collect your reward rations. After that, you're free to go."
Then he made his way into the group, stopping beside the woman named Mia. Under her reluctant gaze, he took Chen Shi by the hand and led the boy away.
The squad turned in their weapons and equipment, then headed to the changing rooms in the administration building. They stowed their personal belongings in lockers, swapped their sweat-soaked combat fatigues for clean casual clothes, and tossed the dirty uniforms into a collection pile for the cleaning staff.
By the time they'd handled all the administrative tasks, nearly an hour had passed. They made their way to the Supply Distribution Station to collect their mission rewards.
Unlike QZ civilians, who received fixed rations, soldiers were compensated based on the volume of supplies their missions brought in—a government incentive program. At least in theory.
"Here's your mission reward!"
At the distribution window, a soldier who looked like he hadn't given a damn about anything in years shoved six pathetically small packages through the opening, then shuffled away and collapsed into a chair, falling asleep almost instantly.
"Son of a—"
Mike stared at the six portions that, combined, barely filled a single backpack. His face flushed with barely contained rage, though he managed to keep himself from doing anything reckless.
"Let's go."
Bryan grabbed Mike's arm and pulled him away. The squad passed through the checkpoint into District F, agreed on a meeting time, and went their separate ways toward home.
Once everyone had disappeared into the QZ streets, Bryan finally turned his attention to Chen Shi, who was still standing beside him with that same vacant look on his face.
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