Quarantine Zone, District E.
The Power Station.
As the QZ's primary source of electricity, the power station's importance couldn't be overstated. Put simply, if anything went wrong here, every factory in the Quarantine Zone that depended on electrical power would grind to a permanent halt.
Unlike the unrest caused by rumors or the Fireflies—problems that could be contained—a power station failure would collapse the entire QZ outright.
Because of this, the facility was treated as one of the zone's vital organs. The surrounding blocks had been completely cleared, with soldiers stationed around the clock. No ordinary civilians were allowed anywhere near. All personnel lived on-site, requiring formal applications just to leave the compound. Supplies moved one direction only—in—delivered by escorted vehicles under strict security. The measures were nothing short of extreme.
The station was divided into three zones: the inner core, the mid-level maintenance area, and the outer security perimeter. Standing outside the fenced perimeter wall, Bryan recalled everything he knew about the place.
Of course, none of this was information a lowly squad leader was supposed to have. It all came courtesy of Lulu, who worked inside. She'd shared the general layout; the classified details beyond that, she wouldn't reveal, and he knew better than to ask.
Even standing outside, Bryan's presence was enough to put the perimeter guards on alert.
"Hello!"
Under the watchful eyes of every soldier in the vicinity, Bryan walked calmly to the guard booth at the entrance and saluted the young soldier on duty before presenting his ID.
The soldier scanned the credentials and relaxed slightly, though he still asked by the book, "What's your business?"
"I have a note for Lulu, the engineering team leader. Could you pass it along to her during the next break?"
Bryan retrieved a folded slip of paper—written on the way over—and set it on the booth's counter. When he pulled his hand away, a small packet of crackers sat on top of it.
There was no other option. As a high-security facility, the power station didn't allow random visitors—not even fellow QZ soldiers. All the workers lived in the mid-level maintenance zone and rarely left the compound. Getting a message through meant passing it to the perimeter guards, who'd then relay it inside. But the person on the other end would only receive it once the guards had accumulated enough messages to bother making the trip—which could take days, sometimes weeks.
Years ago, handing off a note would have been enough. But times had changed, and everyone knew the score. Without a little incentive, nobody was going to run errands for you.
The soldier glanced at the packet of crackers and smiled. It might seem like nothing, but in an era of desperate scarcity, even a small treat like this counted for something.
He pocketed the note and crackers smoothly. "Don't worry. I'll get it to her shortly."
"Much appreciated." Bryan nodded to the soldier and turned to leave. He still had other people to notify.
But he'd barely taken a few steps when his stride hitched. A flicker of surprise crossed his eyes.
Near the power station, at the corner of a nearby street, he spotted a weathered middle-aged man leaning against a wall, resting. The face was unmistakable—the same man he'd seen with Anna yesterday. The one he'd sketched.
What's he doing here?
The question surfaced and was immediately filed away. Bryan gave the man a brief look, then continued walking as though nothing had happened. Beyond that momentary pause, he betrayed nothing.
The middle-aged man's attention wasn't on Bryan at all. He barely spared a glance as the younger man passed, then went back to whatever had been occupying him.
Once he'd cleared the man's position, Bryan slowed his pace and looked back. Following the stranger's line of sight, he realized the man was watching the power station.
Not wanting to linger—if the man noticed Bryan staring, it could raise flags—Bryan turned back around after only a moment. But the wheels in his head were turning.
He pulled out his notebook and jotted down the encounter, adding it to the running record. Couldn't afford to let details like this slip through the cracks.
With Lulu's message delivered, Bryan's next stop was the agricultural plant factory in District B.
This was where the QZ grew its food—vegetables, fruits, produce—along with medicinal plants and herbs used to supplement healthcare and treat various ailments.
There were three such facilities across the entire Quarantine Zone. While not as critically vital as the power station, they were still key resource production sites.
The limited farmland meant the produce grown inside never made it to ordinary civilians. Everything was funneled directly to the QZ government's upper echelon, distributed from the top down through the hierarchy.
In recent years, there were even rumors that a section of one facility had been secretly set aside to grow opium poppies, processing them into narcotics to be sold outside the QZ in exchange for supplies.
Nobody had seen proof firsthand, so the rumor's credibility was anyone's guess.
Bryan, however, believed it entirely—because the source was Dick, who worked inside as an apprentice. The reason it remained so little-known, beyond the sellers forbidding buyers from talking, was that the product flowed upward, not down.
Anyone with half a brain could figure it out. Ordinary civilians and soldiers were tightening their belts just to survive. Even if they craved the stuff, they'd never trade their meager food rations for drugs.
The customers were the children of high-ranking government officials—kids who'd never known a day of hardship, never gone hungry, drowning in idle luxury with no outlet for their energy. They burned through their days on parties and narcotics, and the crumbs that fell from their tables amounted to mountains of food and resources.
Bryan had once observed the QZ's sole "affluent district" from a distance during his early exploration of the zone. The place had been buzzing—music and laughter audible from blocks away. While everyone outside scrambled to survive, the people inside lived in blissful, drug-fueled oblivion.
Unlike the power station, the agricultural facility's security was tight but not impenetrable.
And unlike Lulu, who held a team leader position with access to the core zone, Dick was just an apprentice trailing behind a professor. He could wander the outer areas, but the important sections were completely off-limits.
So when Bryan slipped the guard a small incentive and explained his visit, the man readily agreed to fetch the kid.
"Bryan!"
After about fifteen minutes of waiting, a door opened and a voice called out. Bryan turned to see a freckle-faced teenager, about sixteen or seventeen, jogging out from inside.
"Dick."
A smile spread across Bryan's face as he stepped forward and pulled the boy into a hug.
The last time he'd seen Dick had been two weeks ago at the school. Unlike Allen—that perpetual handful—Dick was quiet, unassuming, and never caused trouble. He was the easiest of the bunch to look after, and sometimes the only one who could keep Allen in check.
Bryan had been surprised to learn from Sarah that a botany professor had taken notice of Dick and recruited him as an apprentice. But with the Peachtree City mission imminent at the time, he hadn't had the chance to follow up. Now that things had settled, he wanted the full story.
"Looking good—you've filled out!" Bryan clapped Dick on the back, studying him. "Everything going alright in there? No problems?"
"It's fine."
The warmth in Bryan's voice sent a current of emotion through Dick's chest. "Besides having to study an endless mountain of material, it's honestly not that different from school."
He was lying, of course. Beyond the staggering academic workload, he was also responsible for tending to the professor's prized plants, on top of being strong-armed into heavy agricultural labor by certain people inside. He was physically and mentally exhausted every single day.
But he didn't want Bryan to worry. Compared to the people outside fighting for their lives, trading a little manual labor for knowledge and regular meals was a pretty decent deal.
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