Thud. Thud. Thud.
Heavy, uniform, muffled blows echoed from above the ground, like the heartbeat of something colossal and cold, striking precisely against everyone's nerves.
The workers who had just found a moment's respite in the geothermal terminal froze, their hope and excitement instantly replaced by bone-deep fear.
"It's the Black Iron Guard…" someone whispered the name, trembling, voice dripping with despair.
Jin Wanchao's heart sank. Though faint, the "flame" inside him allowed him to clearly "see" that above the ground, vast nets woven from cold, emotionless black energy lines were rapidly spreading, enshrouding the entire Lower District.
The iron fist of the Black Steel Council had finally struck.
In the days that followed, the geothermal terminal became a true underground prison.
No one dared go near the exits anymore, not even for a breath of air. Everyone huddled like moles inside the massive steel cavern, piecing together the horrors of the outside world from scraps of sound seeping through the ventilation ducts.
"Checkpoints… checkpoints everywhere…" A worker pressed his ear to a vent, then turned pale. "They've blocked all main roads. Not even a dog could slip through."
"I heard gunfire, in the district right above us. Nonstop."
"They have steam-powered armor. The pistons hiss like venomous snakes. It's terrifying."
A name began to circulate quietly among the workers — Centurion Calyx.
Rumors said this cold, iron-hearted commander had personally executed more than a dozen Lower District residents who resisted searches, hanging their bodies from streetlamps as a warning to all.
The grip of the Black Iron was tightening.
A suffocating atmosphere spread quickly through the terminal. The initial joy of escape had been entirely swallowed by anxiety and fear of the future.
Worse still, supplies were running out.
They had fled with only basic tools and a small amount of food. Feeding nearly three hundred mouths was a staggering daily drain. Clean water was barely sustained by the terminal's purification system, but food and medicine were vanishing at a visible rate.
Children had already fallen ill from malnutrition. Some workers injured in the uprising now suffered from inflamed, festering wounds for lack of medicine.
Low moans and children's crying replaced the earlier cheers, becoming the new soundtrack to this underground sanctuary.
Jin Wanchao leaned against the cold wall, listening to it all, his heart twisting in pain.
He looked at the tired, frightened faces that still turned to him with trust, and for the first time, felt the crushing weight of leadership. He was no longer just a laborer fighting for his own and his sister's survival. Over three hundred lives, the futures of three hundred families, rested on his shoulders.
He even felt guilty.
This crackdown was because of him. The innocent people Calyx had executed were implicated because of his resistance.
This heavy sense of responsibility bore down on him like an invisible mountain, nearly suffocating him.
"Wanchao," Ah Huo walked up, his voice hoarse. "We can't keep waiting like this. Food will only last three more days. If we don't find supplies soon, we'll starve down here even if the Black Iron Guard doesn't catch us!"
Ah Huo's eyes were bloodshot. The flame that had been lit within him was dimmed by hunger and anxiety.
Jin Wanchao fell silent. His gaze swept past Old Zhong maintaining the equipment, to little Axing hugging her knees with worry in her eyes, and finally settled on the massive ancient mural depicting the God of Artisans.
The deity in the painting remained majestic, holding flame and gear, as if watching him silently, waiting for him to make a decision.
Hiding had reached its end.
"We have to send people out for supplies," Jin Wanchao finally spoke. His voice was soft, but unshakably firm.
The entire terminal went quiet. Every eye fixed on him.
"It's too dangerous! The whole outside is crawling with Black Iron Guard!" someone objected immediately.
"It is dangerous. But waiting to die is a certain dead end." Jin Wanchao's gaze swept over the crowd. "We need three people for a scout team. They must know the terrain well and be agile. Their mission is not to fight, but to sneak into abandoned warehouse zones and find anything edible, any medicine we can use."
He paused, his voice growing heavier.
"I need the bravest among us."
The crowd fell dead silent.
After a moment, three workers who had fought bravest during the uprising stepped forward. They were core members Jin Wanchao had "awakened." Though fear showed in their eyes, it was overshadowed by desperate resolve.
"Wanchao, we'll go!"
Jin Wanchao looked at them and nodded solemnly. He stepped forward, placed a hand on each of their shoulders, and shared what little "flame" he had left within him.
"Remember: safety comes first. Retreat at the first sign of danger. We'll wait for you here."
The three nodded firmly. Guided by Old Zhong, they slipped into a heavily concealed sewage pipe and vanished silently into the dark.
The entire geothermal terminal sank into a long, agonizing wait.
Time ticked by.
One day. Two days.
The scout team was gone without a trace, as if swallowed by the earth.
An ominous premonition hung over everyone. Anxiety slowly curdled into despair. Even Ah Huo grew restless, several times trying to rush out to search, only to be held back firmly by Old Zhong.
Jin Wanchao stood before the mural, motionless, like a statue turned to stone. He could feel it — the three flames belonging to the scouts had completely faded from his perception.
The shadow of failure had sealed off any path of hiding.
Then, late on the third night, as everyone slipped into half-conscious numbness, a faint, teeth-grinding scraping sound suddenly came from an abandoned sewage outlet in the corner of the terminal.
"What's that noise?" A vigilant worker jolted upright.
Everyone woke instantly, staring rigidly at the spot.
The stench of sewage filled the air. The iron grate of the outlet was pushed open from outside with the last of someone's strength.
A figure caked in mud and blood tumbled out, crashing heavily to the ground.
It was one of the missing scouts!
One leg twisted unnaturally, his body crisscrossed with deep, gaping wounds, blood still pouring from his chest.
"Quick! Help him!" Ah Huo reacted first, rushing over.
Jin Wanchao also sprinted forward, pressing a hand to the man's chest, trying to use his last flame to stabilize his life.
The scout suddenly grabbed Jin Wanchao's hand, eyes wide open, pupils flooded with endless terror and agony. With every last ounce of strength, he forced broken syllables from his throat.
"They… they were caught…"
"Tomorrow… noon… Scrap Iron Square…"
His voice cut off abruptly. His head lolled to the side, his body convulsed once, and the last spark of life faded away.
But the message he brought swept through the geothermal terminal like a hellish frost, sending every soul there plunging into icy dread.
"Public execution!"