The first rays of morning sunlight broke through the clouds, gradually dissolving the darkness. Peachtree City revealed its true urban appearance.
Inside the golf course, the well-rested quarantine zone civilians moved with energy, loading the supplies they hadn't finished packing the previous day. Each item was carefully boxed and loaded onto the trucks. But nothing was taken entirely—half of everything was deliberately left behind.
Nearby, Brian stood watching the bustling crowd. He turned to Andrea as she approached.
—So, have you decided? Are you staying or leaving?
Though they had discussed it all night, when it came time to decide, Andrea still hesitated. But after a moment, she nodded firmly.
—We talked all night… and we've decided to stay.
—Good. I'm glad you've thought it through.
Brian wasn't surprised. Compared to the quarantine zone—a place of constant pressure, where every six months you risked your life on dangerous missions—this camp, with its enemies eliminated, infrastructure complete, and food supply stable, was clearly the better choice.
—And what about the prisoners?
Andrea clenched her fists, turning her head away.
—Coben said he'd handle them. He told us not to get involved.
At that, Brian's gaze locked onto Coben, standing a short distance away, his face dark and grim.
—Don't feel guilty. Whatever happens to them, they brought it on themselves.
On the way back with Kim the night before, Brian had learned the truth: the prisoners had been enslaved, forced into the hardest labor, fed only scraps.
Their companions, upon capture, had been subjected to extreme torture—not just to extract information, but also for revenge and sick pleasure.
The man on the cross had died from the torture. The others were barely alive. The women… suffered unimaginable punishments. Those who understand, understand.
If Brian had arrived just a few days later, he would have found only corpses.
With such deep hatred, now in the hands of their victims… the fate of these men was obvious.
Watching Andrea's distant expression, Brian turned his attention to Chen Shi, who had been following him closely. Last night, the boy had looked dirty and miserable. But after cleaning up, he was actually quite adorable.
Brian pinched his soft cheek.
—And you? Will you stay here, or come with me?
—I… I'll go with my big brother! —Chen Shi replied in a childish voice.
Are you crazy? he thought. He was alone, didn't speak the language, in an unknown world. Better to cling to someone strong.
Though he felt embarrassed acting like a child, survival came first. And if Conan could do it… why not him? Besides, his body was that of a four-year-old. Nothing to be ashamed of.
—Heh heh.
—Alright. Come with me.
Brian ruffled his hair. That morning, he'd already investigated the boy—questioning the freed prisoners and captured survivors.
Chen Shi had arrived two months ago, with another child and two adults. But since they'd injured many of the locals, the group decided not to let them live. The adults were tortured to death. The other child died from a high fever caused by trauma. Only Chen Shi survived.
With this information, Brian realized he might have overthought things last night. The story fit. Still… he needed to keep observing.
Then he heard Norman calling. He told the boy to go play and walked toward the convoy.
—Captain, my supplies are loaded. I've separated them and placed them on the outer side of the truck. We can unload them directly.
—Good. Same as usual.
Brian nodded, watching the loading progress.
—How's it going? When can we leave?
Norman estimated the pace.
—Last trip. Ten minutes. You can head out first.
—Alright. I'll leave it to you.
He patted Norman's shoulder and walked away. He found Mia, the woman who had cared for Chen Shi the night before, and gave her instructions to continue looking after the boy.
Then he called Kim and Wade, walked to the military truck, and this time sat directly in the driver's seat. Once the other two were in, he started the engine and, under the eyes of everyone, drove out of the golf course.
Two hours later.
The military truck drove out of Peachtree City, re-entering Atlanta's territory. In the distance, the towering wall of the quarantine zone was now visible.
But Brian didn't drive straight to the main gate. Instead, he turned toward the eastern side of the zone.
Driving through urban ruins, the truck entered a block filled with debris. At the entrance, a sign with a red "X" hung quietly—nearly invisible. They glanced at it briefly and drove deeper.
Unlike the outside, where infected roared and animals screeched, this block was eerily silent. The high-rise buildings seemed carefully cleared. Sunlight reflected off the glass windows, blindingly bright.
Brian watched through the window. He could clearly see many figures moving quickly between the buildings, closely monitoring them.
As the truck reached the entrance of an underground parking garage, facing a barrier, Brian didn't hesitate. He pressed the brake and stopped.
At that moment, from the buildings and bushes on both sides, many people emerged—men and women, armed with guns and weapons—surrounding the truck with military precision. But they didn't approach.
—Click.
Brian opened the driver's door and stepped out. The sunlight hit his face, making him squint.
He casually scanned the group surrounding them, unimpressed. Leaning against the truck, he waited for their leader.
He smacked his lips, instinctively pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He took two, tossing one to Kim inside the truck, putting the other in his mouth. Wade didn't smoke, so he didn't need one.
During missions, smoking had caused serious problems. Since then, Brian had strictly banned smoking at any time during a mission.
But now, the mission was over. He wouldn't deny himself. He lit the cigarette and took a deep, satisfying puff.
Their actions didn't go unnoticed. The surrounding people watched with greedy eyes, swallowing hard, but no one dared step forward to ask for one.
One man, unable to resist, stepped out of the group. A large, burly man with a short axe. He marched straight to Brian, eyeing the cigarette.
—Hey, kid. Give me one. What do you say?
He raised the axe slightly, his eyes threatening, as if to say: "If you don't give it, I'll split you in two."
The others watched with amusement, faces twisted in schadenfreude. But they weren't looking at young Brian. They were watching the massive, brutish man.
Brian glanced at the man with disdain, wrinkling his nose at his foul smell.
—New here?
—Huh? —The man blinked, then flushed with embarrassment. Enraged, he lunged to snatch the cigarette—
—Don't talk nonsense! Give it to me now…!
Brian snorted. With his right hand, he grabbed the man's wrist, twisted it sharply behind his back, and delivered two hard kicks to the man's knees.
—Crash!
The man screamed, collapsing to his knees. His twisted arm sent waves of pain through his body. The more he struggled, the worse it got. Finally, he lay still, terrified, unable to move.
No one moved. No one dared.