Atlanta Quarantine Zone
In front of the quarantine gate.
After passing through the shrinking outer safety zone, the convoy was confirmed by the stationed soldiers and slowly drove into the quarantine area, stopping at the designated location.
—Aaah! Back again!
Mike jumped down from the cargo truck, stretched dramatically, and let out a strange shout. Seeing the familiar surroundings, he muttered without thinking:
—We brought back so many good things this time… I wonder who's going to end up benefiting from it.
Brian, who had just stepped down, heard this. Without hesitation, he slapped Mike hard on the back of the head.
—How many times have I told you? You think things like that, not say them out loud! Do you want everyone to hear?
—Ow! —Mike rubbed his head, realizing he'd slipped into his old habit again. He quickly covered his mouth, saying nothing more, and glanced around to see if anyone else had heard.
—Haha!
The others burst into quiet laughter. In moments like this, it was one of the few times they could relax in their otherwise grim lives.
As they chatted, the quarantine zone civilians began climbing out of the cargo truck. Their smiles were even brighter than the soldiers'. Not only had they survived, but they'd receive a reward in supplies—and for the next six months, they could live safely within the zone.
—Hmm?
Brian scanned the crowd and immediately spotted the boy Chen Shi. But his face was pale, head drooping, eyes empty and lifeless. He looked utterly drained.
Brian raised an eyebrow, turned to Norman, and tilted his chin toward the boy.
—What's wrong with him?
Norman followed his gaze and chuckled.
—You mean the kid? When we left the golf course, he must've seen the bodies outside. Probably scared him like that.
—You couldn't keep an eye on him? What if he gets traumatized? —Brian felt exasperated by the man's carelessness.
But Norman didn't care. He sighed.
—He'll have to face this sooner or later. It's harsh, but better now than freezing up at a critical moment and getting himself killed. Besides…
He stared deeply at the quarantine gate.
—I don't know how much longer this place will last…
Brian lowered his gaze, silent. He knew it was true. The quarantine zone's situation was getting worse. He didn't know how other zones were faring, but in Atlanta, whether the government or the Resistance won, this place would eventually collapse—just another ruined sector in a broken world.
—Captain, Balor's here.
Mike approached Brian from behind, speaking quietly, his face full of disgust.
Brian glanced to the side. Sure enough, five or six soldiers were walking toward them. Leading them was a weasely-looking white man with beady eyes and a sleazy expression—his entire presence radiating unpleasantness.
This was Balor, a minor official at the Supply Management Center. His job was to take the supplies collected from outside, deliver them to the warehouse, and distribute them to supply stations across the quarantine zone.
His personality matched his appearance perfectly—extremely greedy and selfish, constantly skimming supplies meant for soldiers and civilians, stuffing them into his own pockets, never satisfied.
Some had tried to report his excessive exploitation to superiors. But Balor knew how to flatter those above him, often using large amounts of supplies to bribe his way out of serious punishment. Then he'd retaliate—cutting off all supply lines to the person who reported him, making sure everyone knew the cost of crossing him. Over time, no one dared challenge him.
But Brian wasn't afraid of him. Balor had no authority over his affairs. And the so-called "rewards" he gave were laughably small—barely enough to spit on. Still, it was best not to invite unnecessary trouble from such a petty man.
—Hey, Captain Brian! Congratulations on your safe return.
Balor, flanked by his lackeys, strolled up with a fake smile. He glanced at the three fully loaded trucks, his eyes gleaming with greed.
—You're back a day early. Looks like you had a bountiful haul. I just hope… you won't make things difficult for me.
His smile didn't fade, but his gaze turned sharp. Everyone could clearly hear the veiled threat in his tone.
—Appreciate it.
Brian barely concealed a frown but gave a polite nod. He pulled out a cigarette, handed one to Balor, and lit it for him.
—We got a lot of good stuff this time. Take the trucks, count everything inside.
—Good! I like people who get straight to the point.
That Brian handed over the trucks without hesitation surprised Balor. Usually, other team captains would haggle with him, trying to secure as much benefit as possible, afraid of being over-exploited.
Only after negotiating would they hand over the vehicles. Though Balor would later squeeze them with various excuses, there were limits—after all, it was internal to the supply teams. But this young captain had agreed so easily. Balor was genuinely pleased.
He glanced at his lazy lackeys still loitering behind and glared.
—What are you waiting for? Take the trucks!
—Yes, yes!
The soldiers immediately put on fawning smiles, rushed to the vehicles, and climbed into the driver and passenger seats.
—Alright, I'll go count the supplies. You all go rest early.
For once, someone was cooperative. Balor was in a particularly good mood. After saying a rare kind word, he sat in the empty passenger seat of one truck, and the group drove off with the vehicles.
As the trucks slowly disappeared, Mike spat on the ground, his face twisted with scorn.
—Pfft. Just looking at these people makes me sick.
The others weren't much better. When Balor had threatened them, their faces darkened. They never expected to be intimidated by someone so lowly.
Brian understood their feelings. But he was powerless. This was how the quarantine zone worked. Ordinary soldiers like them were just another exploited group. That's why he'd chosen to cooperate with the smugglers—to survive on his own terms.
Thinking back to his original dreams—rising through the ranks, thriving in the zone—he'd never imagined it would become this when he graduated from training. Plans change. Reality hits hard.
He walked over and patted his teammates on the shoulder.
—Forget about him. No need to waste energy on someone like that. We don't depend on him. Think about what we've gained. Stay positive.
Hearing this, the others' expressions gradually softened. Thinking about the supplies they'd soon receive, their spirits lifted.
Once they were calm, Brian turned to the dozen or so civilians still standing there.
—Go to the supply station to collect your reward materials. Then you can go home.
Then he walked into the crowd, stopped beside Mia—the woman who had been caring for Chen Shi—and, under her reluctant gaze, took the boy's hand and led him away.
With his comrades, Brian turned in their weapons and gear. In the changing room of the office building, they returned their belongings to lockers, changed into clean civilian clothes. Their sweat-soaked combat uniforms were left in a pile—someone would come later to clean them.
After finishing all the tedious tasks, nearly an hour had passed. They went to the supply station to collect their mission rewards.
Unlike the civilians, who received fixed rations, soldiers were rewarded based on the quantity of supplies they collected. It was supposed to be an incentive from the government… but…
—Here's your reward.
At the supply window, a disinterested soldier weakly pushed six pitifully small packages through the opening, then walked away and fell asleep in a nearby chair.
—Damn it!
Mike stared at the six packages—barely enough to fill one backpack. His anger was barely contained, but he held back, knowing better than to do something reckless.
—Let's go.
Brian pulled Mike away. They passed through the checkpoint, entered Zone F, agreed on a meeting time, and scattered toward their homes.
After everyone had left, vanishing into the streets of the quarantine zone, Brian finally turned his gaze to Chen Shi—still dazed and expressionless—standing silently beside him.