Once the tremors subsided, Thien Anh exited the control room to conduct a thorough sweep of the bunker. This wasn't out of baseless paranoia, but a survivalist habit etched into his very marrow. Only after personally verifying that every corner remained secure could he allow himself a momentary respite.
Meanwhile, Alisa returned to the medical bay to look after their two guests. She juggled studying the mutated species database with the meticulous changing of IV drips, utilizing every precious second to restore her comrades' health.
Thien Anh stepped into the living area, where Thien Lang and Thien Thanh were resting. Ki (Mutt) appeared utterly drained after a grueling day of combat, curled into a ball and sleeping like the dead. Only Moc (Azure Sky) remained alert. Catching sight of Thien Anh, the small serpent slithered over joyfully, letting out a soft hiss:
"Master!"
She swiftly scaled his arm, coiling affectionately around his neck. Thien Anh smiled, gently stroking Moc's head with a warm finger. "Is Ki so exhausted that he's out cold?"
Moc nodded, her small eyes shimmering.
"Yes, he's likely very tired. Even the massive earthquake earlier couldn't wake him; he's sleeping like a pig. But Master, it's absolute chaos outside. Take a look at the monitors—it's reached a breaking point."
Thien Anh offered a faint nod. He approached Thien Lang and nonchalantly leaned his back against the beast's soft, thick fur, using it as a living pillow. The plush comfort of a Tier-3 spirit beast was far more relaxing than any luxury sofa.
His gaze locked onto the bank of surveillance monitors. Clear images from strategic zones flickered: at the armory caches and primary arteries, the gargantuan silhouettes of wyverns appeared periodically. They seemed injured, their bodies covered in scorched, raw burns, and they were being swarmed by packs of Ghouls and wild mutated beasts.
The emergence of these wounded wyverns immediately following the earthquake linked back to the nearby volcano in Thien Anh's mind. Likely, a cataclysmic event at the caldera had forced these apex predators of high-heat zones to flee into the city. He thought pensively of the "Relic" photo Shadow Devotee had sent. This world was truly spiraling into madness.
Watching the monitors as the heavily injured wyverns writhed in agony, Moc swallowed hard with hunger. "Master! Should we head out and hunt a few?"
Thien Anh shook his head slightly, his hand rhythmically stroking Moc's cool scales.
"We shouldn't risk it. The night is their domain; going out now is essentially offering ourselves as a salad for monsters. Don't be blinded by immediate gain. Later, once we're fully prepared, wyvern meat will be our daily staple."
"Yes, Master. You're always right!" Moc replied obediently.
"Good girl. Stay here and monitor the feeds for me. Report any anomalies instantly. I need to head to the armory to prep weapons for tomorrow's hunt."
Patting Moc one last time, Thien Anh stood up and headed for his personal armory. He planned to finish off the One-Eyed Demon infestation at the military reserve tomorrow, but as he tallied his firepower, he couldn't help but frown. After the recent string of bloodbaths, his ammunition stocks—specifically armor-piercing rounds—had hit a critical alarm level.
"Tough times indeed. Everything is in short supply," Thien Anh muttered, letting out a weary sigh.
Just as he was about to set to work, a soft laugh echoed from the doorway. Alisa stood there, arms crossed, watching him with an amused glint in her eyes.
"What's got you so dazed? Surely a man like you didn't fail to notice me walking in?"
Thien Anh truly hadn't detected her presence. It wasn't that his senses were dulling, but because Alisa had now been defaulted to "safe" by his security systems—and his own subconscious. His threat-detection instinct simply hadn't triggered. He smirked with a touch of helplessness.
"You're getting bolder by the day, Lam. I remember when you first arrived; you wouldn't dare move half a step without my command."
Alisa stepped closer, her smile brightening.
"That was because I was terrified you'd put a bullet through my skull! You were as fierce as a tiger then. So, what's wrong? Out of ammo?"
Thien Anh replied while inventorying the crates:
"We have enough small-arms rounds, but armor-piercing and heavy ordinance are dry. To deal with the thick-hided beasts outside, we need specialized rounds. I have to pull an all-nighter to manufacture more."
Alisa looked curiously at the machinery in the back. "Can I help?"
Thien Anh nodded. "Definitely. The production process isn't difficult—it just requires meticulous attention to detail. How are your two friends?"
"Stable, but they need time for a full recovery." Alisa walked alongside him, her voice carrying a hint of worry. "There's a new development outside, isn't there?"
"Yeah. The volcano is erupting. Injured wyverns are flooding the city. Tomorrow, we'll hunt a few for food reserves. In this apocalypse, if we don't have a massive protein stockpile, we'll perish when the winter drags on or if we're besieged."
Alisa nodded in agreement. She realized how fortunate she was to have been brought here by this "blockhead." Despite the constant pressure and lurking shadows, she had been forged into a true warrior—trained in firearms, close-quarters combat, and survival skills that no medical school could ever teach.
They entered the fabrication room. The air was thick with the scent of machine oil and metallic shavings, housing rows of mini CNC lathes and an automated reloading press. Thien Anh placed a crate of steel blanks in the corner and turned to explain:
"Everything runs on an automated line. Just feed the materials and set the parameters on the computer. You just need to watch the screen. If a round is flagged for improper dimensions or weight, the system will flash red—then you just pull it. Simple, right?"
Alisa smiled confidently. "Simple as a piece of cake!"
Thien Anh didn't doubt the learning capacity of a surgeon. He gave a brief walkthrough of the control software, and Alisa swiftly mastered the interface.
The steady hum of machinery commenced. The quiet bunker was suddenly filled with the rhythmic clatter of metal. On average, every minute yielded one perfect armor-piercing round. While not nearly as fast as an industrial factory, it was more than enough to amass a formidable stockpile of firepower for tomorrow's hunt.