The news broadcast about Dawn Base and other large-scale bases was like a ladle of cold water splashed into a boiling pot of oil, instantly triggering a fierce reaction inside Cubicle No. 7 of Area B.
Zhou Min almost immediately sprang upright from her bunk. The calmness and rationality she had always maintained were replaced by a blazing light in her eyes.
She quickly pulled out the Safe Zone map she had worn nearly threadbare from constant handling. Her fingers moved urgently across it as she muttered rapid calculations under her breath.
“Five hundred kilometers. Passing through the ruins of three major cities. Two main highways are very likely paralyzed. Extremely high risk—but official routes, military protection…”
She suddenly looked up at the others in the cubicle, her gaze sharp and focused.
“This is an opportunity! A truly stable order, restored productivity! We must obtain more detailed intelligence—routes, entry requirements, internal conditions of the base…”
Her reaction perfectly matched her role as an information controller. Her first instinct was analysis and planning. To Zhou Min, Dawn Base was an unknown yet immensely valuable new chessboard.
Lin Yan paused in the middle of wiping down her axe.
She frowned, staring at a vacant point in the air as if weighing the pros and cons.
Her calloused fingers unconsciously rubbed along the blade.
“A large base… means more rules,” she said in a low, cold voice. “But also more resources, better weapons, stronger opponents…”
For someone who survived through combat and brute force, a large base meant a broader hunting ground and more opportunities for growth—but also more restraints.
She glanced at the bloodstained axe in her hand and snorted. She did not voice a clear stance, but deep in her eyes flickered a spark of ignited battle intent.
To her, where she went didn’t matter. What mattered was whether she could continue to grow stronger and fight without restraint.
The most surprising reaction came from the hooded woman who had always been like a shadow.
When the words “Dawn Base” came through the broadcast, Ruan Ning sharply noticed that the figure beneath the oversized hood stiffened almost imperceptibly. The cold, distant aura surrounding her seemed to ripple ever so slightly.
She did not act immediately like Zhou Min, nor did she reveal battle fervor like Lin Yan. Instead, she curled her body tighter, as if trying to hide herself completely in the shadows.
That reaction was anything but indifference. It felt more like… something secret had been touched. Or an old wound.
Ruan Ning silently noted the anomaly.
As for Ruan Ning herself, after the initial inner shock, she quickly regained her outward composure.
She observed Zhou Min’s fervor, Lin Yan’s calculations, and the hooded woman’s abnormality as thoughts raced through her mind. She noticed that Zhou Min had used the word “we”—clearly already considering the people in the cubicle as a potential small group to plan the journey together.
“Ruan Ning, what do you think?” Zhou Min predictably turned her gaze toward her, her tone probing.
“Your water-type ability is a scarce resource anywhere. At a large base, your treatment would definitely be much better than here.”
She was trying to recruit her. A stable water-type ability user was a valuable asset for both long-distance migration and future base life.
Ruan Ning met her gaze, her tone flat and unreadable.
“Five hundred kilometers isn’t that easy. There’s too much to prepare.”
She neither agreed nor refused, instead pointing out the practical difficulties.
This matched her consistently cautious persona and left her room to maneuver. She fully intended to go—but not by hastily tagging along with a temporary, mismatched team full of hidden agendas.
She needed control. She needed to ensure her secrets and safety. More importantly… she needed enough strength before arrival.
Her words cooled Zhou Min down a little. Zhou Min nodded.
“True. This needs careful planning.”
Yet the eagerness in her eyes did not fade.
Lin Yan also glanced at Ruan Ning, seemingly acknowledging her calmness.
An eerie silence settled over the cubicle.
The hope and excitement brought by the broadcast were quickly cooled by the reality of distance and danger, replaced by far more complicated emotions—anticipation, fear, calculation, and the difficult choices that had to be made.
Before the warmth of hope could fade completely, an even colder and more urgent reality latched onto everyone with foresight like a bone-deep parasite—supplies.
The air-raid shelter, this temporary refuge, had its inherent flaws magnified endlessly as time passed and people continued to pour in.
At its core, it was a massive point of consumption, not production.
Ruan Ning’s experience working in logistics allowed her to see this precarious balance more clearly than most.
Every day, she watched Old Chen and the logistics staff fret over shrinking inventory lists; heard the cooks complain that grain reserves were running low, forcing them to dilute the porridge more and more; noticed the medical team strictly reusing disinfectants and bandages, even rationing them.
The supplies brought back by scavenging teams were nothing more than a drop in the bucket.
The city ruins offered fewer and fewer safely accessible resources. Each outing came with higher casualty rates, and what was brought back merely delayed collapse rather than solving it.
“Relying on scavenging alone, without new sources, long-term operation is impossible.”
No one knew who said it first, but the statement quickly became consensus among upper management and well-informed ability users, hanging over them like dark clouds.
The air-raid shelter was never a long-term solution.
This realization layered even deeper anxiety and urgency over the restless hearts stirred by the news of Dawn Base.
For ordinary people, it meant deepening despair. Powerless to change anything, they could only watch daily rations shrink bit by bit, their living space compressed further, as if awaiting a slowly approaching death sentence.
For military administrators, it meant immense pressure and brutal choices.
Hold out and wait for rescue—but where were the reinforcements and supplies?
Or organize a large-scale, high-risk migration as early as possible?
Either option carried unbearable costs.
For ability users like Ruan Ning and her roommates, however, it was a clear signal—
They had to leave. And soon.
The atmosphere in Cubicle No. 7 grew even heavier.
Zhou Min was no longer merely gathering information. She began making concrete plans.
“We need a reliable vehicle, enough fuel, weapons, maps, and at least half a month’s worth of food and medicine…”
Every item on her list was a luxury in the apocalypse.
“Our contribution points aren’t enough. We have to find higher-paying missions, or…” Her gaze swept over the others, the implication clear—risk, competition, and conflict were inevitable.
Lin Yan sharpened her axe faster now, murderous intent almost solidifying in her eyes.
“Damn it, this hellhole is doomed sooner or later. If we’re leaving, do it early. You want to starve to death by dragging your feet?”
Her logic was brutally simple. Strength was the only truth she believed in, and staying meant weakening.
Even the hooded woman, who had kept herself detached until now, tensed slightly as Zhou Min and Lin Yan discussed the supplies needed to leave. Survival instinct seemed to outweigh her desire to hide her secrets.
Ruan Ning took it all in.
She knew that the invisible countdown of dwindling supplies was accelerating everyone’s fate. It forced choices: stay and struggle in increasingly brutal internal competition, or step onto the path toward unknown “dawn,” where death was almost guaranteed.
For her, this was also an opportunity.
Chaos and migration meant the temporary collapse of order—and freedom to act, easier accumulation of strength, and perhaps even… a chance to “coincidentally” encounter the person she had been searching for.
“It is time to prepare,” Ruan Ning finally said. Her voice was calm, yet carried undeniable resolve.
“But not blindly. We need more detailed intelligence—danger zones along the route, possible resupply points, and the movements of other safe zones.”
She looked at Zhou Min, then briefly at Lin Yan.
“Individual strength is limited. Cooperation may increase our chances of survival.”
Her words laid bare reality while extending an olive branch.
In a safe zone on the verge of collapse, a temporary alliance with aligned goals might be the wisest preparation before stepping onto that deadly migration route.