The rotting birds flapped their broken wings, carrying the breath of death across the greyish sky.

During its flight, feathers fell like dried leaves, swiftly passing through the ruins of the decaying city, finally perching on a rusty iron railing outside a fortress structure, raising its head with a low hoarse screech.

Its hollow, No Light eyes fixed on the shut metal gate.

Bang!

The gunshot suddenly exploded in the silence, tearing through the stagnant air.

Red bullets pierced the gray twilight, precisely hitting the Immortal Bird. Its body disintegrated instantly, rotten flesh and shattered bones splattering around, transforming into a mass of violently torn black smoke.

"Hey, how's my shooting?" A slender humanoid man emerged from the swirling sandstorm, with a revolver-like pistol spinning on his index finger.

"Blackie, save the bullets. The underground fortress's bullet stock is running low. We should reserve the bullets for those annoying raiders."

A small silhouette emerged again from the swirling ochre dust, carrying a heavy backpack, holding a large modified weapon in hand.

The two silhouettes approached the rust-covered metal gate.

Listening to his friend's continuing complaints, the figure known as Blackie pulled down his mask, revealed a set of gleaming white teeth:

"Today's haul isn't bad, so let's not fuss about it."

Saying this, he looked at the camera above the metal gate and waved his hand.

Not long after, the metal gate emitted a low, piercing metallic friction sound, as if a giant beast were awakening from slumber.

With the movement of the metal gate, rust chips fluttered down, sprinkling onto the dust piled in front of the door.

The gate hinges groaned under the strain, seemingly ready to collapse at any moment.

The metal gate only opened half a meter wide before stopping, allowing the two silhouettes to pass through and enter.

Entering the safe tunnel, a scent mixed with metal rust and disinfectant overwhelmed them.

The inner passage was narrow and dim, the emergency lights above flickering erratically, as if they might extinguish at any moment.

Proceeding along the tunnel, various faded warning signs adorned the walls, mostly unreadable, barely discernable with phrases like "Virus quarantine, do not approach," "Emergency evacuation route."

Nearby, thick steel beams crisscrossed randomly, the fortress interior resembling a massive beehive, surrounded by densely packed rooms and corridors, each room serving different functions.

Arriving at the hall, countless eyes turned toward them.

The man known as Blackie gestured toward the backpack behind his friend, opening his arms in cheer:

"Today's haul isn't bad, a batch of compressed biscuits expired for 25 years."

Upon hearing this, the thin survivors in the hall lit up with excitement, joining in the cheer.

Blackie briefly interacted with the seekers in the hall about the discovery location before taking the backpack handed over by his friend and headed to the Energy supply room.

This was the core area of the fortress, divided into Energy supply and communication center sections, the generator's dull roar was deafening.

Pipes and lines intertwined throughout the room, like the veins and nerves of a steel giant beast, providing survival Energy to the entire fortress.

In the communication area, a row of aged equipment flickered with faint lights, with the elderly guarding the instruments, attempting to capture even a tiny signal from the outside.

However, until today, they received only endless silence and deathly stillness.

Reaching the end, they pushed open a door, entering the fortress's shelter reserve room.

Storing scarce amounts of food, medicine, and necessities, the rusted cans on the shelves had labels that were nearly unreadable.

Blackie clearly remembered when he was small, seeing the leader take out this batch of cans for display.

But they were never opened, kept here merely for psychological comfort, serving as a way to stave off thirst.

The medicine boxes on the shelves were damaged, revealing uneven tablets inside, scarce supplies hanging like a Death Reaper Scythe over the survivors' heads, constantly reminding them of the difficult path ahead.

Handing the supply backpack filled with compressed biscuits to the woman managing the supplies in the room, she began the Purification process, after which Blackie headed straight back to the living area, pushing open a wooden door.

Inside, a group of children huddled together, their faces sallow, bodies frail, exhaustion reflected in their eyes.

Cautiously, Blackie retrieved a slightly melted, misshapen chocolate from his pocket, the children's gazes instantly drawn to it, eyes unconsciously filled with longing.

"Brother Blackie, you hid supplies." A slightly older child whispered.

Blackie did not reply, crouching down, tearing off the foil covering the chocolate, breaking off a finger-sized piece, offered it to the speaking child:

"Eat it, stop talking."

"Thank you, Brother Blackie."

The slightly older child gathered his courage, took the chocolate, and subdivided it into uneven pieces, handing them to the surrounding companions.

The children took the chocolate, putting it into their mouths, the long-forgotten sweetness spreading at the tip of their tongues, smiles of satisfaction appearing on their dirt-covered faces.

Distributing the chocolate piece by piece to the children, Blackie did not keep his share, turning to leave the room.

Blackie's room was in the basement level, a 30-square-meter room.

Removing all his gear, placing it aside, he headed to the bathroom.

Crouching down, grabbing a handful of dry fine sand, he smeared it on his body, the grains slowly trickled through his fingers, carrying a rough texture.

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