Bill Parker replied with a wide smile, "This was a strict order from Director Peterson. Any survivor who attempts to attack a guard is to be executed immediately. Of course, Peterson had no choice—with so many survivors and so few resources, the base would fall into chaos without some rules. I fully support Director Peterson's orders with both hands raised!"

Teresa Taylor clenched her fists tightly.

She had worked so hard to bring Hertha to the base, believing she would have a stable life here.

Yet... she died?

Bill Parker's words about fully supporting the order were nonsense!

Teresa Taylor was not a child, and she had worked in the police force long enough to recognize such slippery talk.

Of course, someone like him would support it; he's a beneficiary of the system!

Heavy-handed measures might be necessary for unruly conduct, but these survivors had come to the base seeking order—how could they be shot without trial?

Teresa felt a chill in her heart for the first time, questioning whether bringing survivors to the base was right or wrong.

Did the people who died on the journey perish in vain?

Moreover, these people had listened to her and followed her here—was she an accomplice?

Bill Parker noticed Teresa Taylor's troubled expression and felt worried:

Could Hertha be related to Teresa Taylor?

"Brigadier General Taylor, Hertha isn't related to you, is she?"

Teresa Taylor shook her head: "She's not related to me."

Bill Parker breathed a sigh of relief, dismissing her reaction as mere shock from hearing about Hertha's execution.

Women are always so sentimental!

Feigning sympathy, Bill Parker sighed: "Alas, Brigadier General Taylor, there's no need to be too upset. Without rules, there can't be order. Hertha dared to attack a guard just upon entering the base—who knows what she'd do over time? She was bound to be a troublemaker!"

Teresa Taylor's brows furrowed tightly. Coldly, she stated: "Take me to see Jemmy and Zack Torres."

Bill Parker realized he had misspoken and quickly closed his mouth, not wanting to upset Teresa Taylor any further. He found an excuse and slipped away.

Coward! Teresa Taylor huffed, "If you won't show me, I'll find them myself!"

Teresa Taylor began to search the survivor area.

What she saw alarmed her—batch after batch of gray-garbed survivors, all looking malnourished and gaunt, clearly not eating well.

Their morale was low, etched faces with heavy fatigue written upon them.

At that moment, a group of gray-clad survivors passed by, exuding a strong stench, their faces expressing a wish for death over life.

Among them, Teresa Taylor spotted a familiar face—Jemmy!

In just a day, Jemmy had transformed from a fairly pristine young man to someone scruffy and listless.

Teresa Taylor called out immediately: "Jemmy! Jemmy!"

Jemmy, trudging with leaden steps, looked up as Teresa called his name. Overjoyed, he cried out, "Teresa! Save me! They're abusing me! They made me clean filth all night without rest, and I had to eat crap! Waaaah!"

Remembering the grueling night, Jemmy felt immense grievances. His heart filled with sorrow as he broke down in tears.

Being a newcomer, not only did the soldiers and managers oppress him, but even the older survivor laborers bullied him.

He had to do the hardest work while enduring abuse from everyone. He had never endured such hardships before!

At night's end, Jemmy was exhausted and felt like he was falling apart. Expecting to finally rest, he was assigned new tasks!

He had to work for at least four more hours, breaking his spirit.

Cleaning filth? Eating crap? Teresa Taylor frowned—this was too outrageous to be believed.

The soldier in charge of the survivors escort saw Teresa Taylor and came over with a friendly smile: "Hello, Brigadier General Taylor."

Why does everyone recognize me and call me Brigadier General! Teresa Taylor thought with resignation, "What's going on here? Is what he said true?"

The lead soldier scoffed, "Don't listen to this kid's nonsense. We just sent him to plant mutant chickweed—it's smelly, but it's their main food source, not crap!"

Mutant chickweed again?

Teresa Taylor's frown deepened.

It seemed many survivors had discovered these plants were edible.

In that context, the task didn't seem too unreasonable.

Though the work was demanding, they were adapting to the living conditions now.

Base resources were limited, and Teresa Taylor held her tongue.

She asked again: "How many meals a day do they get? And what kind of food?"

The lead soldier laughed: "Meals? Just one! And it's mutant chickweed; it's nutritious, but it smells and tastes awful, haha."

The soldier's laugh was filled with schadenfreude.

"A single meal? So much work, yet only one meal? And only mutant chickweed? No side dishes? Not even compressed biscuits?"

The lead soldier sneered: "They don't deserve compressed biscuits! That's for us!"

A group of gray-clad survivors watched with hatred.

The lead soldier immediately grabbed his gun, threatening: "What are you looking at? Look again, and I'll gouge your eyes out!"

He kicked the nearest survivor, making him cry out in pain.

"Stop! Words are enough, don't resort to violence!" Teresa Taylor protested angrily: "They are our fellow human beings—how can you treat them like this?"

The lead soldier didn't dare talk back to Teresa but seethed internally, cursing himself:

Damn it!

Why is a high-ranking officer bothering with a bunch of trash survivors?

It's the apocalypse, for god's sake!

Apocalypse!

Staying alive is a miracle—what else can you ask for?

In the midst of Jemmy's wailing, two soldiers dragged him away.

Teresa Taylor was helpless; she couldn't forcefully take someone just using her strength.

It would break the rules.

Her sole purpose for being here was to restore order, not to demolish it with brute force.

She believed firmly that only order could save everyone.

Teresa continued searching for a while but didn't find Zack Torres.

Instead, she witnessed more misery.

Survivors who were injured or sick were abandoned in a room, left to their fate without any treatment.

Those not quick enough at work were beaten frequently, the soldiers favoring using rifle butts to strike, leaving large bruises.

They lived like dogs in a large communal sleeping area housing dozens. During the summer in the underground, it was nearly impossible to sleep, being both hot and stuffy.

Although every meal consisted of mutant chickweed, there wasn't enough to fill everyone.

Teresa Taylor had long anticipated significant issues at the base.

Yet she hadn't expected them to be so severe.

The entire base was a powder keg, with ordinary survivors' anger toward soldiers and ability users like explosives ready to detonate.

She thought again of Erics Peterson's actions.

He was unwilling to admit more survivors, further fueling her anger.

Outside, people were suffering—if that wasn't bad enough, those within the base were subjected to exploitation!

Her face a mask of cold resolve, Teresa Taylor decided to confront Erics Peterson.

This was not the kind of world she wanted!