In the era of the purple mist, visibility dropped to five meters, rendering firearms nearly ineffective at a distance. But within five meters, guns became fast and deadly!

As a result, firearms had transformed into close-quarters weapons.

For melee weapons, the more, the merrier.

One hundred guns would barely be able to handle...

Wait!

Wilson suddenly connected the dots and kicked the ground in frustration. "What the hell are you talking about?! How close do you have to be to see a hundred people with guns? They wouldn't all come back in one piece!"

The two soldiers exchanged awkward glances.

"Uh..."

"Sergeant, I swear I saw guns! At least seven or eight people were armed, and I couldn't count everyone in the back!"

Wilson realized the gravity of their situation had just escalated.

Even if there were only twenty armed individuals, it posed a significant threat.

If those bastards disguised themselves as survivors and ambushed them from the crowd, they'd have no chance to react.

Wilson felt the urgency rising in his chest.

They were there as part of a helicopter drop operation.

The helicopters supplied provisions once a day, with hardly any backup in between.

The shorter soldier muttered, "Sergeant, what if we ask James Lone to join us in the defense?"

Wilson shook his head firmly. "No, it's pointless. What good is a single superhuman against dozens of guns? Besides, he might not want to get involved in such a mess; if things turn sour, he can just drive off in his vehicle. Who would stick around to fight with us?"

"Pull everyone back right now! We need to set up a second layer of barbed wire around our tents for defense. Jahon, you grab a group and gather some survivor clothing. If things go south, we'll change into those and escape. In this thick purple mist, even a massive number of rebels might not be able to track us down completely!"

The soldiers sprang into action right away.

Wilson called two alert soldiers over: "You two need to change into survivor clothing, blend in with the crowd, and keep an eye on the rebels!"

"Yes, sir!"

"Yes, sir!"

...

Eddy Lone was observing the area around the supply point with a few of his men.

For hundreds of meters surrounding the supply area, the ground had been ravaged by shelling, leaving it cratered and still filled with the acrid smell of gunpowder.

Yet strangely, this scent brought the survivors a sense of reassurance.

A subordinate rushed over and asked, "Brother Lone, the team is ready! Are we set to go?"

"Not yet, hold on," Eddy Lone waved dismissively. "Let's see if any superhumans come looking for trouble first. If not, we'll move in."

The mention of superhumans sent shivers down everyone's spines.

They recalled the infamous superhuman, known as the "Killer," and felt their skin crawl.

Eddy had previously been an officer stationed at an underground base. He had followed Martin Stewart to hunt the superhuman nicknamed "The Rat."

Little did they know that creature had decimated their superhuman unit without a trace!

When word went around about a survivor revolt, that superhuman made a beeline for them, systematically eliminating all support-type superhumans amidst the chaos.

Eddy had realized the situation was grim and gathered his soldiers for a hasty escape.

No longer able to rely on survivors to carve a path back to the television station base, they had to fend for themselves.

For a time, Eddy led his men through the woods, surviving on what they could scavenge and a few rounds from their weapons. They had become nothing more than bandits.

Stealing food, water, women—they'd do anything necessary to stay alive.

The deadly reputation of the "Killer" had seared itself into every soldier's memory.

Anytime they crossed paths with a group of survivors that included superhumans, they were excessively cautious and ready to flee at the slightest hint of trouble.

As Eddy and his men carefully awaited developments amid the mist for half an hour...

"No sign of superhumans yet..."

The group collectively sighed in relief.

"Even if they do show up, they shouldn't be a threat."

"There's no way we could encounter that killer again, right?"

"Definitely not; that killer could spot you in the mist. If it were him, he'd have already come storming through."

Eddy finally relaxed, "We should be good now. Let's move forward with our crew. Remember, we're here to steal food, not to tango with the 910 folks. Let those survivors charge in first, and we'll swoop in behind for the spoils and get out!"

Guffaws filled the air. "Don't worry, Brother Lone; with our guns, we'll live the good life. Why should we risk it against other soldiers?" "Exactly, we'll grab what we can and leave!" "Relax, there's so many of us. The visibility is terrible; they won't even know where we are!"

Eddy nodded in approval. "Good. We don't know how many superhumans are at 910. It's unlikely they'll send real power into this hellhole, but we should remain cautious; we can't afford to be caught off guard!"

After devising their plans, Eddy encouraged the survivors.

They managed to intimidate and coax a few hundred survivors into their ranks.

Now, the survivors were completely exhausted.

After a long day of trekking through the mist, everyone felt depleted and starved.

Some sat, while others lay sprawled out.

Despair loomed over the crowd like a dense fog.

Eddy and his men approached with weapons drawn, shouting, "Get up! Everyone, get up!"

"The 910 supply point is right ahead, and those soldiers are hoarding food while withholding it from us!"

"Those soldiers just want to trade food for women! Would you hand over your wives and daughters?"

In the era of the purple mist, survival was a dire task.

Most survivors who made it this far were often small families or familiar neighbors gathering to support each other.

Men clutched their loved ones tightly, shouting loudly: "No way!" "Follow my lead! Let's hit them hard!" "If we steal the food, we can survive long enough to reach the 910 base, and then we'll have it made!" "Relax! The mist is all around us; they won't even see us coming!"

With Eddy and his gang's coaxing, the dense crowd of survivors slowly stood up, their expressions grim as they trudged toward the supply point.

The atmosphere grew tense.

...

Outside the supply point, surrounded by the wire barriers, an army of tired survivors loitered, exhaustion visible in their faces.

Natasha sat slumped against the ground, huddled with a few others.

These were her neighbors, all of whom had banded together for survival since the purple mist descended.

Originally a group of a dozen, only six remained alive.

After struggling to get inside the safe zone for hours, they felt forced to abandon their efforts.

"Damn it! The soldiers are feasting on fried eggs while telling us there's no food left!"

"I walked all day, my feet are blistered! I hope they don't get infected!"

"How much farther do we have to go?"

Natasha chimed in angrily, "The military has no humanity; they won't even give us food!"

She worriedly glanced around, anxious that the soldiers might overhear her grievances.

"It's too crowded; sleeping tonight might pose dangers."

"I know, but what else can we do?"

"Let's take shifts keeping watch; six people can form three groups..."

Just then, a stout male companion, Edison, ran back to them, excitement shining in his eyes.

"Hey, remember that tank convoy we saw on the way? It didn't make it into the safe zone! It's over there!"