A burly man with a fierce countenance and tattooed arms sauntered over.

"Boss, what's the situation?"

Behind him trailed a few other tattooed men, looking equally rough around the edges.

Linkon frowned, irritation etched across his face. "Dawson, how many times do I have to tell you? It's 'Governor Linkon'!"

Dawson offered a sheepish grin in response.

Linkon gritted his teeth and muttered under his breath, "That bastard Bruce Scott... We had our differences years ago. Holy shit! Who knew he'd turn into an esper and become the leader of the 910th Brigade?"

Dawson's expression shifted uneasily. "G... Governor Linkon, he won't turn against us, will he?"

Linkon's face darkened, his heart heavy with concern. He didn't want to lose face in front of his subordinates, so he scoffed, "No worries. We're not easy targets; he wouldn't dare!"

Feeling somewhat relieved, Dawson appeared less anxious. Just then, a refined-looking man in glasses came jogging toward them.

His silver-rimmed glasses were slightly askew—one lens shattered and with no replacement in sight, he frequently rubbed his eyes in discomfort.

The bespectacled man, named Daniel, donned a striped dress shirt and deep blue slacks, dressed like a businessman, except for the mud caked on his pants and one formal shoe paired with a sneaker—he looked utterly downcast.

But in the current situation, that was entirely normal.

Daniel was Linkon's trusted lieutenant, a well-known lawyer who had long handled legal matters for Linkon's company.

"Governor Linkon! I've gathered some urgent intel—the licenses for all the stalls need Bruce Scott's direct approval. Sell without one, and the soldiers will throw you into labor camps!"

"Bruce Scott's direct approval?" Linkon's face twisted further in anger. "That bastard really thinks he's the top dog now!"

After years in real estate, Linkon was more than aware of the intricacies involved. To get a stamp meant relinquishing control to Bruce Scott, leaving him free to set his prices.

Yet venting his frustrations had little purpose; they were on Scott's turf and had to tread carefully.

At that moment, chaos erupted as a group of survivors began bickering and throwing punches.

A few soldiers stationed near the entrance of a modest building rushed over.

"What's going on? Get back!"

"Do you have any idea where you are? No fighting here!"

"Dammit! Grab them!"

With shouts laced with curses, soldiers began to break up the scuffle, swiftly detaining troublemakers.

Holy shit!

Is this still an army?

It felt more like a den of brigands!

Linkon watched with disdain, muttering a curse under his breath. "Let's go! We'll talk later."

The group hurried away from the military outpost. Outside lay a broad area under construction, swarmed with activity. Some were clearing debris, others hauling away trash, and some digging pits.

"What the hell are they doing? It's a complete mess!" Linkon cursed.

As they walked, Daniel quickly explained, "The military's planning to build a settlement outside the outpost to accommodate 100,000 survivors, surrounded by three-meter-high walls."

"Rumor has it this is Bruce Scott's order; he wants survivors to work for points in exchange for food," he added, showcasing his knack for gathering information.

Linkon snapped, frustration bubbling to the surface, "Of course I know that! But the way Scott is going about this is absolutely disgusting!"

With no disaster relief experience and lacking the management skills for a large company, Scott was grossly underestimating the situation, leading to a multitude of problems.

Construction material management was chaotic.

The points system was represented by flimsy green paper, easily counterfeited and damaged.

The distribution centers for exchanging points for food were disorderly.

Several individuals had been carting away food from warehouses; as a result, a significant amount was embezzled while countless workers were left without provisions, inciting riots.

Military personnel had muddled responsibilities; they were tasked not only with protecting the settlement but also policing and managing survivor order, playing the roles of overseers and engineers simultaneously.

Linkon, already irritated with Bruce Scott, grew even more contemptuous. "What an absolute waste!"

The group stepped over a large pit—an outline of the wall the military was constructing.

Once outside the military compound, the scene became more chaotic.

A surge of survivors crowded the area; the surrounding space had turned into a disorganized mess, alive with frantic groups shouting.

Dawson and others shielded Linkon from the chaos as they navigated the crowd.

"Make way! Make way!"

"Dammit! Can't you see?"

"Holy shit! Someone stole my instant noodles! Which heartless bastard did that?"

"Dad! Where are you?"

"Who's grabbing my ass? You wanna die?"

Everyone who made it this far was no pushover; fights were frequent.

Shrill whistles and gunshots periodically rang out:

"Stop! I said stop!"

"Get down on the ground! Or I swear I'll shoot!"

Bang! Bang!

"Ah! Someone's been shot!"

"The soldiers are killing people!"

Linkon furrowed his brow in concern.

As they exited the settlement area, they reached a disheveled recruitment station, where hundreds of soldiers stood fully armed, a myriad of survivors arriving continuously from the escape routes.

One soldier clutched a megaphone, straining his voice as he shouted, "All survivors must register your name, occupation, age, and familial relations..."

"910 Settlement is a no-gun zone! Those carrying weapons, surrender them immediately; failure to comply means execution..."

"No robbing, no stealing, no raping women—any violators will be shot on sight!"

"Anyone willing to enlist will join the 910 Brigade, earning ten points a day to feed a family of three..."

"Those who don't want to enlist will help build the settlement and earn two to four points a day..."

"Espers must register here immediately and report to the Esper Management Bureau for automatic daily allocation of ten points..."

Lining the roadside were several low trees, each adorned with a row of corpses.

Necks tagged with whiteboards bore confessions of their crimes:

"Robbed a backpack""Stole a pack of instant noodles""Injured two civilians""Publicly raped a woman"

The soldiers stood nearby, watching with hawk-like vigilance, using the gruesome display as a bloody warning for newcomers to abide by the rules.

Adjacent to the soldiers were dozens of stalls selling various supplies—food, water, clothing—essential survival items.

Business was booming, with many survivors haggling over prices.

These vendors held business permits.

Even if they had to give a cut to Bruce Scott, the profits were undoubtedly substantial.

Linkon eyed the bustling scene hungrily, then turned to his subordinates. "Let's move!"

They ducked into the nearby thicket, which was brimming with survivors, making their way cautiously.

Linkon quickly spotted a dilapidated house, where his supplies were stashed and several of his minions stood guard at the entrance.

"Governor Linkon!"

"Governor Linkon!"

Everyone looked to him with hopeful anticipation.

Linkon felt immense pressure; if he couldn't secure reliable means of survival soon, his group would disband, leaving him isolated.

In the Purple Fog apocalypse, being alone was akin to being a sitting duck!

I cannot let that happen!

Linkon forcibly steadied his nerves and nodded to his crew, "I've got a plan. Everyone rest for the night; we'll set out tomorrow."

A wave of relief washed over the group.

"Understood, Governor Linkon."

After dismissing the smaller members, Linkon called Dawson and Daniel into the back room, fixing them with a serious gaze.

"I can't stay here any longer; I have a score to settle with Bruce Scott."

Dawson promptly replied, "Wherever you go, I go! Oh, I mean, Governor Linkon!"

Daniel echoed his loyalty, a wry smile on his face as he said, "Governor Linkon, you saved my life. Besides, in this current world, a guy my size wouldn't last three days without you. Just give the word."

Linkon nodded with satisfaction and resolved, "Since we can't stay, we're heading to Dill Holiday!"