Jack George spoke in a hushed tone. "There are over a thousand registered ability users, with a male-to-female ratio of 6 to 4. However, Omar Scott suspects that at least 500 ability users are unregistered, hiding among the regular survivors. By the way, Omar Scott is the head of the ability user squad and Bruce Scott's nephew. He has three abilities, but they don't seem very strong, so he's not particularly notable among the ability users."

"Fifteen hundred ability users is quite a few," James Lone remarked, furrowing his brow. No matter how powerful he was, he couldn't match the overall strength of a large organization. But fortunately, most of the fifteen hundred were overconfident ordinary ability users who wouldn't be able to unite; each would have their own agenda. Without three to five months, it would be impossible to effectively integrate them.

James Lone had already heard that some ability users had started forming clubs within the 910 base, creating small groups that secretly linked up, each with their own plans. Some users, absurdly convinced of their superiority, referred to themselves as the "new humans," completely dismissing regular survivors as inferior beings.

Just then, a man in a long coat noticed James Lone and Jack George. From their appearance, he could tell they were doing well and slyly approached them. "Hey, brothers! Want some beans?"

"Beans?" James Lone raised an eyebrow, puzzled.

"Don't want any!" Jack George immediately shoved the man away.

"Fine, no need to get physical!" the man grumbled as he slipped back into the crowd and vanished.

Jack George glanced at James Lone's expression and quickly explained, "Those beans are a type of mutated plant that grows outside 910. Eating them gives an experience akin to being high—kinda like being drunk, but with extreme hunger and fatigue afterward. Some scumbags have discovered a market for them and are gathering them to sell. I suspect it's a new form of drug!"

James Lone's interest piqued. The mutated plants were varied and strange, and no one really knew what those beans could do. Perhaps they could be medicinal?

"I know a traditional medicine practitioner who could buy a batch; I'll have him investigate," James Lone suggested.

"Sounds good," Jack George agreed.

The two made their way to the southeastern corner of Saint Martin Town. James Lone had entrusted Jack George with the heavy expense of renting a farmer-built house for him to use as a temporary shelter in the town.

The structure was a typical two-story building, equipped with security screens on its windows and a large yard out front, paved with cement. The area around the house was once overgrown with various plants. However, with waves of survivors arriving, the surroundings had shifted dramatically. The plants had all been trampled, making the area notably safer.

The houses in Saint Martin Town were now crammed with people. Survivors would spread out mats or blankets as makeshift beds, settling in even by the walls of the self-built house.

As James Lone and Jack George approached their front door, they noticed nearby survivors staring at them intently, their gazes filled with envy, jealousy, flattery, and malice...

James Lone pulled out his handgun, coldly surveying the crowd. "Keep staring, and I'll have your eyes dug out!"

He had a gun! The survivors turned their heads in fear, no longer daring to look directly at him. In Saint Martin Town, the powerful had no qualms about killing, and even the military could hardly manage that, making everyone wary of provoking James Lone.

Once inside, James closed the heavy iron door, shutting out the cacophony outside.

Truthfully, he preferred to chase those survivors away; having so many close to the house was too dangerous. However, all the buildings were surrounded by people, and the house stood out for not having anyone camped by its walls.

So James decided against it. If the spatial portal were still functional, this hassle could have been avoided. He'd simply stay in the shelter and come back only when necessary—things wouldn't be so complex.

With a frown, James thought more about destroying that green giant eye. Should he test it out with a few energy-infused steel pellets?

Jack George was oblivious to James's thoughts, instead, he gazed enviously at the surroundings. "This place is really nice."

He lived with his subordinates, cramming thirty people into two small houses. But even that was a luxurious situation compared to the majority of survivors, who were forced to sleep outdoors.

Those regular survivors earned just enough work credits to scrape by; they certainly didn't have the funds to improve their living conditions.

It had to be said, human adaptability was incredibly strong. Most survivors who managed to reach the 910 base had adjusted to outdoor life. Those who couldn't had already perished.

Nature was enforcing a harsh cycle of survival of the fittest.

Now, in the summer, living outside was tolerable. Come winter, though, conditions would worsen drastically.

The 910 base was working on organizing the survivors to build houses. They needed to ensure these survivors had shelter for the winter if they hoped to keep them alive. Only by staying alive could these individuals become the true wealth of the 910 base.

James Lone casually remarked, "It's only twenty boxes of canned beef per day. You could rent a place too."

"Twenty boxes of canned beef!" Jack George winced. "I can't afford that."

James Lone smirked slightly. "Business is booming now. If you wait a little while longer, you'll be able to afford it."

At that prospect, Jack George couldn't help but grin widely. "I owe everything to Mr. Lone's support. The purified water business is incredibly thriving..."

He pulled out a ledger filled with meticulous entries. Since the two had just formed a partnership, and with Lancy George still in James Lone's care, Jack George would be foolish to engage in any accounting tricks.

The little bit of trust they had worked hard to establish was of utmost importance.

Jack George glanced at the ledger one more time, his eyes sparkling. "Each bottle of water brings in eleven work credits. We sold three hundred eighty bottles yesterday for a total income of four thousand one hundred eighty work credits!"

For regular people, accumulating work credits was extremely challenging. Most had to labor tirelessly as manual workers, exhausting themselves for just two to four work credits a day.

If they were injured, the 910 base wouldn't provide for their treatment; they had to fend for themselves.

Soldiers earned the highest salaries, making ten work credits a day. However, with so many survivors, the number of people wanting to join the military was overwhelming.

In the early days, it was easier to enlist, but now one had to bribe the recruiters with at least five hundred credits to be considered.

Jack George was merely selling water, raking in four thousand one hundred eighty work credits effortlessly!

That was a substantial sum! Without James Lone's backing, how could he possibly secure such profitable business?

Lancy, you've got to step up! Hurry and give James Lone a son!

Jack George silently cheered for his daughter, but verbally, he quickly continued, "As for costs: selling, transporting, managing, and protecting this purified water involved a total of eight people, each costing three credits, which totals twenty-four.

"One of my guys had his finger broken while maintaining order. According to our previous agreement, the compensation for a minor injury is fifty credits. So yesterday's total cost amounted to seventy-four credits."

"Therefore, the profit for yesterday stands at four thousand one hundred six credits. Based on an eighty-two profit-sharing, Mr. Lone, you should receive three thousand two hundred eighty-four point eight work credits..."

Jack George respectfully handed over a stack of green paper representing work credits to James Lone.

James Lone casually took out a hundred-credit note and examined it with curiosity. "I don't need these credits for now; you can keep them for your use. Just keep a record for me. You should focus on rapidly boosting your strength and stabilizing your business; life in the 910 settlement isn't exactly secure."

James Lone didn't lack ordinary supplies, just women and ability fruits.

Jack George was overjoyed; he certainly needed the money at the moment. Yet, he meticulously recorded, "Alright. This sum will be logged as a commercial loan with a ten percent annual interest. Whenever you need it, I'll compute the interest for you."

Even brothers must settle accounts clearly, especially when the relationship between him and James was merely nominal.

James Lone made no demands, and Jack George would ensure every penny was accounted for. He didn't feel the slightest bit stifled.

It was like in peacetime; if Lancy George had married a provincial-level official, would Jack George have dared to act like the father-in-law toward his son-in-law?

What a joke!

"I trust you'll handle the operations well." James Lone was pleased with Jack George's attitude.

He toyed with the green paper in his hand, which was a rather rough-looking one-hundred-credit note.

To be honest, its quality was shabby. The note showed only two lines of text, printed with a laser printer.

The top line boldly stated "100," while the smaller line read, "910 Settlement Standard Work Credit."

It was so poorly made it didn't even have a unique serial number.

James Lone rubbed the note between his fingers. Although the work credit paper was thin yet strong, with intricate patterns, it resembled the accounting paper previously used by the military.

In peaceful times, this sort of poorly manufactured currency would have been easy prey for counterfeiters.

But that was no longer the case.

Now, in the chaos, with such scarcity of resources, where could ordinary survivors find this kind of specialized paper?

Even laser printing was a huge hurdle. Who would take a printer while fleeing for their lives?

And even if they did acquire a printer, the average survivor had no access to electricity.

Thus, these seemingly rough notes possessed decent anti-counterfeiting attributes—but only to others...

James Lone's shelter had electricity, and he had several laser printers in his portable space, remnants of his scavenging.

This meant that as long as he had this green paper, he could print work credits!

However...

James Lone didn't want the hassle.

He could simply have the women burn this paper, refunding him countless copies in return.

Need as many as he wanted? Done!

Making money was too cumbersome; I'll just copy it!

A smirk played at the corners of James Lone's mouth.

Thus, he couldn't care less about the "trivial" profits Jack George was earning.

But copying work credits was tied to the secret of his unique ability, and James Lone would never disclose that to Jack George.

"Now, tell me about the intelligence you've gathered."

"Sure thing." Jack George quickly pulled out a small notebook he kept close to him. "First, the abilities of several top ability users..."