In the compound of the Ability Users' Brigade, it was that time of day again—supply distribution.

Teresa Taylor approached the supply point.

"I'm here to pick up my items."

"Captain Taylor, here's your allocation for today: ten bottles of purified water, five cans of food, and 200 work credits. Please take care of it," the supply officer said, bowing slightly.

The other ability users nearby looked on in envy.

This was a level of rationing reserved only for the elite ability users. The average ability user received just two bottles of water, a can of food, and ten work credits.

But no one dared to question it.

Teresa Taylor was simply too powerful.

She nodded slightly, replying casually, "Thank you."

With her supplies in hand, she made her way to the area where ordinary survivors were gathered.

After days of intense construction, this place had transformed into a shantytown.

All vegetation had been cleared away. A sea of military tarpaulins now covered the entire area.

Under each tarpaulin was a standard survivor's dwelling: one meter deep, three meters wide, and eight meters long. The soil excavated to create these homes was used to build walls about a meter high, topped with a military tarp that formed a cramped living space with a height of just two meters.

Each shelter housed ten people.

Currently, around thirty thousand survivors had their own homes, while the majority still waited for new housing to be built.

Even in such harsh living conditions, it was certainly better than being outdoors.

Survivors fought fiercely over these accommodations, scrapping daily just for a chance to stake their claim.

Teresa Taylor leveraged her status to secure early housing for survivors from the television station's base.

"Zone 3, Unit 1050," she muttered as she walked inside.

Several elderly men in their fifties looked up with smiles, rushing forward.

"Director Taylor is here!"

Teresa handed out her supplies to them.

"Ten bottles of purified water, five cans of food, and 200 work credits—this should last you three to four days. I'll come back in a few days."

These elderly survivors were the few Teresa had managed to bring from the television station.

The younger folks were out working, leaving the old behind.

There were no jobs available for them anymore; the soldiers were collecting the fit and able only.

Yes, even finding work now required being chosen among the throngs of strong survivors vying for the same positions.

As she entered the settlement, Teresa had already faced scorn from a group of ability users, all to secure better treatment for these elderly folks.

The old men were profusely grateful.

"Thank you so much, Director Taylor!"

"If it weren't for Director Taylor, I'd likely have perished on the road!"

......

Teresa said nothing, walking out of the room feeling weighed down.

When she left the television station base, there had been over forty people over the age of fifty.

Now, only these few remained.

At the start of the journey, there had even been a few children under fifteen, but tragically, they had all perished along the way.

In this calamity, it was hard for the young and able to survive, and even harder for the elderly and children.

The dangers on the road were merely part of the struggle.

What irked Teresa the most was the 910 settlement's utter disregard for the elderly and young.

Regardless of who it was, if you couldn't find a job, you were left to fend for yourself or starve!

From a rational standpoint, it was understandable.

But was this really the official stance of our country?

Teresa clenched her fists silently.

Bruce Scott...

He truly was nothing but a greedy, corrupt land baron!

As she pondered the chaos within the 910 settlement, her frustration grew heavier.

There was half-open human trafficking.

Though they held the nation's reserve warehouses, possessing an immense supply of goods that could support everyone for quite some time, survivors were left to sustain themselves on odd and dubious mutated vegetables and breadfruit.

The upper echelon was too frightened to drink the mushroom water themselves but deceitfully encouraged others to do so.

Corruption infected the processes of conscriptions and housing allocations, infiltrating every aspect.

The environment was chaotic, filled with fighting, looting, and women being assaulted. Even when caught, offenders could escape punishment simply by bribing soldiers with work credits.

......

With a great sigh, Teresa felt helpless.

Bruce Scott was brazenly promoting his cronies and the people of Saint Martin Town. While this brought chaos to the 910 settlement, he had undeniably solidified his grip on power.

The people she had brought from the television station had been scattered and redistributed across different departments.

The officers and ability users in power were rewarded accordingly and swiftly became compliant with the arrangement of the 910 settlement.

No matter her strength, Teresa couldn't match the numbers.

Just then, a man in military uniform hurried past, noticing Teresa and initially trying to sidestep her, but when caught in her gaze, he steeled himself and stepped forward.

"Director Taylor," he said awkwardly.

Teresa smiled brightly. "Lieutenant Kay, where are you currently working?"

Lieutenant Kay forced a grin. "I'm tasked with maintaining order in the mushroom field."

"That's quite the cushy gig."

"It's alright. That... I've got some things to attend to, so I'll be on my way."

"Alright, see you later."

"Goodbye, Director Taylor," he said quickly as he left.

Teresa chuckled softly to herself.

Though she wasn't power-hungry, it felt uncomfortable being so distanced.

Throughout their journey, she had saved Lieutenant Kay's life at least twice.

Now he was deliberately avoiding her.

Teresa couldn't help but admire Bruce Scott's cunning.

He truly was a master at manipulating human nature and wielding power.

In terms of division and persuasion, Bruce Scott was indeed a top-tier genius.

As the top fighting force of the settlement, Teresa was the captain of the second patrol team of ability users.

With three patrol teams in total, boasting over eighty of the strongest fighters in the settlement, they mostly lacked a defined purpose unless danger arose.

Feeling discontented, Teresa gave her subordinates casual instructions before wandering around by herself.

Outside the 910 settlement, the market had grown riotously vibrant.

Situated by the east gate, it was known as East Gate Market.

There were now over 300 stalls operating within the market.

In reality, the authorities hadn't issued that many permits.

However, where there was a policy, there were ways to get around it.

Bruce Scott hadn't stated that a permit could only operate a single stall, so some took advantage of the loophole.

Those without permits would pay to associate themselves with a legitimate vendor, using their credentials to sell their own goods.

That was relatively above board.

Numerous black marketeers mingled within the crowd, their demeanor decidedly questionable.

Wearing baggy clothing that could conceal various items, they'd spring on potential customers with offers.

"Hey, brother, you interested? Good stuff!"

It was reminiscent of the illicit DVD days back in the day.

Bruce Scott was surely aware of this situation, yet for reasons unknown, he hadn't made any moves to rectify it.

After wandering for a while, a middle-aged woman sidled up to Teresa, a glint of mischief in her eyes.

"Ma'am, do you want this?" she whispered furtively.

Teresa intended to refuse; the black market goods were riddled with scams and deception.

She normally preferred buying from stalls, which provided some semblance of reliability.

However, upon glancing down, she was taken aback.

It was sanitary napkins!

Teresa's heart raced with desire.

She couldn't help it; no matter how strong a woman was, nature had its demands.

Plus, this was a consumable item—her stock had long run out, leaving her to make do with ragged cloth.

And Teresa was fortunate enough; her power meant she could bring plenty of old clothes along.

The average female survivor was barely able to care for herself, let alone attend to such trivial matters.

When Aunt Flow finally arrived, and blood flowed freely without water to wash up, the pungent smell would draw the attention of vicious predators.

That was one reason why female mortality rates were so high.

Her interest piqued, Teresa inquired, "How much?"

"Fifteen work credits a pack!"

"Too expensive!"

"Ma'am, you're a woman of stature! Is a little credit an issue?"

After some back-and-forth haggling, Teresa grudgingly parted with 25 work credits for two packs.

Just as she tucked the sanitary napkins into her backpack, a familiar voice teased her from nearby.

"Did a relative of yours show up?"

Surprised, Teresa looked up, her face blooming into a radiant smile.

"James Lone!"