Chen Hao removed his fingers from the newly pressed window frame, the warmth of the squeezed rubber strip still lingering on his fingertips. He straightened up, his shoulders clicking a few times, like a rusty hinge being forcibly bent. The light bulbs in the workshop flickered for half a second, but no one looked up.

Nana was archiving the last test data, the screen light reflecting off her face like a thin layer of frost. Susan closed her notebook, twisting the pen cap twice before finally securing it. Carl squatted beside the clamp, turning the wrench round and round in his hand, though the screws had long been tightened.

“We repaired six windows,” Chen Hao suddenly said. “It took two days.”

No one responded.

“The leaky door was less than a centimeter off.” He walked to the notice board and traced the line “Repair Completed: 6” with his finger. “But that one centimeter almost caused a draft to blow through the entire Zone 3 at night.”

Susan looked up: "Isn't it fixed now?"

"It's fixed," Chen Hao nodded. "But what about next time? What if an earthquake hits and we're still grinding jigs? What if floodwaters come in and we haven't even finished drawing up the shift schedule?"

The air paused for a moment.

Karl released the wrench: "You mean... a drill?"

“Right.” Chen Hao turned around and leaned against the control panel. “We can’t just focus on the wall not collapsing; we also need to keep people calm.”

Nana immediately brought up the database interface: "Historical data shows that in sudden disasters, teams that have received simulation training have an average reaction speed increase of 53% and a casualty rate decrease of more than 60%."

"You even have this?" Susan frowned.

“Yes,” Nana said. “It also includes the fact that, on average, humans forget seven known procedures when they are in a state of panic.”

Carl scratched the back of his head: "So you're worried I'll forget to turn off the valve?"

"I was afraid I'd kick over the fire extinguisher myself," Chen Hao grinned. "Last time I changed a fuse, my hands were shaking like a leaf."

Susan didn't laugh: "We can do drills, but where do we have the time right now? The doors and windows aren't all finished yet, the materials still need to be sorted, and we have two shifts tomorrow."

"That's why we need to practice," Chen Hao said. "It's not about making everyone put down their work to act, but about turning emergency response into a new daily routine."

Nana added: "It is recommended that the drills be designed as a modular process, with each session lasting no more than 30 minutes, and can be scheduled during shift changes."

“Look,” Chen Hao said, raising his hand to Susan, “the robot is more considerate than you are.”

Susan rolled her eyes: "I'm not against practicing, I'm just afraid it will become a mere formality. What's the point of just going through the motions, shouting 'Earthquake!' a couple of times, and then disbanding?"

“Then let’s not just go through the motions.” Chen Hao walked to the whiteboard, picked up a marker, and said, “First, what to do if there’s a real earthquake. Second, how to evacuate if water floods in. Third, how to hold on if the power and internet are cut off.”

For each sentence he spoke, he wrote a word on the whiteboard.

earthquake

evacuation

Power outage

“Everything must have a standard procedure,” he said. “For example, when an earthquake strikes, who should shut off the power valve first, who should check the location of people, and who should guard the communications station.”

Carl stroked his chin: "Then someone has to pretend to be injured, right? Otherwise, with everyone standing there, no one can tell there's a problem."

“Sure.” Nana pulled up the template. “There are already seventeen disaster response plans available for reference, including role allocation, timelines, and fault tolerance mechanisms.”

"Sounds like clocking in at work," Susan muttered.

"It's just another kind of work," Chen Hao laughed. "It's just that this time we're getting a basic living wage."

More and more words appeared on the whiteboard. Chen Hao drew a simple area map, marking the living area, warehouse, power distribution room, and main passageway.

"The drill will be held in an abandoned warehouse area," he said. "It's empty there, and the structure is complex, making it suitable for simulating a chaotic environment."

"How do we generate vibrations?" Carl asked. "We can't just have everyone jumping around, can we?"

“The motor,” Karl continued, “The eccentric wheel motor that was taken from the old workshop is still there. We can put a base on it, fix it to the floor, and it will vibrate when powered on.”

"Can the intensity be controlled?" Susan asked.

“Give it a try,” Carl said. “Turn the voltage down a bit, give it a level four shake first, just in case the house actually collapses.”

"Where's the water sprayer?" Chen Hao asked Susan.

“A water storage tank with a manual valve,” she said. “It’s opened suddenly to simulate a pipe burst or water seepage from the exterior wall.”

"What if the lighting is interrupted?"

“Just disconnect the backup line,” Carl said. “It’s dark anyway.”

Nana has already started entering the plan: "The initial plan includes three scenario modules, with each round of drills lasting 25 to 35 minutes. It is recommended to conduct the drills twice a week, with the first drill scheduled for 3 p.m. tomorrow."

Chen Hao looked at the whiteboard: "It's settled then."

Susan didn't move: "Where are the props? The vibration platform needs a frame welded on, the water pipes need valves connected, and the signal interruption requires a remote switch. We don't have any of these things right now."

The air suddenly felt heavy.

Carl scratched his head: "You're right... we can't even find a decent relay."

"Do you have steel pipes?" Chen Hao asked.

"Half," Susan replied.

"Where's the waterproof tarpaulin?"

"There are two rolls piled up in the corner of the warehouse, I don't know if they're rotten or not."

"Is the motor still working?"

Carl shrugged: "We'll have to take it apart and see; it might be full of dust."

Nana made a list:

- Steel pipes (supporting structure)

- Waterproof fabric (for simulating flooded areas)

- Relay (Remote Power-Off Control)

- Manual valve (water flow simulation)

- Material for mounting the base (vibration machine installation)

“There are five items in total,” Chen Hao read out. “Four and a half items are missing.”

"So now it's on the agenda, but we can't actually do it." Susan put away her notebook. "The idea is good, but reality is holding us back."

"But at least we know what we're missing now." Chen Hao wasn't discouraged. "Before, we didn't even know what we were missing."

Nana said, "The supplies list has been synchronized to the inventory system and marked as high priority."

“The next step is to go and search,” Chen Hao decided. “Tomorrow morning, we’ll split up and search the warehouse to see if we can piece together a makeshift set.”

Carl stood up: "I'll be in charge of disassembling and inspecting the motor."

“I’m going to sort out the waterproofing materials,” Susan said. “And while I’m at it, I’ll see if those two rolls of fabric can hold for another ten minutes.”

“The relays and steel pipes are mine,” Chen Hao said, pointing to himself. “There seems to be a pile of scrap metal lying under the old electrical substation.”

Nana stood in front of the terminal: "I will update the draft process and upload it to the shared directory within two hours."

Chen Hao stretched his wrists and glanced at the sketch on the whiteboard again. The lines were crooked and messy, like a child's drawing of a house. But he thought it looked better than the previous progress bar.

“I used to think that as long as the walls were thick enough and the doors were sturdy enough, I could survive,” he said. “Now I understand that walls can crack, doors can be crooked, and people can get completely confused.”

“So you have to practice,” Susan continued, “practice until you can move without thinking.”

“Yes.” Chen Hao laughed, “Practice until your reflexes are faster than your heartbeat.”

Carl stretched and said, "I'll go to bed early tonight so I'll have the energy to disassemble the motor tomorrow."

"Don't sleep too soundly," Chen Hao said. "If you dream of an earthquake while you're still in bed, I'll write your name into the case studies of failures."

“Then think about what you’re talking about in your sleep,” Carl retorted. “Last night I passed by your door and heard you shouting, ‘Give me another certificate.’”

There was a rare burst of laughter in the room.

The lights remained dim, the machines were stopped, only Nana's screen was still displaying data. Susan put the pen back in her pocket and glanced at her watch. Carl crouched down and began tidying up the tools.

Chen Hao didn't leave. He stood in front of the whiteboard and pointed to the word "earthquake" with the tip of his pen.

"Why do people always wait until something happens before they learn something?" he asked.

No one answered.

Nana whispered, "Because the price wasn't painful enough."

Chen Hao smiled and tossed the pen into the pen holder.

He turned to Nana and asked, "When will the process be ready?"

Nana tapped the screen: "The first version can be generated within two hours."

Susan tidied up her notebook, her brows furrowed slightly, clearly pondering how to balance daily tasks with drill preparations.

Carl squatted on the ground, gesturing to indicate the location for the motor installation, muttering, "We need to find a stable base."

The four remained, the atmosphere tense yet orderly, lingering in the eve of action following the decision.

Chen Hao reached up and touched the back of his neck, where there was an old scar that would swell slightly on cloudy days.

He suddenly remembered something, looked up and asked, "Do we have a timer? The kind that rings, the louder the better."