A cold, efficient judgment devoid of any human emotion, generated instantly, as if by a preset program:
[Variable 'Lia': Survival probability less than 15.7%, resources continue to be depleted. Logically optimal solution: Abandon. Variable 'Wrench': Emotional instability index is too high, potential threat coefficient is increasing. Recommendation: Isolate and observe. Variable 'Hook': Abnormal behavior pattern, low efficiency. Recommendation: Force correction...]
"No!" An instinctive fear and resistance, rising from the depths of his soul, surged like a raging tsunami, instantly overwhelmed the cold data stream! His vision suddenly returned to normal, and color, sound, emotion... human perception surged back. His heart pounded in his chest, filled with the intense panic of a life-or-death experience. Cold sweat instantly soaked his already icy back.
What was that just now?! That cold "consciousness" that sees its companions as disposable... where did it come from?! Was it the influence of the "Oasis" mark? Or... were the seeds long planted within that so-called "legacy" beginning to sprout? Split personality... the word floated like a ghost in his chaotic thoughts.
I clenched my fists, digging my nails into my palms. The slight stinging pain became my only anchor against the strange, cold consciousness. I couldn't show any signs of abnormality! Especially at this moment!
"Boss..." The nurse's hoarse voice, filled with despair and exhaustion, broke the dead silence in the culvert. "The bleeding... can't be stopped... osmotic bleeding... the coagulant we brought is not the right type... the effect of the cardiac stimulant is fading... the body temperature is still dropping..." She raised her head, and in the light of the fire, her eyes were bloodshot, filled with the pain of helplessness. "Without professional equipment... without plasma... she... she won't hold on for much longer..."
The nurse's words were like a final death knell, hammering harshly into everyone's heart. Wrench froze, his movements cleaning the machine gun. Bloodshot eyes stared intently at Leah's sallow face, a bestial, suppressed sob emanating from his throat. The hook's carving also stopped, the dagger piercing the wood, his body trembling slightly. Peregrine Falcon closed his eyes in agony. In the shadows, even the mole and the matrix froze in their faintest movements.
The despair in the culvert was as thick as solidified asphalt and so heavy that it was suffocating.
Just when this suffocating silence was about to completely engulf everyone—
“Cough… cough cough…”
A faint, yet remarkably clear cough echoed through the culvert, like a pebble dropped into stagnant water. The source of the sound was a thick shadow deep within the culvert, near the exit.
Everyone shuddered! We instantly entered combat mode! Wrench snatched up the deformed machine gun on the ground (though he knew it might be useless). Hook's dagger flashed across his chest. Peregrine struggled to stand, and the nurse instinctively protected Leah! My nerves instantly tensed to the limit, my "Data Heart" revving, my icy senses heightened to the limit, capturing any movement in the darkness!
"Who?!" Wrench growled, his voice echoing in the culvert with murderous intent.
There was a rustling sound coming from the shadows, like the friction of cloth, or like... a small animal moving?
Then, a faint, orange-yellow light, like a firefly in the dark night, timidly lit up in the darkness. It was an extremely simple lantern made of a scrap metal can and oil-soaked cloth.
The light illuminates the edges of the shadows and also illuminates the owner of the light.
A thin figure, swathed in an oversized, patched, gray-black canvas coat, practically burying him. The hood of the coat obscured most of his face, revealing only a sliver of his pointed chin and a pair of eyes that appeared unusually large and bright in the dim light. Those eyes, distinctly black and white, were as clear as unpolluted spring water, yet now they were filled with fear, vigilance, and a subtle hint of...curiosity.
The lantern's halo flickered slightly, illuminating more shadowy figures behind him. Two equally thin children huddled together, a hunched old woman leaning on a metal cane, and a middle-aged man with a deep scar on his face, a missing arm, and a fierce look in his eyes. Like frightened birds, they huddled tightly behind the boy holding the lantern. Their clothes were similarly tattered, their faces stained with dirt, their eyes filled with deep wariness and... a kind of almost numb tenacity honed by life.
They are the survivors of the Lower Town! A group of "rats" struggling in the cracks of the ruins, who tasted the end of the world earlier than us!
"Don't... don't shoot..." The little boy holding the lantern spoke in a trembling voice, with a thick downtown accent, so childish that it made people's hearts ache. "We... we mean no harm... we just... smell smoke... and blood... and want to... want to see..."
Wrench's tense muscles relaxed slightly, but the vigilance in his eyes remained undimmed. Hook's hand, gripping the dagger, remained steady. In a place like this, any stranger could be a deadly threat.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?" I whispered, deliberately lowering my voice, carrying an undeniable coldness. In this precarious environment, any weakness is a fatal flaw.
"We...we're 'scavengers,'" the boy whispered, seeming frightened by my tone and shrinking back, but the hand holding the lantern stubbornly held on. "We live...down there...in the pipes deeper..." He pointed cautiously with his hand, not holding the lantern, to a place deeper and darker beneath the culvert. "We heard...a loud noise...an explosion...and something falling...and thought...thought it was the 'scavengers' again..."
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