There were six of them in total, and one transport truck was just enough to fit them all. The journey was just like any other day, except that before this day, they had never gathered together like this before. Every time they scouted the site, they came with other miners.
This is Area 3 in the West District, located below the first two areas. If a description were needed, four words would suffice: dim, noisy, hot, and fetid. Simply put, the people working here are bound to survive without the protective gear they rely on. And those damned demons control the very air they breathe. Some of the survivors still remember the saying, "Who controls the air controls the world!"
In the original propaganda, Area 3 was supposed to be completely maintained by intelligent machines. Anyway, thanks to the demons' mercy, these "intelligent machines" have taken over some of the responsibilities. More accurately, aside from the security drones, they are the "intelligent machines."
When they arrived, the six men wore smiles. Their dire circumstances hadn't made them so happy; they simply smiled at the prospect of a bright future. Unfortunately, their happiness couldn't be shared with others; they had to wear breathing helmets in the elevator. These ugly masks completely covered their heads, making it difficult for them to see clearly and for those outside to distinguish them. So, they could only paint numbers on their helmets in conspicuous white paint. To the powerful figures outside, they were just numbers.
"I'm here to take over, these are newbies!" The leader's poor foreign language came out from his helmet, passed through the toxic smoke in the air, and slowly hit the ears of others.
The people in the sentry box finally understood what he said. He replied in a foreign language with a strong smell of curry: "We don't need any more people here. Let them get back to the surface!"
"Sir! Sir! I have a letter of recommendation here!" The leader took out a few pieces of white paper with a stamp on them from the package, wrapped them in a gold bar and stuffed them into the exchange port of the sentry box.
There was a sound of footsteps coming from the sentry box. The loudspeaker was silent for a moment. Before they could start to get nervous, another voice came out: "Take your letters! And then go hand them over quickly. How long have you been late? You'll have half a month's rations deducted from yours!"
"Thank you, sir! Thank you, sir!" The leader bowed several times towards the observation window of the sentry box in an extremely humble tone, and then retrieved the papers covered with words from the exchange port.
"Here, one per person. You'll need it when we enter Area A4. Keep it safe!" The group set out again. As they made their way, the leader had already revised a few key points on the paper and distributed them to everyone. "Once we enter Area A4, you'll have to rely on this old man. I'm not familiar with the area!" He patted a smaller man beside him.
. . . . . .
Plant had returned to his estate. Thanks to the chaos half a month ago, his estate had managed to get a lot of lifelong servants from the panicked crowd at very low prices. There was no need to worry about those people wasting food, or rather, the feed would not waste much food.
While his family restricted his freedom of marriage, they had no restrictions on his hobbies. So last month, he'd taken advantage of his position to acquire a few mutants as pets. "Squirrels, snakes, spiders, lizards! Oh, and a puppy!" Of course, it wasn't a puppy, but a wolf, perhaps more like the legendary "werewolf"?
Now he has a lot of servants to help feed these mutants, or do they feed them themselves? After Plant hid back, his favorite thing to watch was the daily feeding on closed-circuit television. It was more interesting than those private girls. Every time he saw blood and flesh splattered, he would always exclaim: "Oh, God! They are so strong!"
The biotechnology company controlled by the family had already begun searching for ways to enhance the human body among these mutants. Since they couldn't match the country to the west in the field of exoskeletons, they might as well use their traditional skills. After all, the cost of experiments in this country was as low as possible, and they could have as many volunteers as they wanted.
"Xiao Lin, how far along are you with your experiments?" He was already impatient. If the strengthening potion was ready, he wanted to use it first. He was imagining himself tearing those weaklings into pieces. If he could be as strong as the mutants, that would be even better.
"Mr. President, the GE-03 drug is already under testing, and it will probably take another week! But based on the current situation, I suggest you wait a little longer!" A human voice came from the other end of the holographic call, interspersed with a monster-like roar and the sound of weapons firing.
"I will use all the resources I can to help you. This time, it's not just lip service! Long live the Robert family!"
"Long live the Robert family! We will do it as soon as possible! But Mr. President, please don't bring too many people into the manor. If they mutate, your existing security forces may face some challenges!"
"It doesn't matter. At least mutated creatures won't mutate again. If there were a few bald ones, I'd see a good show, haha!" According to the military, no secondary mutations have been observed yet. Perhaps that western country is doing it on purpose. Those mutants have been herded together. Even if they kill each other until only one is left, the only change will be in size. The documentation on different levels of mutants is a joke!
After finishing his call, Plant pulled a bottle of Sigmate from the wall behind the sofa and, without a glass, poured directly from the bottle. Normally, the captive mutants would have been well-fed by now, allowing for about two hours of inspection time. He pulled a stack of cards from a drawer. These cards contained the numbers of the girls. Simply enter them on a website, and you'll meet them in person within half an hour. He planned to find someone who would accompany him to observe the mutants up close.
. . . . . .
The country in the north has completed half of the relocation of the capital. The building complex on the east coast has been commissioned to a construction fanatic. Now all that remains is the transfer of various materials and civilians.
Although their transportation routes have not been renovated, mainly due to the relatively harsh climate and poor geological conditions, fortunately their population is not large, at least not as large as the two large countries in the south.
On April 22, some of the relocated people had already arrived at their new starting point, but the majority were still crammed together along the way, as a heavy snowstorm had paralyzed traffic.
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