Volume 1, Chapter 30: Mu Qing's Realization

In the ground-floor lobby of the office building, under the pallid glare of emergency lighting, over a hundred survivors huddled together like a frightened flock of sheep.

Two heavily armed Snow Leopard team members, clutching QBZ-191 assault rifles, patrolled the crowd with cold, sharp eyes. The hollow, dark muzzle of a QJY-201 general-purpose machine gun, set up at the entrance, served as a silent warning against any potential unrest.

The air was thick with suffocating tension. No one dared to speak aloud; even coughs were stifled into muffled grunts. Several children clutched their mothers' clothing, their eyes brimming with tears they dared not let fall.

"Creeeeeak—"

The side door of the lobby swung open. A Snow Leopard member walked in, dragging a small cart stacked with large boxes of vacuum-packed bread and bottled water. The sound of metal wheels grinding against the marble floor was piercingly harsh in the dead silence.

"Listen up, everyone," the soldier stopped, his voice devoid of emotion. "Line up. You will receive food and water in order."

He tapped the pistol at his waist. "But if anyone dares to scream, shout, or cut in line—"

"Bang!" He suddenly pulled his sidearm and fired a shot into the ceiling!

The deafening report echoed through the lobby, startling several women into involuntary screams, which they immediately smothered with their hands.

"—don't blame my gun for having no eyes." He slowly holstered his pistol, as if he had just performed a mundane action. "Now, line up."

The survivors exchanged wary glances; for a moment, no one dared to be the first to move.

"What are you waiting for?" The soldier frowned, his muzzle casually pointed at a middle-aged man in a rumpled suit in the front row. "You. Start with you."

The man was stunned for a second, then a look of frantic joy appeared on his face. He scrambled toward the cart, trembling as he accepted a bag of bread and a bottle of mineral water.

"Th-thank you, Officer!" The man bowed obsequiously, then ripped open the packaging and began to gorge himself.

In less than ten seconds, the palm-sized loaf was gone. He licked the crumbs from the bag, lingering on the taste, then gathered his courage and spoke up: "Um... Officer... c-could I have some more? I’m really... I’m still not full..."

The soldier sneered, his gaze scraping over the man's greasy face like a blade. "Want more? Fine."

The man’s eyes lit up, and he nodded repeatedly. "Yes, yes, yes!"

"There are plenty of zombie corpses on the second through fifth floors that need cleaning up." The soldier pointed toward the stairs. "You go move them down by yourself and stack them in the backyard to be burned. Do that, and you get a double portion."

The man’s expression froze instantly.

"Wh-what?!" His voice rose sharply. "You want me to move corpses?! What kind of soldiers are you?! How dare you order civilians to do manual labor?!"

His face turned beet red, spittle flying as he shouted, "Have you forgotten the mission of the military? To serve the people! I’m going to report you! I’ll find your superior!"

This righteous outburst rang out clearly through the lobby. Some survivors looked on with approval, whispering among themselves; more, however, looked at the man as if he were already dead—at a time like this, who was he to act so entitled?

The soldier slowly lowered the supply box, his movements as gentle as if he were handling something fragile. He reached back and touched his assault rifle, sighing. "Why is it that someone... always wants to go looking for death?"

Before the words had even faded!

"Bang!"

A heavy rifle butt slammed directly into the man’s face! Blood and several shattered teeth flew outward instantly! The man's bridge of his nose collapsed visibly, his entire face twisted and deformed!

"Agh—!!!" The scream was cut short as soon as it began.

The soldier’s combat boot had already stomped down hard on his throat, crushing his head against the marble floor!

"Listen." The soldier leaned down, his voice quiet enough for only those nearby to hear, yet as cold as a Siberian gale. "If you want to survive, be obedient. Understand?"

The man’s pupils dilated with terror, and a raspy, gasping sound squeezed from his crushed throat: "Un... understand..."

The soldier lifted his foot and casually kicked the limp, boneless man aside. "Get out of the way. Next."

The entire lobby fell into absolute silence. The survivors who had just been showing signs of approval were now as pale as ghosts. Several people who had been itching to ask for more food immediately shrank back into the crowd.

The rest of the distribution went smoothly. The survivors stood in a straight, silent line, receiving their meager but life-saving rations. Those who received their share retreated to the corners, cherishing every crumb and terrified to make a sound.

In the corner, the man with the shattered nose curled up, his face slick with blood. No one dared to help him; no one even glanced his way. His trembling hands gripped the blood-stained bag of bread as if it were his last lifeline.

Finally, once all the survivors had received their supplies, the Snow Leopard member’s voice echoed again:

"After you finish eating, all of you will clean up every corpse and every piece of trash in this office building."

"You don't get your next meal until the job is done."

Hearing this, no one dared to utter a word of opposition. They all knew that only by following orders and completing the tasks could they stay alive.

Meanwhile, Mu Qing stood at the stairwell, having witnessed the entire ordeal. Her stomach churned from the violence, yet she chillingly understood the necessity of such cruelty. In an apocalypse where resources were deathly scarce, weakness and excessive mercy only led to greater chaos and death.

Among these survivors, how many had been acting like thugs alongside that Vice President Zhao just a moment ago? How many had watched coldly as girls were abused? Why pretend to be innocent now?

She finally saw it clearly. In this desperate end-times, any shred of pity was merely inviting trouble for oneself. It was thanks to these experiences that she finally understood what the true apocalypse was.

"Don't space out." The Leopard Head's voice came from behind her. "The medical team is here. Help distribute the supplies."

Mu Qing took a deep breath, nodded, and headed toward the entrance. There, several Snow Leopard members were escorting volunteers carrying medical supplies into the lobby. A young girl wearing glasses caught her eye.

It was Liu Ying, the college student who had followed them from the villa area.

"Senior Sister Mu!" Liu Ying noticed her and gasped softly. "Why are you here?"

"It’s a long story." Mu Qing managed a faint smile, taking the medical kit from her hands. "Let's get to work first."

On the other side of the lobby, the Snow Leopard team leader was speaking to Chen Feng over the radio: "Captain... the survivors are mostly under control, but the numbers far exceed expectations. Requesting additional supplies..."

He hung up, his gaze sweeping over the dense crowd of survivors, a hint of gravity crossing his eyes.

Out of these hundred-plus people, how many were truly innocent? How many were potential trouble? In an apocalypse with limited resources, every decision was a matter of life and death.