City H.
A city with an expansive view, City H lies over 400 kilometers from the nearest coastline. Its geographical makeup rendered it arid and rainless for most of the year. The majority of the terrain consisted of plains covered in sand and wild grasses. Human-inhabited areas were enclosed by an impenetrable defensive wall, towering 30 meters high. The wall’s main structure, with a top width of 5.4 meters, was constructed from high-density alloy and radiation-resistant materials.
The world’s most dominant survivor organization—First Base—was situated at the heart of this city.
At the outbreak of the apocalypse, people had not yet grasped the terrifying nature of the zombie virus. Yet City H had moved at lightning speed to construct its formidable defensive wall.
In the early days, this decisiveness earned First Base praise. Unfortunately, the so-called “foresight” now appeared laden with secrets, and admiration had turned into contempt.
Even so, First Base’s early decision-making had granted it ample time to respond to the disaster.
While other cities suffered under the twin assaults of the zombie virus and mutant creatures, First Base was the only entity capable of both self-preservation and extending aid to others. This earned it a reputation for benevolence and strategic partnerships with other forces.
Before the truth came to light, First Base capitalized on its alliances to address its deficiencies. Its most criticized defense systems were overhauled at least three times, incorporating missile defense, signal interception, personnel tracking, and satellite monitoring. These upgrades minimized the threat posed by any modern weaponry still available to humanity.
Today, First Base was the epitome of an impenetrable fortress.
Thick clouds swirled overhead as hundreds of reconnaissance drones maintained a relentless patrol schedule, sweeping the skies every five minutes. The hum of propellers enveloped the entire city in a continuous drone.
Twenty feet below ground, in the underground base, a dozen guards stood vigilant. The alloy walls around them were at least two meters thick. Disturbing cries echoed through the halls, growing louder with every passing moment.
“AAAAAHHHH—”
It was impossible to discern whether the sounds were human or beastly howls.
Anyone who set foot in this secret base knew better than to let curiosity get the better of them.
The prisoner in the locked room was far too significant to ignore. Even the usually stoic guards found themselves instinctively glancing toward the observation port when a particularly harrowing scream pierced the air, desperate to catch a glimpse of what was happening inside.
One guard couldn’t help but pity the prisoner. Once a figure of renown—how did they end up like this?
Bang!
A gunshot rang out, and blood splattered across the corridor.
Smoke wafted from a hidden gun port in the wall. A guard in protective gear froze mid-movement, his body stiffening before collapsing heavily onto the ground.
Two others stepped out from the formation and silently dragged the unfortunate man away, while the remaining guards resumed their posts without so much as a flinch.
In the monitoring room, staff scrutinized the surveillance feeds, carefully noting the condition of their subject in research reports.
Each of them had overseen unspeakably cruel experiments before. Yet, for all their hardened detachment, even they couldn’t help but wince at the state of the subject displayed on the screen.
The observation chamber was a complete wreck. A humanoid figure was strapped to a surgical table with heavy steel cables.
All around were decaying chunks of blackened flesh and shattered organs. The grotesque remains all came from the room’s lone occupant—if it could still be called a living being.
The subject thrashed and roared wildly. Purplish veins bulged at his temples, and his limbs writhed against the steel restraints. The constant friction tore his skin, exposing layers of fat, blood vessels, and bone beneath.
The previous second, flesh sprayed across the walls and floor. The next, fresh muscle and tissue grew rapidly over the exposed bones of the figure strapped to the table. This extraordinary regenerative ability caused the researchers to light up with a mix of fascination and dread.
Unfortunately, they couldn’t get too close to this specimen. Its destructive potential was unparalleled. Even the specially designed iron restraints could only hold it when it wasn’t in a hunting state.
The moment it caught the scent of a living human, it would instantly break free and tear its target to shreds.
Observers had given up trying to determine if the creature retained any shred of human consciousness.
Like the tyrannosaurus experiment before it, this specimen was beyond communication, too dangerous to study, and posed a threat even to its handlers. Putting it down swiftly seemed the only logical choice.
However, the general had issued strict orders. The researchers were to do everything in their power to restore the subject’s consciousness, even if it meant pushing its life to the brink of exhaustion.
Watching the grotesque creature on the screen, the adjutant’s expression was conflicted. The moment was broken by a mocking voice behind him.
“A perfect example of digging your own grave.”
The adjutant stiffened, wisely keeping his mouth shut to avoid drawing his superior’s anger.
But the general, Yan Zhongjie, didn’t stop. A cold smile crept across his face as he turned toward the shattered remains of the figure on the monitor. “This world is full of ‘geniuses.’ Arrogant fools who think their cleverness makes everyone else a pawn in their game. They throw themselves into danger, believing they can control everything. And look where it gets them—like this pitiful creature.”
He sneered, his tone laced with venom. “Tell me, Wen Jingfeng, isn’t it laughable?”
The prisoner, Wen Jingfeng, seemed to snap out of a daze and finally acknowledged the general’s words. “Oh? You were addressing me, General Yan? Sorry, I was distracted. What’s the matter? Something troubling you?”
Yan Zhongjie’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
Wen Jingfeng, unfazed, maintained a nonchalant air, his hardened demeanor giving nothing away. Even as his gaze flicked to the monstrous figure on the monitor, his reaction was one of mild curiosity, as if watching a street performance.
“You don’t fear ending up like him?” Yan Zhongjie asked coldly.
Wen Jingfeng casually flicked at the shock collar on his wrist, a faint smile playing on his lips. “General, you exaggerate. Dr. An Qi looks quite spirited to me. If he were truly dead, would you even have the time to be standing here exchanging pleasantries with me?”
Yan Zhongjie’s face darkened further, but Wen Jingfeng pressed on. “Then again, dying quickly would’ve been too kind for him. After all, wasn’t it Dr. An Qi who defied your objections and insisted on using himself as bait to capture the first tyrannosaurus in City G? Not only did the plan fail, but he fused with the second one and turned himself into this mindless wreck.”
Wen Jingfeng’s tone grew sharper. “Now everyone knows that the zombie virus and the mutants were First Base’s creations. All the pressure has fallen squarely on your shoulders. Sure, City H might not care about public opinion for now, but what about the future? What’s your plan then?”
He leaned forward slightly, his words cutting deeper. “With City H’s arid climate and scarce freshwater resources, not to mention the lack of critical minerals, you’re dependent on trade with other factions. If they unilaterally sever ties and stop supplying resources, how is that any different from a self-imposed siege?”
“Those S-tier mutants formed neutral zones to give humanity breathing room, but you failed to seize the opportunity to claim all the territories as planned. What a pity. Dispersed survivor groups have drastically undermined your control, haven’t they? Now you lack the strength to dominate through intimidation.”
Wen Jingfeng’s words were relentless, laying out every weakness of First Base. His calm delivery only seemed to fuel Yan Zhongjie’s fury.
The general’s veins bulged at his temple as his clenched fists cracked audibly.
The adjutant noticed Yan Zhongjie reaching for a control device and hurried to intervene. “General! Please calm down! With his vitals already weakened from prolonged drug exposure, another shock could kill him!”
“Kill him?” Yan Zhongjie shoved the adjutant aside, glaring as he held the device. “Does he look half-dead to you? He’s as lively as ever!”
Wen Jingfeng let out a low, mocking laugh, unfazed by the threat.
Before Yan Zhongjie could act, Wen Jingfeng delivered one final barb, this time aimed at Dr. An Qi on the screen. “An Qi was an arrogant genius, sure. But deep down, he was a paranoid and selfish coward. I bet he never told anyone where the crystals capable of controlling S-tier mutants are hidden.”
With a smirk, he added, “First Base is a juicy prize, tempting even those who don’t care about the truth. If An Qi dies, you’ll have to face hordes of vengeful mutants and enraged survivors.”
His voice took on a mocking tone. “When that day comes, General, I wonder if you’ll be lucky enough to leave behind even an intact corpse.”
Bang!
Yan Zhongjie’s fist struck Wen Jingfeng square in the face.
Wen Jingfeng had tried to raise his hands in defense but was too weak from days of captivity. He crumpled to the floor, coughing and clutching his mouth, his gaze icy and sharp.
“Drag him out!” Yan Zhongjie barked at the guards, his fury barely contained. “String him up! No food or water!”
The adjutant hesitated before speaking cautiously. “General, if he dies, what about Wen Xin—”
“Deal with that after he’s dead!” Yan Zhongjie cut him off, glaring fiercely. “Or do you want to join him in the observation chamber?”
The adjutant immediately fell silent.
Not long after Wen Jingfeng was dragged away, a staff member emerged from the underground elevator and hurried to Yan Zhongjie. “General, there’s a communication from the H72313 signal tower, ten kilometers out.”
Ordinary communications didn’t usually reach Yan Zhongjie directly.
Suppressing the lingering fury in his chest, Yan Zhongjie followed the staff member to the communications room.
The moment the call connected, the voice on the other end mentioned a name that Yan Zhongjie never wanted to hear again.
“Where is Wen Jingfeng?”
Still fuming, Yan Zhongjie let out a dark laugh. “He’s alive for now, but who knows what will happen in a little while. Want me to send you a piece of him? A finger, a hand, a toe, maybe a leg? Or how about his heart, liver, spleen, lungs, and kidneys? Whatever you like, I’ll send it all!”
The voice on the other end fell silent.
Yan Zhongjie’s twisted satisfaction grew—until the voice spoke again, calm and cutting.
“I’ve made myself very clear in our previous discussions, General Yan. I must see Wen Jingfeng alive and unharmed.”
Yan Zhongjie opened his mouth to retort, but the voice interrupted, sharper now. “Listen to me, General. There will be no negotiation on this point. If you can’t meet this basic condition, I have every reason to believe you’re not negotiating in good faith.”
“Which means my next steps will be simple,” the voice continued. “First, I’ll surround First Base and cut off your water and food supplies. Second, I’ll destroy your signal towers and surrounding outposts, severing all your communication channels with the outside world. Anyone who sets foot outside First Base will be executed on sight.”
“You’ve seen the power of S-tier mutants firsthand, General. I hear Dr. An Qi has safely returned to First Base. In all this time, have you managed to get him to reveal the location of the crystals?”
The voice gave a faint chuckle. “I’m guessing you haven’t. Otherwise, knowing your style, you wouldn’t have been sitting quietly for so long, let alone resorting to such petty tricks as sowing discord.”
“General Yan, with so few cards left in your hand, where do you get the audacity to threaten me with Wen Jingfeng’s life?”
The laughter was like a hammer striking Yan Zhongjie’s heart.
His brows twitched as he retorted instinctively, “You wouldn’t dare! If you gamble Wen Jingfeng’s life recklessly, the factions supporting you now will turn against you!”
The voice calmly countered, “General Yan, do you think the current population of First Base outweighs the countless dead who have perished in this disaster?”
Yan Zhongjie couldn’t immediately respond.
He knew the answer all too well—and precisely which way the scales would tip.
“So, if it comes to that, it will have nothing to do with Wen Jingfeng,” the voice continued evenly. “For both the dead and the living, this matter demands closure, even if it requires sacrifice.”
Grinding his teeth, Yan Zhongjie spat his words out slowly, “Then I will torture him in front of you…”
“Feel free,” the voice replied, light as a breeze. “I’ll make sure to remember every detail and repay every ounce of suffering he endures—tenfold, a hundredfold.”
The words were delivered without a hint of emotion, no shouting or aggression. Yet Yan Zhongjie felt the weight of unrelenting determination and ruthless resolve behind them.
He realized he couldn’t continue this confrontation, at least not now. Wen Xin had already deduced the truth: the crystals capable of controlling S-tier mutants were not in his possession.
Fortunately, Wen Xin only suspected they weren’t with him. He didn’t know that Dr. An Qi, now insane, couldn’t reveal their location even if he wanted to.
Faced with this dilemma, Yan Zhongjie chose to endure.
Letting out a derisive snort, he said, “Brat, all bark and no bite. Here’s my advice: don’t celebrate too soon.”
Wen Xin ignored the jab and reiterated, “I need to confirm Wen Jingfeng’s condition.”
Yan Zhongjie fell silent.
The brothers’ sheer disregard for others was maddeningly similar. They seemed cut from the same mold.
When Yan Zhongjie didn’t respond, Wen Xin was about to repeat himself when the general, clearly irritated, barked an order to his subordinates: “Bring him here.”
Understanding who was to be brought, Wen Xin fell silent, waiting patiently.
Time crawled by. After about ten minutes, a hoarse and exhausted voice finally came through the line: “I’m here.”
It had been nearly three months since Wen Jingfeng disappeared.
Wen Xin’s hand tightened around the receiver, his breath hitching slightly as he said, “Brother.”
The voice on the other end chuckled weakly. “Took you long enough.”
The tension in Wen Xin’s chest eased slightly. He quickly asked, “How are you? Yan Zhongjie assured me that you wouldn’t—”
“Assured you? Really? Do you think he’s someone who keeps his promises? You might want to check if he even has a conscience. I’d wager his brain is empty, too.”
Wen Xin: “…”
Yan Zhongjie: “…”
The adjutant hastily grabbed Yan Zhongjie’s clenched fist. “General, calm down! Please!”
Suppressing a sigh, Wen Xin rubbed his temples and warned, “Brother, tone it down a little. If you end up getting yourself killed, I’m not going to pick up the pieces.”
For once, Wen Jingfeng didn’t argue back. “Fine, fine. Whatever keeps you happy. Your brother’s in no rush. Be good.”
The staff member listening to the exchange couldn’t help but twitch at the corners of his mouth.
If he didn’t know the dire situation Wen Jingfeng was in, he might have thought this was a VIP leisurely chatting while on vacation.
Wen Xin tactfully ignored his brother’s flippant remarks.
Wen Jingfeng yawned lazily. “Alright, alright. Your brother’s tired and wants to sleep. If you don’t have anything else to say, let’s hang up.”
Despite his voice sounding full of energy, his physical condition was precarious. He was teetering on the edge of collapse and could pass out at any moment.
Yan Zhongjie wasn’t a fool. No matter how angry he was, his vigilance didn’t waver. He stood nearby, staring unblinkingly at Wen Jingfeng.
Wen Jingfeng had no doubt that if he so much as tried to spill any details about Dr. An Qi’s situation to Wen Xin, the gun aimed at his temple would go off before he could utter a single word.
He brushed his fingers over the burns left by the electric shocks, lowering his lashes as a shadow of uncertainty crossed his face.
On the other end of the line, Wen Xin’s tone suddenly softened. “Brother,” he called gently.
Wen Jingfeng chuckled. “What’s with that tone? Are you acting coy with your big brother?”
“Yes,” Wen Xin replied earnestly. “I’m acting coy because I want you to promise me something: from now on, put yourself first.”
Wen Jingfeng froze mid-movement.
“You’ve done enough, Brother. From here on, let me take care of the rest,” Wen Xin continued. “All you need to do is look after yourself.”
Wen Jingfeng masked his emotions with a teasing laugh. “Well, aren’t you getting bold.”
“Brother.”
“Hmm?”
In a tone as gentle as coaxing a child, Wen Xin said seriously, “Take care of yourself, okay? Wait for me to bring you home.”
“…Alright.” Wen Jingfeng’s hand fell away from the burn on his skin. He raised his eyebrows, his voice soft and warm. “I’ll wait for you to bring me home.”
