After leaving Lucy's apartment, Brian quickly ran through his mental checklist—he only had Anna and Marlene's clinic left to visit.
However, he remembered Sarah mentioning yesterday that she'd be going to see Anna the next day. So he decided to cancel his trip to the clinic and postpone it until he could go together with Sarah.
Once he confirmed he had no other errands, Brian headed to the residential building where Amir lived. But instead of knocking on Amir's door, he walked down the corridor to the stairwell at the far end—the one that descended underground.
Amir's unit was located in the bottom-right corner of the first floor. The staircase leading upward from there had collapsed during the Catastrophe, and given Amir's position as a patrol soldier, the other residents of the building generally avoided that area. No one in their right mind would wander into that dark, gloomy stairwell without good reason.
The narrow, shadowy stairwell was filled with a chilly draft rising from below. When Brian reached the turn leading to the lowest level, he was stopped by a locked iron door—a large, bright orange-yellow padlock hung from the latch.
He reached into his pants pocket, pulled out a key, and easily unlocked the padlock. Pushing the door open, he stepped inside. The long corridor ahead was flanked on both sides by ruined basements. Water dripped intermittently from the ceiling, producing a steady, lonely drip-drip that echoed through the dimness.
Brian took a flashlight from his belt and shone it ahead. He occasionally swept the beam left and right to inspect the ruined basements until he finally stopped in front of a gap in the wall.
Beyond that opening stretched an even wider hallway. On the right wall, an "Emergency Exit" sign hung above a fully sealed roller shutter door. To the left stood only two room doors, both secured with digital combination locks. Further ahead, around the corridor's bend, the passage to other areas was completely buried under rubble.
In short, aside from the way he'd come and the roller shutter on the right, this place was a completely sealed-off space—the secret cache where Brian and his group stored their supplies.
Originally, this had been the storage area for a small convenience store. After the corridor collapsed during the Catastrophe, this small section became entirely buried underground. Brian had stumbled upon it by chance during one of his early reconnaissance missions in Sector A.
Thanks to its extreme secrecy—and the fact that the roller shutter led directly to a hidden alleyway outside—the location was practically perfect for hiding supplies. Moreover, it was very close to one of smuggler Norsen's operational outposts, allowing them to quickly receive and move any contraband brought in.
After weighing all these advantages, Brian and his team decided to turn it into their primary secret depot. That's why, when Amir was assigned as a patrol soldier in Sector A, he voluntarily requested to be stationed in this area—making it easier to transport and store supplies without drawing suspicion.
Brian stepped over the rubble on the floor and entered the corridor. He approached the first door on the left, entered a password into the digital lock, and with a metallic creak, the door slowly swung open.
Inside, he skillfully lit a kerosene lamp placed by the entrance. The faint flame gradually pushed back the darkness of the room.
The chamber measured about thirty square meters. Metal shelving units stood in neat rows throughout the space. Sealed crates rested on the shelves, carefully elevated off the damp floor using wooden supports. Inside them were two full years' worth of resources acquired through barter, along with prohibited items that could never be discovered by the government military.
The first two rows on the left held firearms and ammunition, all stored in large wooden crates lined with dry straw to prevent moisture and damage. In the center were medical kits, first-aid supplies, and essential medicines. To the right were stacked cans of preserved food, vacuum-sealed rations, and an assortment of mechanical equipment and spare parts—all meticulously sorted and labeled.
At the far end of the room stood a rusted table with a locked drawer. Inside lay an emergency walkie-talkie, capable of contacting other team members in critical situations. Everything stored here represented, quite literally, their lives and their future.
Brian grabbed a backpack from one of the shelves and walked over to the food section. He packed several sealed rations inside until the backpack was about half full, then decided to stop.
He left the room, reactivated the digital lock, and on his way back up the stairs, secured the iron door once more with the large padlock. Then he left the building.
He knew perfectly well he couldn't pass through official checkpoints—they inspected all personal belongings. And his backpack contained canned food—items never distributed within the quarantine zone. If discovered, given his position as leader of the Search Team, he'd be immediately charged with illegal hoarding of resources—a crime that wouldn't just condemn him, but also endanger all his teammates.
But Brian, who operated skillfully between legality and the black market, would never leave unprepared. Once on the street, he headed straight to the next block, where, near the perimeter wall of the quarantine zone, stood an abandoned government office building.
The building's entrance was wide open. Two men who appeared to be ordinary residents chatted casually while sitting at the threshold. Inside, on benches along the corridor, several middle-aged women watched over a group of children playing nearby.
This place was, in fact, one of Norsen's clandestine entry points. Everyone living here was his subordinate, and thanks to massive bribes paid to Sector A officials, even their families had been relocated here. In practice, the entire building belonged exclusively to Norsen.
Entering with the backpack slung over his shoulder, the men at the door recognized him instantly. They nodded with a knowing smile and stepped aside to let him pass.
As soon as his figure disappeared around the corridor's bend, one of them slipped into a small adjacent room and, using a walkie-talkie, informed those inside of his arrival. Then he carefully logged the information in a notebook.
"Hey, Brian!"
As he walked down the hallway, a door ahead suddenly opened. A bald Black man wearing glasses stepped out into the corridor. Seeing Brian, he greeted him with a wide smile.
"Morning," Brian replied with a slight nod.
Noticing the man following him, Brian raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"What's up? Are you so free today that you're seeing me off?"
The man's name was Jeffrey. He served as Norsen's de facto "steward" in Sector A and, at the same time, his primary contact. All smuggled goods had to be verified by him, so Brian and he had developed a fairly close working relationship.
"Well, you know how things are in the quarantine lately," Jeffrey explained as he walked behind him. "Search teams are going on fewer missions, and smuggling has dropped significantly. So… I'm taking the chance to rest a bit."
He glanced at Brian's backpack.
"Where are you headed with that?"
"To the black market in Sector E. Got to visit a friend."
Chatting amiably, they walked down the wide corridor, turning again and again through its labyrinthine passages, until they finally stopped in front of a door at an unmarked junction.
Click.
Brian pushed the door open, and they stepped inside. The room was an utterly ordinary office space, laid out in an L-shape. To the right, desks, chairs, and benches covered in dust lay in disarray. To the left, a cozy lounge area with a sofa and fireplace offered a warm contrast.
On the sofa sat two figures. One was an elderly man with silver hair and reading glasses, absorbed in a pre-Catastrophe newspaper. The other was a man in his forties, bearing a strong resemblance to the elder—as if they were father and son.
Hearing the door open, the middle-aged man tensed instantly—but relaxed the moment he recognized Jeffrey.
Jeffrey waved a hand, signaling he didn't need to get up. Then he walked over to the built-in cabinet against the wall and, smiling, asked:
"Need a hand?"
"If you can manage it," Brian replied with a grin.
They positioned themselves on either side of the heavy piece of furniture. Brian braced his shoulder against the wood and nodded.
"One, two, three—go!"
With coordinated effort, the cabinet began sliding sideways, slowly revealing an opening in the wall just wide enough for a person to pass through.
Behind the gap yawned a vertical tunnel—straight and deep as a well. The bottom was impossible to see. Anyone unfamiliar with the place would never dare jump in without hesitation.
"Ha! With a body like yours, you really ought to work out more," Brian teased, watching Jeffrey pant after moving the cabinet.
"Damn you!" Jeffrey shot back, well aware his fitness had declined since he'd been stuck doing administrative work. But of course, he'd never admit it. "Get the hell out of here already, you insolent bastard!"
"Ha, ha!" Brian laughed. "Thanks. Next time, I'll buy you a beer."
With that, he stepped to the edge of the opening, crouched down, and peered into the abyssal darkness. He took a deep breath—and leapt in.