Chapter 103: Wu Fan's Speech
The outpatient hall of the town hospital had been converted into an infusion ward.
Several faded health-awareness posters still hung on the white walls.
As Wu Fan entered, the sharp scent of disinfectant greeted him.
Six hospital beds stood in a row. IV bottles hung beside each bed, transparent tubes running into the thin, bony arms of the patients.
The two rescued pilots lay weakly against their pillows.
Their cheekbones protruded sharply, their eyes were sunken, and their collarbones jutted out like blades beneath their skin.
The ground crew were not much better. One man was so thin that his ribs stood out clearly beneath his shirt.
When they saw Wu Fan enter, they instinctively tried to sit up, but the nurse beside them quickly stopped them.
"Don't move. Stay lying down."
Wu Fan walked over and sat beside one of the beds.
"No need to get up. We can talk like this."
The older pilot's lips trembled slightly. His voice was so hoarse that it was barely audible.
"Thank you... thank you for saving us."
Wu Fan waved dismissively.
"You were lucky. Surviving eight months on nothing but powdered milkshake packets is a miracle. Most people would have starved long ago."
He stood and examined each bedside table.
A small bowl of wheat porridge sat beside every patient. Most of it remained untouched.
Their stomachs had shrunk from prolonged starvation. Solid food was out of the question for now. They needed to recover gradually with liquids before returning to a normal diet.
"Focus on recovering," Wu Fan said. "When you're healthy again, there will be planes waiting for you to fly."
His tone was calm and familiar, the same tone he used when visiting workers or comforting patients.
Turning to the doctor, he added, "Increase their nutrition gradually. Don't rush it. No heavy foods yet."
The doctor nodded immediately.
Wu Fan then turned toward the man standing near the doorway.
Bob Stookey stood straight despite the lingering exhaustion on his face. He wore a faded T-shirt and held a worn baseball cap in his hands.
Only a few days had passed since his rescue from the northern mountains, yet his eyes already carried renewed purpose.
"Former Army medic?" Wu Fan asked.
"Yes, sir."
Bob's voice was steady.
Wu Fan nodded.
"Doctors don't drink while they're working. Can you manage that?"
Bob didn't hesitate.
"That's basic medical ethics. I won't touch alcohol on duty."
Wu Fan extended his hand.
"Good. Help train the next generation. We can't allow human medical knowledge to disappear."
Bob gripped his hand firmly.
"I understand."
Outside, the streets of the town were packed with people.
As Wu Fan stepped out of the hospital, someone shouted,
"Boss!"
The cry spread through the crowd like wildfire.
People poured from houses, construction sites, workshops, and cafeterias. Some still carried bowls of food. Others ran with children on their shoulders.
Hats waved through the air.
Hands clapped.
Voices shouted his name.
The cheers merged into a thunderous roar.
Wu Fan climbed onto a makeshift platform and looked across the sea of faces before him.
The last time he had spoken here, barely one or two hundred people had gathered.
Now there were thousands.
Even after Sean and Merle had taken a thousand people elsewhere, more than four thousand survivors remained at the base.
Four thousand faces.
Four thousand pairs of hopeful eyes.
Four thousand people who had finally found a place to survive in this broken world.
Wu Fan raised a hand.
The crowd immediately fell silent.
"I know you're tired."
His voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly across the square.
"Every day you're hauling bricks, carrying cement, lifting steel beams. It's a lot harder than sitting in an air-conditioned office before the apocalypse."
A few people chuckled.
Others glanced at the calluses covering their hands.
Some lowered their heads, suddenly emotional.
The Boss knew exactly what they were going through.
"Some of you have blisters. Some of you can barely straighten your backs after work. Some are so exhausted that you collapse into bed without even eating dinner."
The crowd remained silent.
"But look beyond those walls."
Wu Fan pointed toward the perimeter defenses.
"Those walkers are still out there."
"They don't get tired."
"They don't feel pain."
"And they never stop."
"If we stop, they will eventually break
through. Your families, your children, and this place where you've finally found peace and safety will disappear."
The square became completely silent.
"So no matter how tired you are, keep
going."
"No matter how hard things become, endure."
"Not for me."
"For yourselves."
"For your families."
"And for the survivors who are still out there waiting for us to find them."
His voice rose slightly.
"Umbrella Corporation isn't a charity."
"But here, you'll have food to eat, a place to sleep, and the security of knowing you won't be torn apart by walkers in the middle of the night."
"Every hour of work you contribute becomes food, medicine, housing, and a better chance of survival."
He paused before speaking the company's slogan.
"Umbrella Corporation: Commitment, Integrity, and Honesty—Building a Better Future for Humanity."
For two seconds, the crowd was silent.
Then the applause erupted.
People cheered.
Some shouted, "Umbrella Corporation!"
Others shouted,
"Boss!"
A few openly wiped tears from their eyes.
Wu Fan raised his hand again.
"Tell me! What's our employee motto?"
Thousands of voices answered in unison
"Discipline unites us! Unity gives us
strength! Strength gives us life!"
Their voices echoed through the town like thunder.
"Excellent."
Wu Fan stepped down from the platform and began walking through the crowd.
People instinctively moved aside for him.
Some reached out as if wanting to touch him but hesitated.
He shook hands with anyone he passed, offering a smile or a nod.
Nearby, Guillermo and his security detail followed closely, sweating nervously as they watched every movement in the crowd.