Bzzt… crackle…

The voice drifting from the speaker was distorted by static, but the words were clear enough.

“…Nana and Chen Ye closed the deal. Four 500ml cans of beer in exchange for a carton of Lotus and a carton of Tazi cigarettes.”

“…Nana feels cheated. She’s pissed. Keeps calling Chen Ye a black-hearted profiteer.”

“…Iron Lion is still comatose inside the bus. Recovery is slow.”

“…The bus welcomed a new member today.”

“…Xu Jiaojiao is at it again. She’s trying to unionize the other survivors, babbling about overthrowing the ‘dark rule’ of the leadership. It’s not working. After the disaster at Longevity Village, her reputation is trash. Toppling Team Fairness? She’s dreaming.”

Inside his tent, Captain Chu Che hummed a cheerful tune as he stirred a bucket of red paint. The [Eavesdropping Radio], Artifact 01257, sat on the table, spilling the convoy’s dirty laundry into the air.

When the radio mentioned the deal between Chen Ye and Nana, the corners of Chu Che’s mouth curled up.

“Interesting,” he murmured. “That gloomy kid actually managed to hustle Nana? Impressive.”

He listened on. Iron Lion was still out. Chu Che did a quick mental calculation. The big guy would probably wake up tomorrow. That was fine. Everything was under control.

Then there was Xu Jiaojiao.

Chu Che scoffed, dipping his brush into the crimson paint. That woman, the runaway from Deer City, was a headache. She preached gender equality and fairness, foaming at the mouth because three of the four Sequence Beyonders in the convoy were men. She called it a patriarchy; Chu Che called it statistics.

She had tried to stage a coup once. It had been adorable. Chu Che had only needed a few small maneuvers to crush her little rebellion and leave the militant activist looking like a clown.

She still hasn’t given up? Still scurrying around in the shadows?

Poor girl. She didn’t realize that in this convoy, there were no shadows. Not with the radio listening.

Once, Chu Che had been a sunny, upright young man. But the Apocalypse changed people. Ever since he bound the [Eavesdropping Radio], he had developed a certain… hobby.

Listening to the secrets of others was the highlight of his day. It was an addiction. The thrill of knowing who was sleeping with whom, who was hiding food, who was plotting betrayal—it was intoxicating.

To the outside world, he was the charismatic, moral leader. In private, he was a voyeur who got off on listening at the wall roots. He knew every skeleton in every closet in the convoy. It was the burden—and the pleasure—of his Artifact.

Chu Che picked up the paint bucket and strolled out of the tent, whistling.

He walked over to his modified off-road vehicle and slapped the wet brush against the dusty metal door. With bold, jagged strokes, he painted two large red characters for everyone to see.

FAIRNESS.

Elsewhere in the camp, Chen Ye was staring at a glowing blue interface, his expression less than enthusiastic.

[System Query: Consume 362 Slaughter Points to process and upgrade the target materials?]

Three hundred and sixty-two?

Chen Ye frowned. “That’s steep.”

When he had upgraded the tricycle’s canopy using discarded clothes, it had only cost two hundred points. Now, just fabricating some reinforcement fittings cost nearly double that.

And this was just for the roll cage. It didn’t even include the trailer hitch or the chassis modifications.

He did the math. If he wanted to go through with his original plan—converting the bike wheels into a towable trailer—the total cost would skyrocket past 1,000 Slaughter Points.

The problem was raw materials. He didn’t have enough steel. The System had to synthesize the missing mass using pure energy, and that burned through points like fuel.

Chen Ye sighed, tapping his fingers against the handlebars. He had to be pragmatic. The trailer was a luxury; armor was a necessity.

He mentally shelved the trailer project. The canopy reinforcement took priority.

“Confirm,” he muttered.

[Slaughter Points Deducted: 362] [Upgrade in Progress…] [Time Remaining: 00:59:59]

One hour. Acceptable.

Chen Ye leaned back against the tire of his tricycle and fished a cigarette from his pocket. He clicked his lighter, inhaling deeply as the nicotine flooded his system, triggering his passive healing.

With an hour to kill, he decided to train.

He exhaled a thick plume of white smoke. Instead of letting it dissipate, he focused his will. The smoke swirled, thickening into a dense, grey mass.

[Smoke Mimicry].

At his command, the smoke twisted into the shape of a tiger. It looked… off. The proportions were wrong, the movement stiff. It looked less like a predator and more like a cartoon he’d seen on TV.

He dissolved it and tried a python. Same result. He had never seen a real python, only pixels on a screen. His brain couldn’t fill in the details required for a convincing construct.

He switched to things he knew. A stray cat. A mangy dog. The smoke snapped into focus, the forms lifelike and fluid.

Familiarity is key, Chen Ye noted. If I can’t visualize the anatomy, the construct fails.

A thought struck him. If living creatures were too complex, what about objects?

He visualized his Hand Crossbow.

The smoke condensed, hardening into the shape of the weapon. He reached out and grabbed it. It felt solid, cold to the touch. He pulled the trigger.

Click.

Nothing happened. It was a perfect replica, down to the grain of the wood, but it lacked the mechanical function. It couldn’t fire.

A bluff, Chen Ye mused, dissolving the gun. I can’t shoot with it, but in the dark, pointed at someone’s head? It might be enough.

He spent the next forty minutes cycling through objects—knives, wrenches, bottles. He pushed himself until a needle-like pain stabbed behind his eyes, a warning that his mental energy was bottoming out.

He stopped, massaging his temples until the throbbing subsided.

The desert night was oppressive. The wind howled through the dunes, carrying with it the sounds of the camp. Low murmurs from tents. The crackle of dying fires.

And other sounds.

From a nearby vehicle came the rhythmic squeaking of suspension springs and the muffled, frantic moans of a couple trying to find comfort in the end of the world.

Chen Ye ignored them. His focus was on the temperature. It was dropping rapidly, the desert heat vanishing into the void. A day ago, he would be shivering uncontrollably, huddled under a blanket. Now, thanks to the physique enhancement from his Awakening, he just felt a mild chill.

[Ding!] [Accessory Upgrade Complete!]

Chen Ye stubbed out his cigarette and stood up.

Under the pale, sickly light of the blood moon, the pile of rusty bicycle frames was gone. In their place lay a neat stack of pristine steel pipes, heavy-duty clamps, and mounting brackets.

They didn’t look like scrap anymore. They looked like factory-grade industrial components.

“Beautiful,” Chen Ye whispered.

He grabbed his toolbox and went to work.

The assembly was intuitive. He bolted the base clamps onto the tricycle’s cargo bed, tightening them until his knuckles turned white. Then came the vertical struts, locking into place with a satisfying metallic thunk.

He draped the patchwork canopy over the new steel skeleton and secured it with zip-ties and bolts.

Before, the canopy had been a flimsy tent, flapping violently in the wind. Now, supported by the rigid steel frame, it was a fortress. He shook one of the struts. The entire tricycle moved with it. Solid as a rock.

He even installed the roof rack the System had fabricated. According to the specs, it could hold up to 88 lbs (40kg) of cargo.

Chen Ye stepped back to admire his handiwork.

It wasn’t a military Humvee like Captain Chu’s, and it wasn’t a slick SUV like the one the Zhou sisters drove. It was a franken-trike.

But it was his.

“System quality is no joke,” he admitted.

He climbed into the cargo bed. With the supplies moved up to the roof rack, the sleeping area was spacious. He had cleared enough room to lie down flat without bending his knees.

He lay back on his makeshift bedroll, listening to the wind buffer harmlessly against the taut canvas. It was warm, private, and secure.

In a world where people were killing each other for a can of beans, having a private room on wheels was the ultimate luxury.

A day ago, if someone had offered him a car in exchange for the tricycle, he would have taken it in a heartbeat. But now? He wasn’t so sure.

This machine was an extension of his will. He had bled for the points to build it. It was fuel-efficient, rugged, and customized to his exact needs. It might not be as fast as a four-wheeler, but in the long run, efficiency was survival.

Chen Ye rolled over, ready to sleep.

His hand brushed against something on the floor of the bed. It felt like a dry twig.

Frowning, he picked it up and held it close to his eyes in the dim light.

It was a willow branch. Withered, brittle, and gray.

Chen Ye’s blood ran cold.

He recognized this texture. It was a branch from the Great Willow tree in Longevity Village.

How the hell did this get here?