CDC parking lot, training area
"Faster! Faster!"
Rick's roar echoed across the empty field.
He wore the same black combat uniform as the security personnel, but there was no Umbrella Corporation emblem on his chest—he was an instructor, not officially enlisted yet.
Marcus panted heavily, dragging his heavy feet as he ran laps around the training ground.
He carried a twenty-kilogram weighted backpack and held an M4 rifle in his hands, sweat streaming down his cheeks and soaking his collar.
"Dylan! Are you aiming or drawing circles?"
Rick turned to the other side: "Walkerss won't wait for you! You only have three seconds! Aim, fire, switch to the next!"
Dylan lay on the ground, his elbows aching, gritting his teeth as he adjusted his aiming posture.
"Kyle! Don't laugh!"
On the sidelines, Kyle was sitting in a chair at the registration desk, legs crossed, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, watching the commotion on the training ground with great interest.
Hearing Rick call him, he quickly stubbed out the cigarette and pretended to flip through the registration book in his hand.
Rick glared at him, then turned around to continue training the poor guys.
Kyle breathed a sigh of relief and secretly pulled out another cigarette to light up.
Tsk, watching Marcus and Dylan getting trained like dogs is truly a pleasure.
He squinted his eyes, exhaled a smoke ring, and felt so good he wanted to hum a tune.
He was in charge of the sign at the entrance—Survivor Registration Office.
Several waves of lone wolves had arrived over the past few days. Some, upon seeing the contract from the Umbrella Corporation that looked like an "indenture," exploded on the spot.
"What? Lifelong service? No betrayal? This is a slave contract!"
"I pursue freedom! Who cares about this crappy place of yours!"
Then they walked away.
Kyle was used to it. Every time, he would send them off with a smile and add a reminder: "Be careful on the road."
Those people who "pursued freedom" were nine times out of ten never coming back.
Either they were eaten by Walkerss or killed by other survivors.
In this world, lone wolves don't live long.
Kyle smoked his cigarette, looking into the distance with boredom.
Suddenly, he noticed two small figures appearing around the corner of the road.
He put down the cigarette and picked up the binoculars hanging around his neck.
A woman, pushing a wheelchair. In the wheelchair sat a man wrapped in bandages, his face pale.
Living people.
Kyle spat out the cigarette butt, stood up, and brushed off his pants.
Karina pushed Paul, walking step by step toward the building that made her heart race.
Wire mesh fences, over two meters high, with barbed spiral wire wrapped around the top.
Armed guards stood in guard posts, one every few dozen meters.
In the open space inside, a group of people in black uniforms were training—holding riot shields, coordinating with each other; although their movements weren't particularly standard, it looked very organized.
"This is the place."
Paul said softly, his voice trembling: "Really... there really is a place like this."
Karina was too excited to speak. She pushed the wheelchair to the gate and saw a black man in a security uniform standing next to the registration desk, looking at them with a smile.
"Hey!"
Karina shouted: "We saw the message you left at King County Hospital! This is a shelter, right?"
Kyle looked them over, took a puff of his cigarette, and said slowly: "Of course, as long as you aren't blind, you should be able to tell."
Karina was stunned. Why was this guy so annoying? But she couldn't be bothered to argue right now; she just asked eagerly: "Then... can we go in?"
Kyle exhaled a puff of smoke: "It's not a military shelter, you know? It's a private company. If you want to get in, you have to join the company."
Karina's heart sank.
A private company? Isn't that run by capitalists? In this world, what good can capitalists do? They must be using survivors as slaves, squeezing out every drop of blood and sweat...
She subconsciously wanted to find an excuse to leave, but Paul grabbed her hand.
"Wait."
Paul whispered: "Let's hear what he has to say first."
Kyle looked at their expressions and roughly guessed what they were thinking.
He smiled, not a mocking smile, but a knowing one that said, "I know what you're thinking."
"Do you know what this place is?"
He asked.
Paul replied: "The CDC?"
"That's right."
Kyle nodded: "The CDC. Do you know what the CDC does?"
The two looked at each other and didn't speak.
Kyle continued: "Researching viruses. Those crazy, man-eating things—where did they come from? How do they spread? How can we make them die for good? Inside, there's a group of doctors researching these things; they are working on a vaccine."
He paused and emphasized: "The hope of all mankind is right here."
Karina was stunned.
Paul was also stunned.
"So..."
Kyle spread his hands: "This Umbrella Corporation isn't here to exploit anyone. It's here to protect those doctors so they can focus on researching the vaccine and end this disaster sooner."
He pointed to the security personnel training inside: "See them? They aren't mercenaries, nor are they hired thugs. They are survivors just like us. Their job is to protect the people in this building, because those people are the only chance this world has to go back to how it was."
Karina fell silent.
She remembered the month of escape—seeing her neighbor bitten to death with her own eyes, hiding in a supermarket warehouse listening to the roars of Walkerss, nearly starving, nearly being robbed, nearly...
She thought of those "pursuing freedom," the lone wolves who didn't trust any organization.
Where are they now? Are they still alive?
She looked at Paul.
Paul was also looking at her.
Then, both turned their heads to look at Kyle.
"We'll join."
Karina said, her voice firm.
Kyle took two information forms and contract forms from the drawer and handed them over.
Karina finished writing her personal information, then picked up the contract form without even looking at it, flipped directly to the last page, and signed her name.
Paul took it and didn't look closely either—those clauses about "lifelong service," "no betrayal," "violators subject to biochemical experiments"—a month ago, he would have thought this was a madman's contract. But now...
He thought of the wound on his abdomen, the bottle of alcohol that nearly cost him his life, and the Walkerss following step by step behind him.
Now, he just wanted to survive.
He signed his name.
Kyle took the personal information and contracts, looked them over, and nodded with satisfaction: "Alright, go in! You'll be quarantined for three days first—it's the rule. Don't worry, it's not solitary confinement. You'll have food and a place to stay, and someone will check your wounds. After three days, if you're fine, you can officially start."
He shouted inside: "Sandra—oh wait, Sandra is out on a mission. Who was it, Duane! Take the newcomers to the quarantine area!"
Duane, Morgan's son, who was observing from the side, walked over from the training ground and glanced at Karina and Paul.
"Follow me, you two."
Karina pushed Paul and followed him through the gate.
When passing the training ground, she saw those in black uniforms still training desperately.
Rick's voice came from behind: "Faster! Faster! Do you think Walkerss will wait for you to rest?"
She suddenly felt that this place might really be different.
The isolation room was clean, with a bed, a window, and even a small TV.
Although it could only pick up a few internal base channels, it was better than having nothing.
Karina helped Paul onto the bed and sat on the chair next to it.
"A doctor will come to check your wound in a while."
Duane said: "Don't worry, the medical conditions here are much better than outside."
She walked to the door and turned back: "By the way, congratulations. You've come to the right place."
The door closed.
Karina and Paul looked at each other and smiled.
"We bet right."
Paul said.
Karina nodded: "Yeah."
Outside the window, the sunset was falling.
The artificial sky—no, wait, it was the real sky, because this was the surface—was tinged with an orange-red hue.
In the distance, the shouting from the training ground continued.
This was a strange place.
But perhaps it was the last place in this world that still had hope.