In the Outer City, at the Seventh Public Shelter.
This was the smallest of the seventeen shelters. Originally an underground warehouse from the Old Era, it had been renovated to hold a maximum of four hundred people.
Yet at this moment, the crowd surging toward it numbered at least a thousand.
At the entrance, a dark mass of heads jostled and shoved.
Cries, curses, and the wailing of children blended into a cacophony of noise that echoed through the narrow street.
“Let me in! Let me in!”
“I beg you! I have a child!”
“Don't push! My mother isn't going to make it!”
The crowd surged frantically toward the narrow iron door. Those in front were pressed flat against the metal, while those behind continued to push forward desperately.
On either side of the iron door stood six City Defense Force soldiers.
Their squad leader was a man named Old Cui. He had been doing this for eight years and had seen every kind of situation imaginable.
Gripping his gun, he looked coldly at the frantic crowd, his face devoid of any emotion.
“Stop pushing! We’re full!” he bellowed at the top of his lungs, but his voice was drowned out by the roar of the crowd.
A rookie standing beside him turned pale at the sight, his hands trembling slightly as he held his rifle.
“Squad Leader... this... what do we do?”
Old Cui ignored him, his eyes fixed on the crowd.
Inside the iron door, a soldier responsible for the headcount poked his head out and shouted, “Squad Leader Cui! We’re full! Exactly four hundred!”
Old Cui nodded, then turned to the rookie. “Close the door.”
The rookie froze. “But Squad Leader, there are still so many people outside...”
“I said close the door,” Old Cui’s voice was as cold as ice.
The rookie opened his mouth to speak but ultimately said nothing. Along with another soldier, he began to push the heavy iron door.
“Creak—”
The sound of the iron door slowly moving was like a death sentence being pronounced.
The crowd instantly exploded!
“You can't close it! You can't close it!”
“Let me in! Please, I beg you!”
“Damn it, you’re leaving us to die!”
The people in front pushed inward with all their might, death-gripping the doorframe to keep it from closing.
A young woman carrying a child forced her way into the gap. The child was squeezed so hard it began to wail.
The iron door jammed.
Old Cui frowned. He stepped forward and delivered a heavy kick to the woman’s stomach, sent her flying out of the gap and crashing onto the ground.
“Get out!”
The woman screamed as the child flew from her arms, landing somewhere in the crowd. The crying stopped abruptly.
Old Cui didn't even spare them a glance. He kicked away another hand clinging to the doorframe and roared at the soldiers, “What are you standing there for? Close the door!”
The iron door continued to move.
The gap grew narrower and narrower.
The eyes of the people outside turned bloodshot with desperation.
A burly man slammed his body against the iron door, making the frame ring. “You bastards! You’ll rot in hell for this!”
Old Cui raised his gun and pointed it at the man’s head. “Take one more step and I’ll blow your brains out.”
The man froze, his eyes filled with despair and resentment, but he eventually took half a step back.
Only a small crack remained in the doorway.
Suddenly, a thin, small hand reached through the gap, gripping the edge of the door with all its strength.
It was a boy of seven or eight who had somehow squeezed his way to the very front.
“Mister... let me in... please...”
The boy’s face was covered in tears and snot. He stared at Old Cui with eyes full of terror and pleading.
Old Cui looked down at him.
Three seconds later—
He raised his boot and stomped violently onto the small hand.
“Crack—”
The sound of bone shattering was so crisp it made one’s scalp crawl.
“Aaaaah—!!!”
The boy let out a heart-wrenching scream, yet his hand remained clamped onto the doorframe as if it were his only hope for survival.
Old Cui frowned and delivered another stomp.
This time, the hand finally let go.
The iron door slammed shut with a heavy thud.
The sound of the bolt sliding into place was like the locking of the gates of hell.
Outside, there was a brief, dead silence.
Then—
“Open the door! Open the door!”
“I’ll curse your ancestors for eight generations!”
“Help—!”
The crowd went mad.
They hammered on the door with their fists, their feet, and their heads.
Some picked up stones from the ground and hurled them at the iron door, creating hollow, metallic thuds.
Others tried to climb the doorframe, only to have their hands shredded by the installed barbs.
The iron door didn't budge.
Old Cui glanced through the observation window, a flicker of impatience crossing his eyes.
“If we don't start shooting, these animals are going to break the door down,” he muttered under his breath, then waved to the soldiers behind him.
“Ready.”
The six soldiers raised their rifles simultaneously, aiming their muzzles at the crowd outside.
Old Cui slid open a small firing port on the door and roared at the crowd:
“Listen up, you bastards!”
“This shelter is full! There’s no more room!”
“If you have any sense, get the hell out of here and find your own place to hide! If you don't—”
He paused, leveling his gun at the burly man who was still hammering on the door.
“I’ll send you on your way right now!”
The man froze, the stone in his hand hanging in mid-air.
But the people behind him were still pushing forward, forcing him against the iron door.
“Bang—”
The gun fired.
The man’s body jerked violently. A bloody hole exploded in his forehead, and red and white matter sprayed out, splattering across the faces of those behind him.
His body fell straight back, crashing to the ground. After a couple of twitches, he went still.
Dead silence.
It was as if a pause button had been pressed on the crowd; every sound vanished in that instant.
They stared blankly at the bleeding corpse, their eyes filled with disbelief and horror.
Old Cui’s muzzle slowly shifted, aiming at the rest of the crowd.
“Get lost.”
No one moved.
“I’m counting to three—”
“One.”
The crowd began to retreat.
“Two.”
Some people turned and ran.
“Three.”
The gun fired again.
Another person collapsed.
This time, the crowd completely broke.
“Run—!”
Someone let out a soul-shredding scream, and the crowd scattered like a nest of disturbed ants, fleeing frantically in all directions.
Some ran toward distant alleys, some ducked into dilapidated roadside houses, some crouched on the ground trembling with their heads in their hands, and some simply collapsed, lacking even the strength to run.
Old Cui lowered his gun and spat on the ground.
“Damn it, pariahs are just pariahs. They don't learn until they feel the pain.”
The rookie beside him was deathly pale, his hands shaking so hard he couldn't speak for a long time.
Old Cui glanced at him and sneered. “What? Never seen a dead body before?”
The rookie swallowed hard with difficulty. “Squad... Squad Leader, they... they were people too...”
Old Cui slapped the back of the rookie’s head, making him stumble.
“People? Those are livestock! Do you understand? Livestock!”
“The Death Tide is coming. Only those who get into the shelter are people. Those who don't are left to the mercy of the heavens!”
“Do you want to be a person or livestock?”
The rookie summoned his courage and asked in a low voice, “Squad Leader... that child, after going through that, he’s definitely going to die...”
Old Cui glanced at him and gave a mocking laugh.
“What? You want to build him a monument?”
The rookie lowered his head, not daring to speak further.
Old Cui let out a cold snort. “In this Outer City, any pariah who’s still alive isn't simple, especially the women and children!”
“If you start feeling pity for them, you won't even know how you died!”
“You need to understand that the capacity of every shelter is calculated with precision.”
“It’s based on the air filtration system installed in each facility!”
“The limit for this shelter is exactly four hundred people!”
“If we didn't close the door and let those people rush in, we’d all be dead!”
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