The contribution point exchange list for supplies was as follows:
5 contribution points could be exchanged for a pack of instant noodles, a loaf of bread, or a sausage.
10 contribution points could be exchanged for 5 pounds of charcoal, a liter of diesel, or a candle.
20 contribution points could be exchanged for a cotton coat, a blanket, or an AA battery....
200 contribution points could be exchanged for a military-grade flashlight or a military speaker.
500 contribution points could be exchanged for the right to live in a single-person shelter.
1,000 contribution points could be exchanged for a cold weapon, such as an entrenching tool, military knife, or bayonet.
2,000 contribution points could be exchanged for a dagger gun (effective within 10 meters, with power comparable to a handgun).
3,000 contribution points could be exchanged for a bow (the same type used by the military) or a handgun.
5,000 contribution points could be exchanged for a gene pill (repairs genes, strengthens the body, and slightly accelerates the healing of internal and external injuries).
10,000 contribution points could be exchanged for a gene tablet (with a greater ability to repair genes, strengthen the body, and more significantly accelerate the healing of injuries)...
The lower-tier items were accessible to anyone willing to invest the time to gather contribution points. Electronics, for instance, could fetch several dozen points, enough to stave off hunger for a few days. However, the items that truly caught Logan's attention were the "gene pills" and "gene tablets."
His eyes flickered with recognition. These pills were eerily similar to the ones he had acquired from the Clarks. The fact that the military had access to such advanced biotechnology didn't surprise him entirely. If a powerful family like the Clarks could possess them, it was no shock that the state did as well.
In his previous life, Logan had heard rumors that some soldiers had unlocked their gene locks. What did surprise him was the South City military's willingness to use these pills as incentives to motivate survivors.
To most people, these pills were little more than miracle drugs, thought to offer immediate power and healing. However, Logan knew better. These gene pills were effective only for those who had already unlocked their gene locks. To normal people, they offered marginal improvements—mild boosts to physical strength, which could easily be surpassed through regular training.
As for healing injuries, they were useful only for minor wounds. In cases of severe trauma, like those of Simon Clark, who had needed several pills just to cling to life, their effects were negligible without modern medical facilities. Without access to advanced equipment, even ten pills wouldn't be enough to save someone at death's door.
The gene tablets, however, posed an interesting opportunity. With a whopping price of 10,000 contribution points, these tablets were far out of reach for most people. Logan knew that, for now, these items would remain unattainable. But still, the potential they represented nagged at the back of his mind.
For now, he fixated on the military-grade crossbow listed at 3,000 points. Logan had always been fascinated with weaponry, and the military's crossbows seemed intriguing, perhaps even superior to the intercept crossbow he currently carried. He mentally noted the item as something worth pursuing when the time came.
After finishing copying down the exchange list, Logan exited the supplies distribution center. It was already late in the afternoon, around 3 p.m., and the sun would soon begin to set.
As Logan approached the entrance of the apartment complex, a soldier's voice echoed through the loudspeaker: "Supply distribution will end in 30 minutes. Those who haven't received supplies today, please return tomorrow!"
Murmurs of discontent rippled through the crowd as the soldier repeated the message. Some people, unwilling to leave, lingered nearby in the hopes that they could still receive supplies.
Logan sensed several eyes watching him as he exited the complex, his black bag of supplies in hand. The moment he stepped outside, a few people began trailing him, marking him as their next target.
The malicious intent became increasingly palpable as Logan walked further from the apartment complex. Soldiers still patrolled the immediate area, preventing any attempts at robbery. However, as he ventured toward a more deserted part of the city, his instincts told him that an attack was imminent.
Sure enough, about two kilometers away from the complex, Logan found himself ambushed. Six masked men blocked his path, splitting into two groups to cut off his escape from the front and back.
One of the men, brandishing a fruit knife, stepped forward and demanded: "Hand over your supplies, kid, and we'll let you live."
Logan raised his bag nonchalantly, as if offering it to them. "Here," he said calmly.
The leader of the group grinned, stepping closer to grab the bag. But the moment he reached for it, Logan moved with lightning speed, grabbing the man's wrist and plunging his own knife into the attacker's abdomen.
Before the other men could react, Logan withdrew the knife and charged toward them.
In a matter of moments, six bodies lay motionless on the frozen street, blood slowly seeping into the snow. Logan made sure each man was dead before he moved on.
Although he had initially considered placing the bodies into his storage space, Logan hesitated. A strange feeling crept over him—a sensation of being watched. He couldn't pinpoint where the feeling was coming from, but his instincts told him to remain cautious.
He checked his surroundings carefully before deciding not to use his space ability, opting instead to leave the area quickly.
Unbeknownst to Logan, long after he had left the scene, a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness. In its hand was the severed head of an old woman.
If Logan had been present, he would have immediately recognized the severed head. It was none other than the same woman who had caused a stir at the supplies distribution earlier the day.
The figure holding the head was the strange young man who had stood in front of Logan in line.
The young man grinned in the direction Logan had gone, his expression unreadable. "Interesting," he murmured.
...
As Logan made his way through the deserted streets, that eerie sensation of being watched gradually faded. Still, he remained on edge, cautious of any potential threats.
Once he had walked a safe distance from the scene, Logan found a secluded corner and discreetly stowed his supplies in his storage space. He then changed into a different set of clothes, ensuring he wouldn't be recognized.
With his snowmobile retrieved from his space, Logan sped toward the western suburbs.
By the time he was halfway home, darkness had fallen. Logan no longer worried about stealth and openly drove his snowmobile down the main road, its headlight piercing through the night.
The bright light caught the attention of several survivors, huddled together in the cold.
"Holy crap! What is that?" one man exclaimed in shock.
"That's a snowmobile! Hey, man, give me a ride!" another shouted, his voice tinged with desperation.
"Where did a snowmobile come from in South City?" someone else muttered, baffled by the sight.
"Are cars still working? I'm going to try finding one tomorrow!" another person said, clinging to a shred of hope.
Logan ignored the envious stares and desperate pleas as he sped away, his face concealed by his goggles and mask.
When Logan reached the western suburbs, he stored the snowmobile once more, taking care not to leave any traces that might lead people to him. He carefully brushed away his footprints and approached the outskirts of Dragonrest Village, arriving at around 7 p.m.
However, as soon as he stepped into the village, a sense of unease settled over him.
Something wasn't right.