Inside the villa, Lisa had changed out of her lab coat, once again embodying her usual gentle and endearing demeanor.
She smiled warmly, "In this era, anything is possible. You gained extraordinary abilities, so it's not inconceivable for others to follow suit. Perhaps, in time, more people will develop such powers."
"Do you really think so?" Miles asked, a trace of unease in his voice.
Lisa nodded confidently. "If we take Mr. Isaac as an example, the emergence of ability users can indeed be replicated. However, the probability of such replication is extraordinarily low—perhaps one in several thousand."
"After all, not everyone possesses Isaac's unique constitution or the highly active and robust cellular structure required. These factors, combined with the sheer number of unpredictable variables, make it almost impossible to reproduce intentionally."
While Isaac's recovery progressed steadily, Miles kept himself busy.
Together with Ryan, he embarked on a systematic sweep of Chicago, plundering resources wherever they went. Their strategy left no stone unturned—literally, not even garbage bins were spared.
At one point, Miles stood inside the frozen-over West District police precinct, his eyes scanning the desolate interior.
"There's nothing worthwhile here…" Ryan said, returning after a quick reconnaissance. He frowned. "Not even a single corpse. This place must've been evacuated during the early days of the apocalypse."
With each new location explored, a clearer pattern emerged: most critical sites had already been stripped of supplies. This indicated that both people and resources had been systematically relocated—though to where, Miles still couldn't determine.
As the two prepared to leave, a faint noise broke the silence.
Click.
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed, growing fainter as they retreated.
"There's someone here!" Ryan reacted instantly.
Miles darted out after the sound, leaping over icy obstacles and scaling walls with practiced ease until he emerged outside.
"Stop right there!" he shouted.
At the precinct's entrance, a man of average build was fleeing in a panic.
Bang!
Miles fired a warning shot into the air. "Stop, or I'll shoot!"
His voice quavered slightly—encountering a living person in such desolation was a rarity, one that unsettled him.
The man froze, his body stiffening before he reluctantly came to a halt.
By this time, Ryan had caught up, and the two flanked the stranger cautiously.
As they approached, Miles got his first clear look: the man was unremarkable, middle-aged, with a scruffy mustache and gaunt, sun-darkened features. He looked like someone who had just crawled out of a refugee camp—or worse, a prison labor camp.
"Who are you? And what are you doing here?" Miles demanded, raising his gun.
"I…" The man opened his mouth, but before he could say more, Ryan let out an incredulous exclamation.
"What the hell?! Boris?!"
Ryan stepped closer, staring at the man in disbelief. "You're still alive?!"
"Ryan?" The man's astonishment mirrored Ryan's. His eyes flicked between Ryan and Miles, lingering on their well-equipped appearance. "What… What are you doing here?"
"And you?" Ryan countered, scanning Boris from head to toe. "Last I saw you, you were still at the logistics park. How the hell did you end up here?"
The South China Logistics Park was over 50 kilometers from downtown. For someone malnourished and ill-equipped, surviving a trek through -40°C weather seemed almost impossible.
Boris sighed, his voice tinged with bitterness. "It's a long story. I got screwed over."
"What happened?" Ryan pressed, while Miles observed silently, his expression unreadable.
Boris hesitated briefly before speaking. "You remember the warehouse theft?"
Ryan visibly tensed and shot a glance at Miles. "Of course, I remember. I was out drinking with some buddies that night. When I got back, I heard about it… But then everything went to hell."
Boris let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, sure. Everyone in the park knew you and that Miles guy were involved. What I don't get is how you managed to clear out so much stuff."
Ryan shrugged, brushing it off. "You're talking nonsense. If I had the skills for that, you wouldn't be standing here talking to me. Sure, we might've nabbed a little, but the bulk of it? Someone on the inside had to be involved."
Boris smirked but dropped the topic. Instead, he asked, "What about you two? Scavenging for supplies?"
Ryan nodded. "And you? What's your story? How did you make it out here alone?"
"Make it out?" Boris snorted. "I was forced out."
He sighed deeply. "About ten days after the disaster hit, the entire logistics park was buried under snow. We holed up in the underground warehouses to survive, but then a group of soldiers arrived. They had snowplows and hauled all of us—hundreds of people—out of there."
"Where did they take you?" Miles interjected.
"To the Southwest Air Defense Base," Boris replied, pointing vaguely westward. "It's about ten kilometers from here. Used to be an air raid shelter, then they turned it into a massive base. It's big enough to hold tens of thousands of people."
Miles raised an eyebrow. "That doesn't sound so bad—getting rescued by the military means food, shelter, and safety."
"Rescued? Don't kid yourself," Boris spat bitterly. "We thought the same thing at first. But those soldiers… they're no better than animals."
"What do you mean?" Ryan asked, feigning nonchalance.
"That place is hell. They turned us into laborers. We were given barely enough food to survive while being worked to the bone."
"What kind of work?" Miles asked.
"Manual power generation, fortifying buildings, scavenging for resources…" Boris trailed off, his voice heavy with resentment. "I escaped during a supply run when the guards weren't paying attention. That's how I ended up here."
Ryan chuckled dryly. "That doesn't sound so bad. Work for food—beats freezing to death out here."
Boris shook his head grimly. "If that were all, I wouldn't have run. But they brought in machines—lab equipment. Every day, they'd take people for experiments. Those who were taken… never came back."
"What kind of experiments?" Miles's voice was calm, but his mind was racing.
"No idea." Boris looked away, his face pale. "All I know is, none of the people taken ever returned. Everyone assumes they're dead. That's why I ran."
"How many people are at the base?" Miles asked, offering Boris a bar of chocolate from his pocket.
Boris's eyes lit up as he eagerly accepted the chocolate. "Hard to say, but there are at least twenty to thirty thousand. They're spread out across different sections of the base."
"And the soldiers?" Miles pressed.
"Plenty of them," Boris replied after a moment's thought. "At least three thousand, maybe more."