The three of them talked for over ten minutes.
By the end of it, Miles had pieced together a clearer understanding of the "base" Boris had mentioned.
In the aftermath of the apocalypse, ordinary people were left to fend for themselves, awaiting death, while those in power had long since prepared contingency plans and executed a series of calculated maneuvers.
First and foremost was the consolidation of Chicago's surrounding military forces.
Anyone capable of orchestrating such a coordinated response must have held significant sway in pre-apocalyptic society—at the very least, a figure of considerable authority.
With control over military strength came the means to dominate access to critical resources.
As a result, existing supplies became the exclusive property of these power players, who scoured the area, stripping away everything usable.
This explained why many of the resource hubs Miles had previously stumbled upon had already been emptied.
"What's your plan now?" Ryan asked, glancing at Boris. His history with Boris gave him a soft spot for the man, but he still harbored doubts about whether Boris could be trusted. If the situation wasn't suspicious, perhaps Miles could be persuaded to let him join.
Cloudtop Heights might not rival an official military base, but its facilities were reasonably well-maintained. And with Miles overseeing everything, food security was no longer a concern.
Before Boris could respond, a faint rustling sound reached their ears. Through the falling snow, a five-man patrol team appeared, trudging toward them.
"Damn it, it's them!" Boris hissed, panicking.
"Who?" Ryan asked.
"The soldiers from the base. They patrol in five-man teams, leading about twenty civilians on scavenging missions each day. And they're armed. Disobedience is met with a bullet to the head."
As the patrol closed in, Miles could see the rifles slung across their shoulders. The proximity between the two groups was now too close to avoid detection. Escape was no longer an option.
"Boris!" the lead soldier barked, immediately spotting the man.
The five soldiers broke into a jog, their weapons at the ready.
Terrified, Boris froze, then suddenly raised his hands in a gesture of surrender. "Reporting, sir! I've apprehended two suspicious individuals. They seem to be in possession of a substantial cache of supplies!"
You snake!
Miles's face darkened instantly. I just gave this bastard a bar of chocolate, and now he's selling me out?
Without hesitation, Miles drew his pistol and fired.
Bang!
Boris's body jerked violently. He turned, his face etched with disbelief, before collapsing face-first into the snow.
He hadn't expected Miles to shoot, especially with five armed soldiers bearing down on him.
"Freeze!" one of the soldiers shouted. The five immediately leveled their rifles at Miles and Ryan, forming a tactical formation to encircle them.
"Drop your weapon! Hands on your head! Down on your knees!" barked the lead soldier, a burly man who closed in aggressively, his rifle trained on Miles.
"We're just passing through…" Miles said calmly, tossing aside his pistol and signaling Ryan to follow suit. The two of them obediently knelt in the snow.
One of the soldiers checked Boris's body and reported, "Captain, Boris is dead!"
The captain pressed his rifle against Miles's forehead, his voice icy. "You're a real piece of work, aren't you? Killing someone without hesitation."
"He betrayed me. Why wouldn't I kill him?" Miles replied evenly.
Another soldier walked over, holding the chocolate bar Miles had given Boris. "Captain, look at this…"
The captain's eyes gleamed as he examined the chocolate. He turned back to Miles. "This yours?"
"It's not," Miles said flatly.
"Bullshit!" the captain snarled. "There's no way Boris had something like this. He just escaped, and there's nothing left to scavenge nearby. So tell me—where did you get it?"
Miles narrowed his eyes. "How would I know where he got it? I'm starving myself. Maybe you could spare me a piece?"
The captain sneered. "Playing coy, huh? This coat of yours—it's high-grade arctic gear. Clearly, you're no ordinary survivor. Which base are you from?"
Miles's heart skipped a beat. So, they think I'm from another base. That means there are multiple factions operating around Chicago.
"You'd better not touch me," Miles said with a cold smile. "I'm particular about cleanliness."
"Cleanliness? What are you, a dung beetle?" the captain sneered. Raising the butt of his rifle, he swung it toward Miles's head.
Miles shifted slightly, dodging the blow with ease. Before the captain could react, his weapon vanished from his hands.
The next moment, a pristine car materialized in mid-air and came crashing down.
Boom! Crash!
The captain was pinned beneath the car, knocked unconscious by the impact.
"Captain!" the remaining four soldiers shouted in shock, their formation faltering.
None of them could comprehend how a car had appeared out of nowhere.
Miles seized the chaos, pulling Ryan back a few steps. He produced two automatic rifles from his spatial storage and aimed them at the remaining soldiers.
"On your knees!" Ryan barked, stepping forward with his weapon raised.
The soldiers hesitated, glancing nervously at one another. Though startled, they instinctively pointed their guns at Ryan.
"Where the hell did they get those guns?" one muttered, disbelief etched across his face.
"You…" Another soldier's eyes widened in realization. "You're ability users!"
Miles cocked his rifle and stepped closer. "So, you know about ability users?"
The soldiers' hostility wavered, replaced by caution. One of them lowered his weapon and said, "Sir, had we known you were ability users, this misunderstanding wouldn't have happened. We were only pursuing an escaped convict and meant no disrespect."
The soldiers quickly disarmed themselves, evidently recognizing their disadvantage.
Miles smirked, watching their fear. So, they're aware of ability users and their power. It seems ordinary soldiers have no chance against them.
"Tell me everything you know, and I'll let you go," Miles said with a sly grin. To drive the point home, several more cars appeared in the air, slamming down around the soldiers with thunderous crashes.
The soldiers flinched, their composure crumbling entirely. One spoke up, his voice trembling. "We—we meant no offense, sir. Please, ask your questions. We'll answer truthfully."
"Who are you, and where are you from?" Miles demanded.
The soldier swallowed hard. "We're from the Southwest Base in Chicago, formerly the 358th Regiment of the South China Military District. We now serve the base's Supreme Administrator."
Miles's expression remained unreadable. "How many people are at the base?"
The soldier hesitated before answering, "Our regiment has 3,500 troops. Including laborers and staff, the total population is around 25,000."
"Twenty-five thousand?" Ryan muttered, visibly uneasy. He glanced at Miles, whose expression remained impassive.