On the Pacific Ocean.
The power of industrialization had erupted in full force.
Once the Miken People reached a life-or-death juncture—especially when the conglomerates realized they were facing one—the machinery they could set in motion was staggering.
In just half a month, an offshore refuge made up of countless scrap ships, secondhand vessels, and even new ships had taken shape.
It covered at least a hundred square kilometers.
A ten-thousand-ton vessel was ninety meters long and twenty meters wide. Taking the maximum estimate, that was two thousand square meters.
This offshore refuge required at least fifty thousand ten-thousand-ton vessels.
There were not even that many ten-thousand-ton vessels recorded worldwide.
It was clear just how powerful humanity's adaptability could become when faced with the threat of death.
Plane after plane landed at the refuge, carrying specialists, service staff, and wealthy elites.
Ship after ship transported supplies and fuel to the refuge's temporary harbor.
Every arrival had to undergo a full nine layers of inspection and disinfection, ensuring that not a single spore entered.
The spores possessed no extraordinary abilities. In fact, they were fragile and easy to detect.
A full-body CT scan could reveal whether spores existed inside a human or other living organism.
Once discovered, they could be killed by injecting heavy metals or other drugs.
The real difficulty was dealing with spores that had already parasitized the brain. In that case, there was only one option: take the host away.
After all, heavy metals inflicted far too much damage on the brain.
A plane landed, and a group of people stepped off.
They were all young, dressed in high-end fashionable clothes, their faces filled with confidence and arrogance.
Yet when faced with the swarming inspection teams, they cooperated obediently. Not one of them dared say they did not need