Forcefully Recruiting

Little Bruce woke up hungry in his sleep.

Rubbing his stomach, he stepped out of the tent and saw a few men on night watch leaning by the fire, forcing themselves to stay awake and chatting idly.

He shuffled over and crouched down, soaking up every bit of warmth.

This camp had over thirty people, many of whom, like him, had joined along the way. There was no leader, no enforced rules. Supplies scavenged on trips only went to those who participated, and camp chores were shared among everyone.

Yesterday, the search team had worked all day but barely brought back any food. Everyone was hungry. Today, he planned to go out searching with his brother—two people should be able to get a bigger share.

Thinking of his wife, who had grown so thin, and his nephew, who constantly complained about not having enough to eat, he couldn't help cursing this world in his heart. Damn it—his family used to be one of the richest in town.

Just as he was about to swallow his pride and ask a neighbor for some food to tide them over, a clatter of hurried footsteps reached his ears.

Before he could react, shouts rang out from all sides:

"Stay put, don't move—our guns don't have eyes."

"If you don't want to die, don't move."

"Drop your weapons, or I'll blow your head off."

Little Bruce saw dozens of burly men in matching black leather armor, holding submachine guns that looked terrifyingly powerful. Countless dark muzzles were aimed at them, crushing any thought of resistance in his heart.

Soon, everyone in the camp was roused. Faced with the threat of death, no one dared to fight back. Some faces showed fear, some burned with hatred, and others were already numb.

Then, from the enemy ranks, a man stepped forward. He was tall and powerfully built, with a handsome face and an excellent bearing. His deep green eyes were like an abyss, and a warm smile played on his lips. If not for the dark gun barrels all around, he would have been a very likable man.

His voice was low and magnetic.

"Friends, please don't be afraid. We are not raiders or killers."

"We are the Umbrella Corporation, an organization dedicated to preserving humanity's hope."

"The reason we have our guns trained on you is simply to avoid unnecessary trouble that could harm both sides."

"Over the next week, you will be taken to our base to work for us for seven days."

"This is not forced labor or slavery."

"Our company is a very humane enterprise with excellent pay and benefits. Not only do we provide food and lodging, but we also offer protection for your lives and property."

"For one day of work at our company, you'll earn two to three days' worth of survival supplies. After the week is up, if any of you wish to continue working for the Umbrella Corporation, we will formally sign an employment agreement."

"If anyone wants to leave, we won't stop you. You can take the supplies you've earned and leave safely."

"We are an honest organization. This invitation was a bit rough, so please don't take offense."

The handsome man nodded to an Asian man beside him.

"For safety's sake, we'll collect your weapons. But don't worry—when you leave, we'll return them to you in full. You can even buy bullets from us."

"Alright, please hand over your weapons, pack your personal belongings, and prepare to come with us."

Faced with both threats and promises, even those who had been determined to resist grew hesitant. If things were really as the man said, then whether they left or stayed at his camp in the end, it wouldn't be a bad choice.

They were all ordinary survivors, lacking the courage to fight to the death.

Once everyone had obediently handed over their weapons and packed their bags, those tough guys actually brought out steaming hot food, saying it was their breakfast—bread, eggs, and milk.

Little Bruce was stunned. Before the disaster, he wouldn't have given these things a second glance, but now they were precious supplies.

He didn't overthink it. He, his brother, his wife, and his nephew all grabbed the food and wolfed it down, their resentment toward the coercion fading.

These days, anyone who gave you food was a good person.

Following the group's instructions, they were assigned to different cars but weren't separated from their families. After a two-hour drive, Little Bruce's family was taken to a place in Atlanta—something called the CDC.

The moment they arrived, they were stunned. Hundreds of people were working with intense energy, erecting countless steel bars, pipes, and mesh into a steel wall nearly three meters high.

Occasional zombies drawn by the noise were easily taken down by the black-armored soldiers behind the workers. They didn't even use guns—just aimed a thrust through the steel mesh at a zombie's eye socket, and it was dead.

After everyone got out of the vehicles, the tall, handsome man called over a shifty-looking middle-aged man and gave him a few instructions.

He then summoned a foreman, said something to him, and walked back toward their group.

With a smile, he spoke:

"I've already notified the management here. You're all temporary workers for now. Someone will come by to guide you on the job."

"Your food and lodging will be provided temporarily. After tonight's work, you'll be assigned housing, and the cost will be deducted from your total wages."

"It's best not to run. There are still many zombies nearby, and it's very dangerous."

With that, he nodded to them and left without imposing any further restrictions.

The dozens of people here exchanged glances, a bit bewildered.

Still, they had no real intention of fleeing. This was the first time since the disaster they'd seen so many people, and the fully armed black-armored soldiers around them made them feel both safe and afraid.

And so, under the guidance of instructors, they began building the steel wall alongside the others. The food at noon and evening was plentiful, letting these wandering survivors once again enjoy the happiness of a full stomach.

That night, they were even assigned to a suite in a luxury hotel. The room was quite clean, and though there was no running water or electricity, hot water could be fetched from the first-floor staff.

During work, they chatted with the regular employees around them. The Umbrella Corporation's real base was inside the CDC—a true civilized paradise. There, you could take hot showers, watch TV, see movies, and play games. Weekly wages could be exchanged for plenty of food and daily necessities.

Compared to those regular employees of the Umbrella Corporation, their past lives were absolute garbage.

Gradually, as he learned more, Little Bruce felt less and less resistance to this place. Instead, a urge to join grew within him.

Starting the second day, Little Bruce noticed that his former campmates were working harder too, smiles more or less on their faces. Many took every chance to cozy up to the regular employees, as if getting a head start on fitting in.

This kind of life wasn't bad, was it?