Ten minutes later
Leaning against a pile of miscellaneous items, Lin An's eyes flickered as he roughly pieced together his current situation.
The North America War Zone, beside Houston Space Base.
Fortunately, before the apocalypse broke out, the Houston area had a very low population density and was stationed by a large number of troops. As a result, after the apocalypse erupted, there were very few Zombies or Mutants.
After the military had established a Gathering Place early on to take in Survivors, this former aeronautical industrial zone had now become a densely populated area in the North America War Zone.
Naturally, as the Doomsday Progress advanced, more and more Survivors poured into the area. With all sorts of factions mixed together, this place had gradually evolved from a military-controlled, official Gathering Place into a massive "Safe Zone" filled with gangs and private powers.
Where there was a Safe Zone, there were Slums. This was practically standard in every war zone.
But
"I'm not even in a slum."
"I'm in a slave factory subordinate to a subordinate branch of the Black Gold Gang."
Lin An instinctively glanced at the children sitting around him, their moods somewhat downcast.
All of these children's fingers were badly worn. Many of the younger ones had fingertips that were rotting, with even their fingernails pus-filled and peeling off.
"They're child laborers on an ammunition production line."
"Because children have small fingers, they can stuff oil and gunpowder into spent shell casings. So all these children are responsible for assembling bullets and producing old-fashioned weapons."
After prolonged contact with chemical products and fuel, the children here were always coughing uncontrollably.
Every finger was corroded and oozing pus, and the younger a child was—and therefore the more suitable for assembling bullets—the worse their condition.
As for Lin