Chương 124: 48. Strategy 48-1

The first night in the bunker felt more like a half-failed attempt at civilized disaster management than anything resembling rest. The firestorm outside was still slamming into the walls. Not metaphorically. Literally slamming. The sound was hard to describe—like someone had taken an entire burning sea and was lifting it up in sheets, smashing it again and again against the outside of our metal can. Every impact made the ceiling lights tremble slightly.

They were hospital white, morgue cold, and unfortunately all eight of us were still alive, which turned the whole scene into a low-budget field hospital that nobody had planned for. And in times like this, the scariest person was—predictably—Maki.

"Formal triage." She dropped the med kit onto the floor. The smack sounded like a judge's gavel.

"Everyone sit. If you can walk on your own, left side. If you nearly died but are too embarrassed to admit it, right side. Middle is for people who genuinely need to lie flat."

"Is that a medically recognized classification system?" I asked.

"It is," Maki said.

"It's based on my current patience level." Very convincing. Extremely persuasive. I sat immediately. We ended up in a ridiculous half-circle. Left side: me, Harvey, Akari, Roy. Right side: D, because he insisted he was fine but his limp said otherwise. In the center, lying down: Jess, still a little dizzy from the paralytic, and Lan, recently conscious and quietly wrapped in a thermal blanket. I'd expected someone to start in on who'd slowed the team down, who'd nearly gotten everyone killed.

Classic post-disaster blame rotation. It didn't happen. Actually didn't happen. All eight of us were unnaturally quiet, quiet enough that it felt wrong. Like those two shots from the Jäger (Hunter) had knocked some temporary sense into everyone. Emphasis on temporary. It would probably last right up until someone stepped on the wrong nerve again. Maki crouched on the floor, pen in hand, using the back of a bunker supply sheet as a clipboard.

"Jess. Right leg, paralytic after-effects, temporary weakness, no external trauma. Lan. Same on the right shoulder, should be back to eighty percent by morning. D. Left leg blunt trauma, shield impact causing muscle strain. Harvey. Palm laceration, and congenital brain defect. Akari. Left forearm burn. Roy. Dehydration, heat exhaustion, elevated stress. Hoshino—" She looked up at me. I had a bad feeling.

"Right shoulder strain. Knee abrasions. Callus tear at the base of the left thumb. And post-command-error syndrome."

"That's a diagnosis now?"

"It is. Highly contagious in squad environments." D snorted. Harvey folded himself over his knees, shoulders shaking like his spine was about to fall apart. Jess had barely finished waking up and still managed to click her tongue.

"So the captain's the index case."

"You'd better shut up and rest," I told her.

"I am shut up and lying down. That's me being generous." You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Paralysis wears off and her mouth is the first thing back online. A medical marvel. Maki ignored us and moved on.

"Resource consolidation. Bunker fixed issue: eight water pouches, twenty nutrition bars, twelve electrolyte packets, two basic med kits, four units hemostatic foam, two cards of anti-inflammatory tablets, six pain-relief patches, one filter cartridge set, four thermal blankets. With our gear added in—we can last. Conditioned on no one having a midnight breakdown."

"That condition's a bit harsh," Harvey said immediately.

"Start your contribution by not talking."

"…Brutal." Akari stayed where she'd been from the start, back to the wall, weapon in her arms, not a single unnecessary word. She only lifted her eyes when Maki said the word "shifts." I picked it up from there.

"Eight people. Four shifts. Two per shift, two hours each. Not because I think ghosts are going to pop out of the ventilation—because there's a firestorm outside, and we're in here. Both sides are unstable. We need eyes on the door lock, ventilation, water and charging ports, and—""And keep watch in case somebody's brain snaps and they try to walk," Jess said.

"Exactly. Especially you." I scratched a simple layout on the floor.

"First shift: Harvey and Roy. You two are in no shape for frontline, but you're still good with detail work. Harvey, you monitor alarms and the door. Roy, log temp changes and remaining power. Second shift: me and Akari. Third: D and Maki. Fourth: Jess and Lan—if you're recovered enough. If not, I'll cover." Jess started to open her mouth; Maki cut her off before a single syllable got out.

"You say you're fine and I put you back down now." Jess: "…" Sometimes I really do think Maki uses murderous intent as a sedative. Once watches were set, the real problem showed its teeth. Sleep. Not can we sleep. How do eight people actually sleep in here. The bunker had a main compartment, water interface, a med alcove, that tiny shower, and a couple of fold-out bed boards—but together they only made enough decent space for about four people. Trying to sleep eight on them would turn us into canned sardines.

More importantly: we had both guys and girls. And not the kind of guys and girls who were close enough to hop the awkwardness line and pretend it wasn't there. The kind who could fight side by side all day, but as soon as you told them to share a room at night, everyone suddenly had to think about where to put their eyes. Harvey looked from the boards to the group and, with zero survival instinct, offered:"I'd like to state for the record that I sleep very neatly." Jess didn't even need to sit up to sneer.

"Relax. If you cross the line, I will personally preserve you in a very neat, very permanent position."

"Why am I the designated threat vector? D's the one who looks like a snorer." D, sitting there hugging his shield, turned his head slowly.

"Is today the day you test the limits of good fortune?"

"I'm just trying to use humor to defuse tension."

"You're manufacturing new tension," I said. Roy raised a hand, earnest.

"Um… D, Harvey and I can take the outer edge. You girls sleep by the wall." Completely normal. Completely polite. So normal I almost got emotional on the spot. Then Harvey added:"Oh, the gentleman distribution model." Jess: "Say one more word and I'm letting Maki practice bandaging on your head." Lan's voice was still a little thin, but she cut in anyway.

"I just need something solid to lean on. Don't treat me like glass." Akari finally spoke.

"Hang a thermal blanket down the center." Everyone turned to look at her. Her tone was level, like she was reciting from an equipment manual.

"Two, strung across as a simple barrier. Not to stop anyone from peeking. To stop you from thinking about peeking so much that you can't sleep." I stared at her for two seconds and had to admit: annoyingly smart suggestion. D set his shield upright in the middle.

"And this." Harvey's eyes lit up.

"Wow. Portable budget partition." D: "Do you want to be the first one assigned to the far side?" In the end, we actually managed to turn the space into something absurd but barely functional. Left side, against the wall, was the girl's zone—me, Jess, Maki, Lan. Right side, the guys—D, Harvey, Roy. As for Akari, she scanned both sides, then chose the spot closest to the door, back to the wall, sitting up. A living statement: I sleep wherever. Anyone who wakes me dies. For a second, it hit me strangely.

She didn't look like she was bunking with us. She looked like she was standing watch in the same tin can.

"What about shower order?" Harvey asked again. I looked at him.

"You really have a death wish today."

"I'm just saying, it's a practical question. We can't all go to bed looking like coal bricks."

"Lads last," Jess said instantly.

"Sexism."

"Correct. Against you." So that was that. Girls first, then guys. No lofty principles—just reducing the amount of awkward, increasing the odds of peace. I leaned against the wall, watching this group who'd nearly gotten collectively roasted alive an hour ago now arguing about shower sequence, who slept where, and whether people who snored deserved to be kicked. Ridiculous. A little funny. Maybe that's what being alive actually looked like. Not epic. Not meaningful.

Just being exhausted and still having to deal with very mundane, very petty, very necessary logistics.