Apocalypse Survival: Starting with a Shelter

"The outer walls are leaking; I see cracks in some places."

"The floodwaters are too deep outside; we can't open the shelter."

"Where are the official rescue teams?"

"Please save me."

"—Someone, anyone, save us!"

In the public channels of the satellite network, shelters facing life-threatening situations began pleading for help from the official shelters when they couldn't save themselves.

Normally, no matter the situation, official representatives would at least respond to these desperate appeals from private shelters. But this time, there was a rare and deafening silence.

No matter how urgent the pleas became, it was as if the officials simply didn't see them.

As these shelters' calls for help went unanswered, their mood shifted from anxious to despairing. Some began to cry out indiscriminately for help, targeting anyone who might listen.

However, there were simply too many shelters in similar predicaments. Their cries for help became just another backdrop of meaningless noise. People who saw these messages instinctively ignored them, their own lives too precarious to spare the energy for others.

The chaos was even more palpable on the internet network Su Wu had established.

Because his network spanned nearly the entire city, millions of shelter residents—whether fortunate or doomed—shared their experiences online.

As people realized that nearly everyone was in a crisis, the collective mood inevitably turned to panic and despair.

Every second, hundreds or even thousands of people flooded the web with farewell messages, while others, even in their final moments, engaged in endless arguments. Humanity's diversity, for better or worse, was on full display.

During this deluge of messages, some users simply vanished.

One moment, someone might be in a heated debate, and the next, their profile picture turned gray. No amount of inquiry or well-wishes could elicit a reply.

Many ordinary people, safely tucked away in their shelters and oblivious to the dangers of the outside world, suddenly realized for the first time how close death truly was—close enough to touch.

"The official shelters seem to be in serious trouble as well," Su Wu remarked, verifying the situation through his channels.

It didn't take long for him to confirm why the officials were unusually silent: several of their large residential and storage zones were showing signs of collapse.

At this critical moment, all their rescue teams were deployed internally, leaving them unable to assist anyone outside their jurisdiction.

"In a post-apocalyptic world, they're still building shoddy structures. Do they not care about their own lives?"

His gaze lingered on a photo from the disaster site, showing steel reinforcement bars and waterproofing materials clearly below standard.

Su Wu found himself at a loss for words. Whoever had overseen and constructed these projects must have been reckless beyond measure, prioritizing profits over survival—even though they were likely living in the same shelters.

It was the epitome of greed: risking death for a few extra coins.

Still, these were internal issues for the official shelters, and Su Wu had no intention of interfering.

Watching the chaos unfold online, however, he realized something else. This crisis presented him with an opportunity.

Shelters crying for help, no matter their size, always had reserves of resources—often more than they needed. Saving these shelters would be far easier than braving torrential rains to mine or scavenging through urban ruins.

"If I want to provide rescue, it's entirely feasible."

Su Wu had 300 spider robots at his disposal, each capable of operating freely underwater—perfect for search and rescue missions.

With a few modifications, his Type-1 mining trucks could be equipped to briefly float above the water, making them suitable for transporting survivors.

As for where the survivors would be relocated, the options were limited to the Jingyuan and Zhou Xiwu shelters. Conveniently, these two large shelters were located on opposite ends of Jianghe City, perfectly positioned to cover most of the urban area.

Of course, these shelters weren't completely safe from collapse, but that was another issue. Su Wu's role would end once he rescued the survivors and reclaimed the resources from the abandoned shelters. Any subsequent disasters would be beyond his control.

"Let's do this."

Time was of the essence—every delay meant more shelters succumbing to the flood, and Su Wu stood to lose out on significant resources.

After making his decision, Su Wu wasted no time in implementing it.

He first announced the rescue plan across his network, then identified and prioritized the shelters in the most dire situations based on the responses he received.

Following a strategy of addressing the farthest shelters first, he dispatched modified transport vehicles and spider robots to conduct rescues.

Given the urgency, the vehicle modifications were simple and crude: adding inflatable devices and airbags to allow the trucks' tops to float above the water.

While these modifications were far from elegant—in fact, they were downright ugly—appearance didn't matter. If they saved lives, their value would be the same to those rescued.

Within an hour, four transport fleets and 120 spider robots were deployed, forming 40 rescue teams that fanned out across Jianghe City.

This decentralized operation made it impossible for the command vehicles to control their fleets as they had before. Instead, they relied on the citywide internet network, supported by Su Wu's communication towers, for remote coordination.

Additionally, the complexity of the environment and the increased volume of data—nearly ten times the usual—meant the command vehicles could no longer operate independently. They required support from Su Wu's artificial intelligence to process information.

As a result, the AI at Su Wu's headquarters faced a surge in workload and strain.

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