It made sense—the vast majority of their casualties had been from the upper three floors. The elites at the bottom levels had come out unscathed. For a privately run camp like this, as long as the powerholders remained untouched, everything else was secondary. Ordinary people were simply resources to be exploited. Lose one crop of them, and a new batch would grow. Theresa said nothing as she watched the bustling commoners on the first and second floors. The third floor looked almost unchanged. The fourth, however, surprised her—the laboratory she had destroyed last time hadn't been rebuilt. The entire section was now cordoned off as a restricted zone. "You haven't restarted work here?" she asked bluntly. "Mmh. Dr. Klein is still recovering. All his experiments have been suspended," Morgan replied. Her eyes lit up. "How's he doing?" "He's been resting for a long time. He should be close to fully healed." "I need to see him," she said immediately. Morgan hesitated. "He might not be eager to see you." "Are you taking me or not? If not, I'll turn around and go home." She made as if to leave. "I'll take you," he said quickly. … In the fourth-floor luxury recovery wing, Horace had just finished the last sip of his medicine, his complexion looking visibly brighter. "Dr. Klein, rest for a few more days. Don't think about your research yet. Start some light rehab exercises, and I believe you'll be fully recovered soon," the camp's doctor advised.With the help of the medical staff, Horace carefully swung his legs over the side of the bed, lowering his feet to the floor. They slowly let go, allowing him to stand on his own. It had been so long since he'd gotten out of bed that the solid weight of his body pressing into the ground felt almost foreign. The joy on his face was unmistakable—he was healing. He was finally going to be whole again. Then a voice he knew all too well rang out. "Hey, old man, I'm back!" Horace froze. Bam! The door to his recovery room was kicked open. Theresa stormed in, leading a whole pack of dogs. "Woof! Woof!" "Woof! Woof! Woof!" "Woof! Woof! Woof!" The massive military dogs filled the space with an oppressive presence. But the real pressure came from the person holding their leashes—the one face he never wanted to see again. "Happy to see me, old man?" she asked. Horace promptly coughed up a mouthful of blood, his legs buckled beneath him, and he collapsed to the floor. "Dr. Klein!" "Dr. Klein!" The barking continued, echoing through the room. Ten minutes later, Theresa walked out with her dogs, looking disappointed. "Honestly, why'd he get so excited to see me? At his age, he should know better than to let his emotions get the better of him. How disappointing." Everyone stared at her in silence. "Looks like I'll have to visit more often, make sure he gets better faster," she added. A male voice came from behind her. "If you want to visit Dr. Klein, you're welcome anytime. I'd be happy to have you." Turning, she found Morgan smiling at her, clearly pleased with himself, and she fell silent. … After visiting Horace, Theresa finally stepped onto the fifth floor of the bunker for the first time. It wasn't at all what she had imagined. Nearly 80% of the level was sealed off, leaving only a small portion for living and leisure. What remained was lavish—an artificial lake and swimming pool, a gym, ballroom, entertainment halls, a gourmet food court, and five-star suites. Overhead, a massive digital screen projected a live view of the sky outside, making it feel anything but confined. The opulence here clashed so sharply with the upper floors that it felt like stepping back into the bustling world before the apocalypse. Her boots sank into the thick wool carpet lining the street as she followed Morgan to a grand dining hall. A lavish feast had already been laid out. "You must be hungry. Let's eat first," he said with a smile. The table was piled high with dishes—creamy chicken, butter garlic fish, barbecue ribs, kebabs…