My index finger tapped lightly on the photo printed on the paper as I sank into thought…
‘It seems the military is investigating these monsters as thoroughly as possible. Preparing for a large-scale counterattack, perhaps? Then… distributing flyers like this now… are they trying to recruit survivors to expand their combat forces?’
The top half of the backside held only that much information. The bottom half, nearly half the page, contained just two lines:
“Additional notice: All male Mutant Monsters exhibit aggressive instincts toward females. Female survivors are advised to avoid contact at all costs. If escape becomes impossible… self-termination is recommended.”
That line jolted me. Then came understanding—and silence.
Right. Since my first encounter with Mutant Monsters, every male one—those with visible genitalia—had shown subconscious predatory intent toward me. That instinct had been the key reason I’d narrowly escaped death twice.
The green monster and the gecko… no, the military’s official designation for the green one was: Toad.
Neither the Toad nor the gecko mutant had gone for an instant kill on me. They’d only disabled me, deliberately avoiding lethal strikes. This notice now made terrifying sense.
The military must have deliberately omitted the rest of that warning.
Logically, if these monsters didn’t need to reproduce, they wouldn’t target women. In other words… women captured and violated by them became breeding machines for the monsters.
The military wouldn’t want that reality exposed. They couldn’t state it outright.
*“You’d contribute massively to the monster population’s growth. So before that happens, you’d better kill yourselves.”*
If words like that spread, the nation—already with near-zero credibility—would lose all public trust forever.
After a long pause, I finally read the second notice. This one was printed in glaring red:
“Additional notice: Unable to provide direct aid to all citizens, the military—on moral grounds and to empower civilian self-defense—hereby lifts all weapon restrictions effective immediately. This includes firearms and bladed weapons. As partial compensation for our inability to conduct rescue operations, survival kits will be airdropped to all towns in three days.”
My eyes lit up. I scanned the rest urgently:
“Kits include… firearms, ammunition, combat knives, entrenching tools, food, and clean water. Additional survival gear will also be provided. Citizens are urged to prioritize self-rescue, evacuate their towns immediately, and head to the nearest Survivor Base for safety.”
At the very bottom:
Huaguo, September 11, 2027. State Council Announcement.
…
After reading the paper, my mind churned in chaos.
Simply put, three critical points stood out:
First: The government still existed and was actively combating the virus.
Second: Everyone must reach a Survivor Base as soon as possible.
Third: Survival supplies and weapons would be distributed.
All three points—each vital for survival—were condensed onto this single sheet.
The government’s massive effort and resource investment ultimately boiled down to one thing: population.
Though numerous, military bases were sparse across vast Huaguo. Only fifty-some Survivor Bases remained. Most held under ten thousand people. Just over a dozen bases had larger populations—the largest being XZ, sheltering over a hundred thousand.
Likely… XZ housed the ruling elite. When chaos erupted, they’d all fled there.
Population meant everything.
Building defenses required people.
Hunting Mutant Monsters and Zombies required people.
Most crucially, rebuilding civilization required people.
So once stabilized, every Survivor Base had immediately registered with the central government, seeking state support.
Which explained why…
“These people… still scheming like this even in the Apocalypse. How exhausting.”
Why did I think that?
Simple deduction.
The core lay with the government and the XZ Survivor Base.
High-ranking officials—and those at the nation’s apex—sheltered in XZ had taken no concrete steps to govern or control other bases. So how could they rally public trust and reclaim territory?
Easy. Offer an olive branch.
This flyer was probably that branch.
Any base wanting to grow? *Fine.* Pledge allegiance. We’ll promote you and drop supplies to draw survivors to your location.
This move…
“Brilliant!”
Indeed. For a government unable to enforce direct control, it was the only masterstroke.
It forced bases to submit willingly. It reminded every survivor the government still existed. And it avoided creating warlord-like bases that might ignore central command—“generals in the field defying orders.”
No established Survivor Base could resist this near-defunct government. Public sentiment would never support defying the state. Especially when the flyer highlighted the most crucial factor: safety ratings.
The government likely hadn’t personally verified each base. They’d assessed reports. And only XZ was marked S-Class safe—a clear message: *Only where the government resides is truly secure.*
Faced with this, only madmen would resist. Everyone else would fall in line.
What about bases wanting independence?
Simple. First: You’re unlisted. The government won’t promote you—and might even expose your corruption. In this world, base leaders were petty kings. Dark dealings were inevitable. Once revealed, survivors would flee your base.
Second: The government’s boldness proved they held a final card. They weren’t afraid of rebellion. That card was obvious…
My finger pressed against the paper as I stared at the list of fifty-some bases. One image surfaced in my mind—the ultimate deterrent from the peaceful world.
“Nuclear weapons.”
