Ten minutes later.
Thien Anh stepped out of the bathroom, his hair still damp with lingering steam. He cast a quick glance at the surveillance monitors; Lam Linh wasn't in the kitchen, but was instead stationed by the sickbeds of the two soldiers they had rescued.
In this bunker, every space—save for the bathroom—was rigged with Thien Anh's dense network of cameras. This level of caution wasn't just to repel intruders, but to monitor every unpredictable variable within. Thien Anh hung his towel on a hook and pulled on a t-shirt. Usually, when home alone, he preferred the freedom of just boxers, but since gaining a roommate, he had become more mindful to avoid any awkwardness.
Once dressed, he entered the medical bay. The moment he crossed the threshold, his voice carried a warning: "Check them thoroughly for any traces of the One-Eyed Demon larvae. I suspect they are a parasitic strain; they remain symbiotic while the host is alive, only to hollow out the body and burst forth the moment the heart stops."
Lam Linh nodded, her voice gentle yet professionally sharp. "I've already accounted for that. I just ran a full sweep with the internal tissue scanner; fortunately, there are no signs of infestation. It seems they weren't infected like the other soldiers."
The change in Lam Linh's softened tone felt slightly unfamiliar to Thien Anh, but it wasn't unwelcome. He replied with a faint smile:
"Then I'll leave their care to you, Lam. I'm heading out to set the table. I'll call you when it's ready. By the way, can they eat normally, or do we need to keep them on an IV?"
Lam Linh offered a playful shimmer in her eyes.
"Eat? Look at how wasted away they are—they're strictly on nutrient infusions for now. Leave this to me; after all, I'm a professional doctor, nurse, and caregiver rolled into one."
Thien Anh shrugged and retreated to the kitchen. Just as he finished setting out the food, Lam Linh appeared. He had to admit, she had a strange cadence: she moved leisurely in almost everything, but when it came to medicine and saving lives, her efficiency was staggering.
Seeing the row of steaming dishes, she couldn't resist snatching a piece of meat with her fingers. She savored it, nodding in approval as she chewed. "You're an amazing cook—far better than me. Are Moc and Ki not joining us?"
Thien Anh shook his head with a wry smile. "If those two ate with us, we'd be the ones starving. Sit down and eat so you can rest. How's your hand? Stable?"
Lam Linh sat on the sofa opposite him, ladling rice for Thien Anh as she smiled. "It's fine, just a bit of a dull ache. Lucky it hit the left hand; if it were the right, my days of wielding a scalpel or a gun would be over. You might have actually discarded me then."
Thien Anh leaned back on the sofa, chewing on a piece of pork as he teased: "Don't worry, Lam. Even if you were totally useless, you'd still have value as a 'bed warmer,' right? Hah!"
Lam Linh shot him a sharp glare before abruptly shifting the topic. "Listen, I've wanted to ask this for a while but was too shy. What was your profession before all this? Ex-Special Forces?"
Thien Anh chuckled, his gaze full of amusement. "I recall answering this once before. I was never a commando or a cop."
Lam Linh shook her head decisively. "No way, I never asked that—mostly because I was scared to death of you at first. I thought one wrong question and you'd put a bullet through my skull. Just thinking about that day at the hospital still gives me the shivers."
"You certainly have a long memory, Lam. That's ancient history to me; I've already scrubbed it from my cache."
"How could I forget? I was terrified. But hey, why are we bothering with all these plates and bowls? Let's just split the pots—one for you, one for me. No more scooping back and forth, and it saves on the washing up. I hate doing dishes."
Thien Anh stared at her, momentarily stunned. It turned out Lam Linh was even more pragmatic than he had imagined. Back when he lived alone, he often ate exactly like that—throwing everything into a single pot to save time. Finding her suggestion perfectly aligned with his own habits, he nodded in immediate agreement.
And so, the two of them sat, each with their own pot, eating while focused on the national and international news broadcast on the large screen.
The domestic situation had begun to show signs of stabilization as the frequency of natural disasters diminished. While earthquakes and storms still occurred, they were no longer the relentless onslaught of the initial phase. The most promising news was the partial resolution of the food crisis, thanks to the emergence of edible mutated flora.
Mutated corn, rice, potatoes, tomatoes… everything was gargantuan in size, boasting extremely high nutrient density and an unearthly, fragrant flavor. Humanity was slowly acclimating to a new ecosystem.
The only lingering existential threat was the plague. Viruses were mutating at a horrific rate, with transmission and mortality speeds that drove scientists to the brink of madness. However, a critical discovery had opened a ray of hope: individuals who frequently consumed mutated foodstuffs—be it beast meat or flora—possessed significantly higher resistance. Even if infected, their symptoms were far milder than the average person.
The government immediately issued a decree to distribute mutated rations to the entire populace. Furthermore, an invaluable survival tip was announced: a method to "purify" mutated meat. The process was remarkably simple—soaking the meat in a highly concentrated salt-water solution for several hours. All harmful impurities would be leached out, with the soaking time varying based on the creature's mutation tier.
A new era was taking shape from the very ruins of the old civilization.