Gene’s headache had been lingering for days.

Maybe it was from the gunfire.  

Maybe it was from the screaming.  

Or maybe, as Kayla helpfully suggested, “your brain’s allergic to responsibility.”

He didn’t argue. She was probably right.

For the first time since the world ended, he’d brought in someone who wasn’t young, female, or armed with sarcasm.  

An old man and two kids.  

A normal family—if such a thing still existed.

He had no idea what to do with them.

At sunrise, the cameras caught Puka McKerson outside the north annex.  

He was packing a small bag, his grandchildren standing beside him, freshly bandaged and smiling faintly.

Nara Vivienne spotted them first, leaning out from the garage doorway.  

“Hey! You’re leaving already? The Supplier didn’t kick you out.”

Puka chuckled, his voice still rough but warm.  

“He didn’t have to. You can tell when a man’s given enough.  

Besides, the children are better now. I don’t want to be a burden.”

Nara frowned. “You wouldn’t be. He—well, he’s not as heartless as he acts.”

Puka smiled. “That’s why I should go before he starts pretending otherwise.”

Inside the control room, Gene watched the conversation on the monitor.  

He didn’t say anything for a long while.

The old man’s words echoed in the silence: *‘I don’t want to be a burden.’*

He rubbed his forehead.  

This wasn’t who he wanted to be.  

He was supposed to survive quietly, trade quietly, die quietly—  

not… start collecting people.

But something about those kids—maybe the way they looked at the world as if it still had a chance—  

made his chest feel heavier than usual.

> **System:** “Emotional instability detected.  

>  Possible onset: empathy. Shall I medicate?”

“Shut up,” Gene said softly.

A few minutes later, he exhaled and pressed the comm switch.  

“Reina.”

“Here,” came her crisp reply.

“Keep them,” Gene said. “North annex stays open.  

If someone genuinely needs help, we take them in.  

But screening goes through you and the System. No freeloaders.”

Reina paused. “…Understood.”

Gene added, “And no announcements.  

If word gets out, we’ll have a refugee carnival out there.”

From the radio room, Liz’s voice chimed in faintly.  

“I heard that! And for once, I agree. I’m officially off the air.”

“Good girl,” Gene muttered.

> **System:** “Directive updated.  

>  North Annex repurposed as Refuge Unit One.  

>  Filtration protocols active.  

>  Note: host decision statistically increases fortress humanity index by forty-two percent.”

“Didn’t ask,” Gene replied.

> **System:** “Complimenting you anyway.  

>  Also, observation: the young female, Naris McKerson—if she grows up here,  

>  projected rating surpasses ninety-five points.”

Gene groaned, pressing his palm to his face. “You’re incorrigible.”

> **System:** “Flattered.”

Later that day, Nara guided the McKerson family into the annex’s living quarters.  

The old man bowed deeply toward the camera mounted on the wall.

“Tell your Supplier… thank you,” he said.  

“He gave us more than food. He gave us a place to start over.”

The children echoed softly, “Thank you, Mister Supplier.”

Back in the control room, Gene just stared at the screen, expression unreadable.

“Yeah,” he whispered. “You’re welcome.”

That evening, as the smell of stew drifted through the halls,  

Gene called out across the intercom.

“All right, listen up. From now on, anyone staying in the north annex joins dinner in the main hall.  

If we’re all stuck in the same tin can, we might as well learn who’s snoring next door.”

Kayla blinked. “You’re voluntarily eating with strangers now?”

“Call it strategic digestion.”

Freya clapped her hands. “Family dinner! Yay!”

Reina smirked. “You’re going soft.”

Liz muttered, already scribbling in her notebook. “Great headline: *‘The Supplier Opens His Heart—and His Pantry.’*”

“Don’t you dare,” Gene said.

> **System:** “Host demonstrates leadership evolution.  

>  Also recommends dessert.”

Gene sighed, leaning back in his chair.  

Maybe the world was still broken.  

Maybe it always would be.  

But tonight, the fortress smelled like soup and laughter instead of gun oil and ash—  

and for once, that felt like enough.