Dawn arrived with the sound of engines.

For miles across the cracked highway, dust clouds rolled toward Hancock Fortress.  

Dozens of armored transports, military trucks, and supply carriers—  

the largest convoy anyone had seen since the world ended.

Inside the fortress, no alarms blared.  

Everyone had known they were coming.

The night before, the System had remade the east compound in less than an hour.  

What used to be two modest trade rooms now stretched into full-scale facilities—  

steel floors, mechanical cranes, freight rails, and a ceiling tall enough to park a helicopter.

Kayla had walked in halfway through construction,  

blinked at the sight of walls reassembling themselves,  

and muttered, “You know, one day I’m just gonna stop pretending this is normal.”

Freya grinned. “You stopped weeks ago.”

By now, nobody screamed when steel moved on its own.  

That was just the System doing “housework.”

> **System:** “Facility upgrade complete.  

>  Trade Zone A and B ready for cargo exchange.”

Gene stood at the upper walkway, mug of coffee in hand,  

watching the convoy roll through the valley.  

For a moment, it almost looked like the old world again—organized, efficient, human.

“Kind of nostalgic,” he murmured.

> **System:** “Incorrect. Efficiency level still below pre-collapse standards.”

“Yeah, well, so is coffee quality.”

Through the comm, Reina’s voice came calm and clear.  

“Government convoy approaching perimeter.  

Opening Gate Three.”

The great steel door rumbled open.  

Dust swirled as the first trucks entered, headlights cutting through the gloom.

“Keep them slow,” Gene ordered. “No sudden moves.”

> **System:** “Security mode: moderate.  

>  Automatic turrets on standby.”

Kayla whistled softly as she watched from the monitor room.  

“Big show. Bet they polished those trucks just to impress you.”

Liz smirked. “Newsflash: it worked.”

The convoy crawled to a stop beside Trade Zone A.  

Uniformed soldiers jumped down, unhooking containers one by one.

Angel Gates herself stepped out from the lead vehicle—  

armor dusty, face calm. Her sister, Mikasa, emerged from the annex walkway, waving brightly.

The contrast was almost comical: one steel, one sunlight.

Reina’s voice echoed through the speakers.  

“This is Hancock Fortress. Proceed to designated bay.”

Angel raised a hand in acknowledgment.  

“Understood.”

Within minutes, the cargo containers were in place,  

and the vehicles rolled back, leaving the cavernous hall quiet.

> **System:** “Scanning incoming materials.  

>  Titanium—verified.  

>  Composite alloys—verified.  

>  Contamination—minimal.  

>  Total volume: 3.04 containers.”

“Not bad,” Gene said. “Tell her we’re square.”

As the soldiers regrouped outside,  

the massive door of Trade Zone B slid open with a metallic groan.  

Inside waited two containers—one marked *FOOD*, the other *AMMUNITION*.

Angel watched as mechanical cranes lifted them onto flatbeds.  

The precision was unnerving.  

No human crew, no noise beyond the hum of hydraulics.

> **System:** “Outbound cargo ready for transfer.  

>  Transaction value—balanced.  

>  May I add a complimentary note?”

“No,” Gene said instantly.

> **System:** “Acknowledged. Generosity suppressed.”

Outside, Angel met her sister halfway.  

Mikasa beamed. “You made it!”

Angel nodded, her usual cold demeanor softening.  

“I see you’re adapting well.”

“Everyone’s nice here. Even the grumpy ones,” Mikasa said, glancing toward Reina and Kayla.

Angel smiled faintly. “Then stay alert. Nice places don’t last.”

She turned toward the main building’s windows—  

and for a moment, she caught Gene watching from the shadows above.

He didn’t wave. Neither did she.  

But in that brief silence, both understood something unspoken:  

mutual respect, and mutual caution.

Because in this new world, trust was rarer than food.

> **System (internally):** “Observation: Major Gates demonstrates restrained fear.  

>  Conclusion: alliance stable.”

By noon, the convoy was gone.  

The horizon swallowed the last trail of dust,  

and the fortress fell back into its steady hum.

In the control room, Gene leaned back, staring at the monitor.  

Another successful trade.  

No one dead, no one angry. A miracle, by their standards.

And yet, his mind wouldn’t rest.

> **System:** “Transaction log completed.  

>  Current resource levels—sufficient for 87 days.”

Gene sipped his coffee. “Funny. Feels quieter than usual.”

> **System:** “External activity reports confirm decline.  

>  Trade volume down 46%.  

>  Possible causes: civil unrest, migration collapse, localized wars.”

He frowned. “So, the world’s getting smaller again.”

> **System:** “Or simply more desperate.”

Across the room, the radio crackled—random frequencies bleeding in.  

Voices layered over static.

> “—anyone out there—need medicine—”  

> “—safe zone near east ridge, come now—”  

> “—help, please—”  

> “—labor accepted—shelter guaranteed—”

Liz twisted a dial. “Half of these are traps, right?”

Kayla muttered, “Half? Try all.”

Gene listened quietly, the static washing over him.  

Desperation, lies, and faint hope—  

the three languages of the apocalypse.

He turned off the radio.

> **System:** “Would you like me to trace those signals?”

“No,” he said softly. “Not yet.”

Because he knew what came after curiosity—trouble.  

And for tonight, trouble could wait.