The "mine boss" looked very pleased with the shock on Zhang Chi's face.
"Surprised? I'm an Abnormal too."
Zhang Chi replied cautiously, "Didn't expect you to be an Abnormal."
By logic, whoever speaks first at this point should reveal something about themselves. But the "mine boss," having shown off enough, clearly had no interest in chatting further.
His other leg transformed in an instant—like an elastic cord snapping out of his pants with a whoosh, cutting a half-arc through the air before landing with a cloud of dust.
Both his legs landed in front of Zhang Chi, his body bent into the shape of a slingshot. As the arc sprung forward, he came face to face with Zhang Chi—big eyes locked on hers.
He reached out toward Zhang Chi's neck—
But before he could even touch her shoulder, Zhang Chi's fist slammed into his face.
"AaaaahhhhHHHHH—!"
"OWOWOWOWOW—!"
Two teeth went flying. Blood sprayed into the air like a crimson arc.
The "mine boss" collapsed instantly. His black-furred legs retracted in a flash, turning back into human legs. He clutched his face with both hands, tears streaming, rolling all over the floor.
He didn't try to get back up for a long, long time.
He seemed to have lost all fighting ability.
Zhang Chi walked up and crouched beside him, pulling his hands away.
"Don't—don't kill me… please don't kill me…"
Her fingers found the bridge of his nose—
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH—!"
The mine boss shrieked again like a slaughtered pig.
The bone was broken. Multiple fractures.
Her punch had been hot—so hot it almost scorched her own knuckles.
Zhang Chi clenched her fist and savored the feeling.
The mine boss looked at her fist and, in an instant, his bruised-red face turned ghostly pale.
He propped himself up on the floor, wincing, trying to crawl away—only for Zhang Chi to kick him flat again.
To keep him from moving, she got up and planted one foot squarely on his chest.
"Huuurk—"
Zhang Chi tried out a line: "Now do you know who I am?"
The mine boss looked utterly bewildered.
He had no clue.
Zhang Chi frowned.
With the adrenaline wearing off, a cold ache spread across the back of her head.
She reached back and found her hand covered in blood.
Her skull throbbed with every breath.
Only now did she recall being smacked in the back of the head several times earlier.
The mine boss, seeing Zhang Chi's face darken, broke down into snot and tears.
"You—You can't kill me!" he said. "It's a weekday—you're not allowed to kill people on workdays!"
Seeing the flicker of hesitation on Zhang Chi's face, the mine boss quickly added,
"It's in the Points Manual! Page 98, in the fine print of the appendix!"
Zhang Chi frowned. "Really? I don't remember that."
"It's there! I swear!" the mine boss cried. "Killing on a workday costs 300 points!"
The mine boss was rushed to the infirmary.
No one else had witnessed what happened.
The mine boss claimed he'd been injured by a falling rock while digging, hit in the face and teeth during the fall.
The prison guard accepted this explanation—classifying it as a workplace injury.
Work injuries are treated for free. Non-work-related injuries start at 1 point and go up to 10 points depending on severity.
Zhang Chi mimicked the excuse, saying she'd been hit in the back of the head by a falling stone.
The guard signed her injury report, too.
For two inmates in the same location to claim they'd both been hit by falling rocks—it was the kind of story no sane person would buy.
But the guard signed anyway. Why?
Zhang Chi recalled the disciplinary officer who'd been suspended for a week over the cafeteria riot.
Maybe workplace safety wasn't the guards' concern—but inmate fights were.
And no one wanted the hassle of getting involved.
The prison hospital was a separate gray block far away from everything else.
Whoever designed it clearly didn't have convenience in mind.
It had two floors: first floor for minor injuries, second floor for inpatient care.
As soon as she arrived, Zhang Chi was scanned—regardless of the injury type.
She didn't know what the scan was for.
She lay on a bed, waiting quietly as a semicircular machine closed around her, scanning from head to toe.
The doctor operating the machine didn't show any expression.
Soon, a green light lit up on the device.
Zhang Chi asked, "Excuse me, what was that for?"
The doctor glanced at her without answering, fingers dancing across the console.
Soon she was handed a report.
It read: "Non-contagious."
Turned out it was just a security screening.
The treatment itself was rough.
The security scanner might've been the highest-tech piece of equipment in the whole building.
Everything else was painfully basic—at least on the first floor.
The doctor didn't take any X-rays.
He just disinfected her head wound, smeared on some unknown ointment, wrapped it in gauze, and told her to leave.
She got no real information out of him.
The hospital provided transport in—but not out.
Zhang Chi had to walk all the way back to the main prison complex herself.
It took nearly thirty minutes.
Halfway there, she turned to look back.
The gray rectangular building looked especially small under the vast open sky.
The land around it had been deliberately leveled.
The hospital sat at the highest point.
No matter what direction you approached from, you could see that gray box from a mile away.
All of a sudden, it reminded her of the isolation units in military defense zones.
The zombie virus could be transmitted through mucous membranes and blood.
Every soldier who had participated in combat outside the city was considered at risk of infection and had to stay in the quarantine zone for a full three days before re-entering the main city.
Three days—the virus's maximum incubation period.
And yet, the quarantine zone was a ticking time bomb.
What if someone already infected mutated inside, and in turn infected all the other soldiers and guards?
So, the quarantine facility had been deliberately built in a remote, isolated, and highly visible location.
If something went wrong, pre-programmed missiles would be launched from a nearby military base.
Targeted strike.
Lunch ended at 12:35 p.m.
Work resumed at 1.
That gave some time to rest in the dorm.
Zhang Chi flipped open the Points Manual and found, sure enough, a single line in tiny print on page 98:
"In accordance with the principle of productivity-first, no individual (except enforcement personnel) is permitted to take another life by any means during workdays. Violation results in a deduction of 300 points and requires a written reflection."
Zhang Chi tapped her index finger on the desk.
So killing was prohibited—then why did the "mine boss" attack her?
Wait a second. A red badge was worth 1000 points. Deducting 300 still left 700.
Green badges were worth 100 points. Blue ones 200. Killing either one was a net loss.
Only red badges were worth the cost.
On workdays, only red badges were worth killing.
On free days, any badge could be killed.
In other words, prisoners with blue or green badges could freely launch attacks on her, and she couldn't retaliate—
Because they weren't worth enough.
If she killed a green or blue badge in return, her points would plummet.
What restrained prisoners from killing? Not morality—but deterrence.
In civil society, that deterrent was the law. In the wasteland era, it was brute force.
If killing had no cost, then there was no deterrent.
She had lost that deterrent.
That afternoon, Zhang Chi chose weaving duty.
Most of those who had been to the mines in the morning did the same.
The guards had said Abnormals weren't allowed to work in the fields.
Which meant—anyone who had gone to the mines but wasn't in the weaving workshop now, probably wasn't an Abnormal.
Zhang Chi went through them mentally, ruling them out one by one.
From the "mine boss" as a sample, Abnormals didn't seem to have any visible differences from normal people.
Were all Abnormals like the mine boss—with those legs?
Or were there different types?
Before work started, every newcomer was issued an electronic screen, which fit perfectly into a groove in the workstation.
Beside the groove was a circular hole holding a plastic cup—wider at the top, narrower at the bottom—snugly fit so it could be picked up at any time.
At the far end of the weaving workshop, there were two rooms—one on each side of the corner.
Restroom on the left. Break room on the right.
The restroom was unisex, with single stalls, and reeked of disinfectant.
The break room had five pairs of water faucets, spaced about half a meter apart, horizontally embedded into the wall.
The left faucet dispensed cold water, the right hot water.
Below them was a row of cabinets.
Inside were small cups, each the size of a bottle cap, filled with tea leaves or coffee grounds.
In the middle of the cabinet was a metal panel, with a line of scrolling text:
"Tea – 0.3 points per serving. Coffee – 0.3 points per serving."
Just below that was a sensor.
Wristband scan required.
Zhang Chi only took purified water and returned to her station.
The electronic screen had only three buttons: pause, rewind, and replay.
On screen was a tutorial on how to knit teddy bears.
In three hours, she only managed to finish two bears.
Thankfully, pay was based on hours worked.
She got up to fetch some more water.
Her station was near the center of the workshop. It took nearly a full minute to reach the back row.
Just as she turned the corner, she sensed someone else standing up.
She didn't look back. Just gripped her cup a little tighter.
Before entering the break room, there was a narrow hallway.
Once past it, she stepped into the break room—and finally glanced behind her.
No one had followed her in.
She started filling her cup—hot water first, then cold.
The faucets faced the door, so Zhang Chi had her back to the entrance.
Footsteps.
Very light, almost drowned out by the sound of running water.
They drew closer. Then stopped.
Zhang Chi didn't move. But her eyes flicked downward.
The light had changed.
Something was blocking it—something tall.