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[Your Imperial Majesty Salen, the evacuation of West Sail Port is nearing its end. As per your instructions, we have taken over all assets of the Southern Legion, and the remaining facilities have been handed over to our puppets. General Grove hopes that we will raise his bounty on the playing cards to fifteen million dinars, as well as the rank of Myriarch Gibson, whom he defeated... I would say this is making trouble over nothing, but his explanation does have some reason to it. He believes that either Gulion or Tyr forgot to raise his bounty and promote Myriarch Gibson. We also cannot understand why General Gulion appointed a One-Star Myriarch to lead the southern front forces, but Myriarch Olette, commander of the northern front forces fighting against the State of Brahma's Northern Field Army and the Mammoth State Army, is indeed a Two-Star Myriarch; of that there is no doubt. In any case, everything awaits your decision. —Telegram from the West Sail Port Provisional Command] [Tell him to get lost and find Tyr. —Telegram from the Imperial Palace of Nord City, Eastern Empire] ... Ravinka Industrial Zone. Beside the dusty construction sites, figures swift as the wind wove through the streets. Work was over; once again, it was time for all things to come alive. Streaming off the assembly lines, young men rushed out of the factories like frolicking ducks. Wave upon wave dashed home, then surged in waves toward the marketplace. Their big money had gone into buying bicycles, but they could still scrape together loose change from here and there. Clutching these coins, they bargained with stallholders in the market, trading for odds and ends across stalls large and small—nail clippers, markers, short-sleeved shirts, and the like. They had no idea what use these trinkets would be once taken home; they only felt that trading a tiny steel coin or slip of paper for such things was a damn good deal, multiplying their pennies into real goods! Envious of this miraculous power to "trade for everything," some took illicit risks by making counterfeit money—some even drawing notes in pencil. But after taking a beating with iron fists and batons, the brazen bunch who dared spend it and dared accept it all learned to behave. Besides them, some trendy, artsy youths bought sound systems, and some even purchased karaoke machines. Listening to discs imported from the Alliance, they not only sang of the wasteland's desolation in voices gravelly with sand, but also rented the machines out for others to share at a rate of one silver coin per half hour. Where demand arose, people emerged to meet it. After discovering that certain outsiders were making money doing business, some quick-witted local wastelanders began staking out the docks. The moment cargo ships berthed, they swarmed forward to stock up on parcels and bundles of goods to hawk near the factories. These were the clever ones who knew how to save money. Instead of squandering their first wages on extravagant attire, they used it as seed capital to go into business. Before long, they would become the settlement's first batch of survivors with "credit." Banks would gladly lend to them, helping them turn small-time peddling into major enterprises. The embryonic form of a marketplace thus took shape. It wasn't just the small merchants who were profiting; craftsmen were flourishing too. Lasov, who sold bicycles, made his first pot of gold, while the bicycle mechanics from Golden Gallon Port who accompanied him to the Ravinka Industrial Zone struck the second. Spotting the business opportunity, others commissioned shipping companies to bring in bicycles and bike locks from Golden Gallon Port, opening local bike shops that also did repairs. Although the Ravinka Industrial Zone currently had only some three hundred thousand people, the Southern Legion's colony covered 2.7 million square kilometers, and the uncolonized interior of the Great Desert was an even vaster expanse. The sand was worthless, but the ruins buried beneath it held considerable value. Moreover, for a long time to come, vaults would be unsealed one after another out there. Once they picked up the radio signals from the Ravinka Industrial Zone, some of them would surely try to find their way here... In any case, Hope, head of the Development Foundation in charge of reform, had indeed delivered on his original promise—to get the "animals" across the Great Desert running. Fang Chang was quite pleased with his work, which saved him a tremendous amount of repetitive effort. On many matters, Fang Chang only had to drop a hint, and the man could translate it into concrete policies. Impressive. His starting point was vastly higher than that of Mayor Yodu of Golden Gallon Port, whom Fang Chang had trained before. Overall, the difficulty of "clearing" this region shouldn't exceed Golden Gallon Port, or even Brahma Province. Over two thousand tribes sounded intimidating, but once the number grew past a certain threshold, it ceased being a bad thing and actually became a good thing. At least from the perspective of an administrator, it meant these difficult-to-digest wastelanders had been broken down into tiny individual atoms, like well-chewed food. Brahma Province was different. On the surface, a thousand clans lived there, but closer contact easily revealed that the people dwelling under those thousand "totem poles" all shared a single philosophy and revered Rowell as their one "true god." Their underlying logic was identical, even if the clans had completely different surnames and slightly different customs. Contemplating the differences between the two, a concept Fang Chang had heard long ago during the game's early versions suddenly popped into his head— "Hive." The word had appeared several times in the Alliance Institute of Biological Research's reports on "Gaia," and had even been established as a joint research project with the Academy of Social Sciences. Back then, purely out of a desire to understand the world and learn the Human Alliance language, he had looked up this background lore in the game. As they ventured deeper into the wasteland, gradually moving from the center of the old battleground to the wastelands swept by the "aftermath," he had gradually set these materials aside. Now, he found himself recalling them once again. He still remembered a research report in which a researcher—whose name escaped him—proposed a hypothesis regarding the origin of the "Gaia" consciousness. That researcher believed Gaia was not an advanced civilization that had evolved directly from slime mold, but rather the result of an advanced civilization falling from a higher form of life. Namely: a downward spiral. For mortals to defeat giants, they didn't necessarily have to become taller, mightier giants. They could also become cockroaches. Even if a giant could crush a cockroach underfoot, he could never crush every last cockroach to death. As long as they bred frantically where the giant couldn't see, the ultimate victor would inevitably be the cockroach—with its broader diet and superior adaptability. Human civilization had existed for too brief a span to glimpse the full picture of the evolutionary tree within itself. Yet if the timeline was stretched long enough, evidence could indeed be found on Earth. For instance, cockroaches, which originated in the Carboniferous period, outlived the dinosaurs that ranked far higher than them on the food chain. Under normal circumstances, humans naturally couldn't turn into cockroaches, but the technology to transform into another mammal did exist in the lore of Wasteland Online. For example, in Vault 79's "Eternity" Project, researchers had proposed using available genetic technology to DIY a resilient species capable of weathering the wasteland era while carrying human consciousness. Though this project ultimately failed, it hadn't failed entirely—at least two individuals succeeded, and one of them was still staying in Vault 79. As for deathclaws, they ran rampant across the entire wasteland. In fact, this was precisely the compromise made by higher organisms—or civilizations—sacrificing original principles for the sake of continuing their civilization; an act of "proactive dimensional downgrade" upon their civilized nature. Based on these available clues, that researcher had proposed a hypothesis: Suppose that on an isolated planet, there existed a species named Gaia. This species had two primary branches, A and B. To defeat each other, both branches invariably discarded their bottom lines, eventually devolving from giants into slime molds—and neither could ever turn back. This process was not completed in an instant; it was likely an excruciatingly long game of attrition and internal friction. First, they had to humble themselves into the dust, stopping at nothing for survival. Then, both sides gradually lowered their standards, descending from giants to mortals, from mortals to cockroaches... progressively reducing their environmental requirements step by step until every single cell was steeped in culture fluid. And when their self-downgrade reached its absolute zenith, having abandoned all goals other than mere "existence," like a spring compressed to its limit that could compress no further... in their collapse, they finally welcomed the ultimate "Big Bang." No one knew what the universe looked like before the cosmic Big Bang. Similarly, for the "Gaians" living prior to the Big Bang, no one knew where they would be after the explosion, where they would go, or what they would become. Under the evolutionary struggle governed by the law of the jungle, countless brilliant individuals arrived at the optimal solution: Namely, eliminate individual will. Just destroy it all. We are tired. Thus, the hive-mind was born. It brought everything into orderly alignment; species and clans no longer engaged in ceaseless conflict, nor did they continue any spiral, upward or downward. Under its will, a dead planet revived, and all nutrients would serve one final and solitary consensus: "Existence." Or rather— To survive. They would exist forever in the hollow universe, forgetting everything about the past, relying on the fragments left in their DNA to feed, reproduce, expand... or remain dormant. Naturally, this was merely a hypothesis proposed by a researcher in Wasteland Online regarding the planet Gaia, not a definitive conclusion. Yet the terrifying realization dawned upon Fang Chang: the crooked path Tyr had taken was precisely this one—if you cannot become a giant, become a cockroach. Perhaps Tyr could win a pyrrhic victory in brutal competition by constantly crossing every bottom line, but he might just as easily be utterly eradicated a second before victory by an enemy who suddenly wised up and crossed bottom lines just the same. Or perhaps two evenly matched sides would establish an enduring and agonizing equilibrium, continually lowering their baselines to see who broke first. Evidently, though, the Southern Legion was not powerful enough to force the Alliance to compromise its bottom line. As for the place where they had fought—Brahma Province—an entirely different scenario was unfolding. The survivors there were themselves "Gaia." Or rather, they were in the early stage of evolutionary struggle before Gaia's "Big Bang" and rebirth. Unless most "anomalous" mutants evolved "camouflage," they were either killed or forced to flee. As for how the future would unfold, nothing was certain... ... As usual, Fang Chang sat in his office, flipping through reports submitted by Hope. Just then, a knock came at the door, and he called out casually, "Come in." The door opened. A youth in a Mammoth State military uniform walked in, led by a staff member of the Autonomous Committee. He carried a simple, unadorned killing intent. His wooden face showed little expression, and he didn't even look like much of a fighter. Yet no one would doubt that this scrawny fellow could kill a full-grown man far stronger than himself in a single move. All his skills were meant for killing. People like him were actually rare on the wasteland; after all, the wasteland was mostly barren desolation, and piles of corpses were typically seen only in marauder or mutant tribes. Tension marked the staff member's face as he looked at Fang Chang behind the desk. "He insisted on seeing you... saying he must hand over what's inside this box to you personally." "I know." Setting down the report, Fang Chang looked him up and down. When his gaze settled on what the boy held, his eyes trembled slightly. "Ackerman, 1st Battalion of the Stormtroopers..." The youth introduced himself, then silently stepped forward and set the box on the desk. "...Our father, Rasi, told us to return this to you." Without even looking, Fang Chang knew what was inside the box. Drawing a deep breath, he pressed his thumb and index finger against the bridge of his nose, trying his best not to let his silent emotions be heard. "...What else did he say?" Ackerman answered softly, "He said he will repay your kindness in the next life." This world... Was it really just a fucking game? Eyes closed, Fang Chang remained speechless for a long time. In the end, everything he wanted to say melted into a long sigh. "I understand..." Ackerman nodded, left a quiet "Thank you," and said nothing more, walking away in silence behind the staff member waiting by the door.