As Osiris moved forward, he used his auditory sensors to capture snippets of conversation around him.
On the way to the town hall, he passed an area that resembled a bulletin board.
Some notices were posted on it, and the paper looked a bit old.
Several of the documents recognize individuals and groups who have contributed to the maintenance or technical restoration of the "core," listing their names and the additional rations or contribution points they have received.
The announcement's language emphasizes dedication to and honor of the "ancestral legacy."
But near the bulletin board, and in some sheltered corners of the buildings, small groups of residents gathered to rest, their hushed conversations revealing a different story.
"...The quota for anti-radiation drugs at the medical station has been reduced again. They say it's to prioritize the supply to the 'core area'."
"Ha, it's always the same excuse. My father's coughing up blood worsened last week, and his application for additional treatment gel was rejected."
"Keep your voice down... There's no other way, we can't live without the 'core'. Without it, we're nothing, we would have turned to ashes in the wasteland long ago."
"But the price... my daughter is only twelve years old, and her hair has already started to fall out..."
"At least we're still alive and can earn a living with our skills. People from outside don't even have the chance to get in."
These fragmented conversations, combined with his observations of the residents' health, point to a clear fact: this community possesses technology that surpasses the wasteland average, but the source of this technology, that "core," also poses a persistent and seemingly unavoidable threat to the residents' health.
Resources, especially medical resources, are clearly being tilted toward activities directly related to the "core".
Osiris connected this information with the unusual radiation cloud he had previously scanned.
The continuous radiation leakage from the STC system is likely the root cause of this "cost".
The Van Sauer family survived and thrived thanks to STC, but STC was also slowly eroding their lives.
He did not linger at the bulletin board or where crowds gathered, and followed the guard's instructions to head towards the town hall.
His optical lens silently recorded the path, the location of the defense nodes, possible blind spots in the surveillance, and those faces that looked tired, with worry or restraint in their eyes.
This small town appears orderly and technologically advanced, but it clearly harbors a profound contradiction between technological dependence and health deterioration.
This might be a point of entry that can be used.
The tavern is located at the intersection of a secondary passage in Ronker Town. The storefront is small and made of recycled metal sheets, with some faded lettering on the sign.
Osiris pushed open the heavy soundproof door, and a smell mixed with cheap synthetic alcohol, engine oil and sweat hit her.
The pub was dimly lit, with the main light sources coming from a few low-powered chandeliers above the bar and a few flickering, malfunctioning neon tubes on the walls.
There weren't many people in the tavern; they were scattered around a few tables.
Most customers were wearing standard gray-black protective suits; some had their collars unbuttoned, while others had their helmets nearby.
The conversation was not loud, and was masked by a low background noise and the hum of the circulating ventilation system.
Osiris walked to the bar and ordered a basic synthetic liquor.
The bartender was a middle-aged man with a blank expression, mechanically performing his service without any extra conversation.
Osiris took a glass and chose a relatively secluded spot at the end of the bar to sit down, leaning against the wall. From this angle, he could observe most of the interior of the pub.
His hearing sensors were set to high-sensitivity mode, filtering out background noise and capturing snippets of conversation around him.
A group of people at a table near the door were discussing work.
"...Another section of pipeline corridor was discovered at the excavation site on the east side. The structure is relatively intact, but the radiation reading is high."
"The tech team will be there tomorrow to evaluate it. Hopefully, they can find some useful standard interfaces."
"Hopefully, most of the data crystals we found last time were damaged after three months of restoration."
The conversation at the other table revolved around health.
"...The new anti-radiation drugs issued by the medical center seem to be less effective than before."
"I heard there was a shortage of raw materials, so the concentration was diluted."
"Damn radiation sickness… My father has been coughing badly again these past two days and can't sleep well at night."
"The maintenance schedule for the core area has increased again, but the contribution points haven't increased much."
"Stop complaining. Getting into the core area is an opportunity. Earn more contribution points so you can at least get some better filter cartridges."
These fragmented pieces of information coincided with Osiris' previous observations: a community engaged in technological excavation and reconstruction around the "core" STC was generally plagued by radiation sickness, had strained medical resources, and had internal hierarchical differences based on contributions to the "core".
His gaze swept across the entire tavern, finally settling on a corner at the very back.
A young man sat alone there, wearing a protective suit with the Van Sauer family crest, but the style was rather old, with minor wear marks on the elbows and shoulders.
He had his head down, with a nearly full glass of cloudy synthetic liquor in front of him. The condensation on the glass indicated that the liquor had been sitting for quite some time.
Unlike other customers who occasionally chatted in hushed tones, he remained unusually quiet, as if isolated from the surrounding noise.
Suddenly, an uncontrollable, violent cough erupted from him.
He suddenly bent over, his shoulders heaving violently, and his cough was muffled and continuous, with a distinct chest resonance, which sounded particularly jarring in the relatively quiet tavern.
He quickly covered his mouth tightly with one hand and braced his other hand on the table to steady himself, but there seemed to be a slight dampness seeping out between his fingers.
Several pairs of eyes briefly glanced at him, with a routine scan, but quickly looked away, returning to their own glasses or companions.
No one came forward to ask or show any concern.
Those gazes carried a habitual indifference, as if it were just part of the everyday background noise, and even subtly revealed a hint of avoidance, as if afraid of being tainted by something bad.
Even the bartender only glanced in that direction, his expression unchanged, before mechanically wiping the now spotless glass in his hands.
The cough lasted for about fifteen seconds before gradually subsiding, eventually turning into a few heavy wheezes.
The young man straightened up, his chest still heaving noticeably, his face appearing even paler in the dim light, and fine beads of cold sweat seeping from his forehead.
He glanced at the untouched glass of synthetic liquor, his eyes revealing physical exhaustion and a deeper, almost desperate pain.
Then, he lowered his head again, returning to his previous still state, as if trying to completely hide himself.
Osiris' sensors clearly recorded this scene: the sound wave characteristics of the cough showed severe damage to the lung tissue; the reaction patterns of the surrounding people indicated that this situation was common and not taken seriously in the community; the isolated position of the young man and his body language pointed to his marginalized status in the community.
His violent cough, accompanied by a distinctive chest murmur, closely matched the pattern of symptoms previously described as "radiation sickness."
This person not only has a worrying physical condition but also weak social connections, making him a potential source of information.
Osiris slowly took a sip of the synthetic liquor.
He found a potential source of information, a breakthrough point for those who might be dissatisfied with the status quo and in dire need of help.
He needed to find a suitable opportunity to approach the young man in a way that would not arouse suspicion.