The air in the Jade Citadel's Command Center was thick with the smell of stale coffee and industrial disinfectant. It was a utilitarian box of concrete and repurposed technology carved deep into the former university's administration building. Li Wei sat hunched over a bank of glowing screens, the light doing nothing to soften the permanent shadows beneath his eyes.
Three years. Three years since the world ended, and the survival of the 500 people sheltering in the Citadel rested on his ability to calculate, ration, and predict. It was an overwhelming, unending weight.
"Lin Jie, confirm the filtration output on the North Tank. The water purity just dropped three points." Li Wei rubbed his temples. Even his voice sounded frayed.
Lin Jie, the communications tech, spun around in his worn chair. "Confirmed, Strategist Li. It's not the filter, it's the pressure. We're drawing too much from the reserve wells. If Zhang Lei's team doesn't bring back the fuel stabilizers today, we'll have to cut power to Sector D tonight."
Li Wei's fingers hovered over a flashing red alert on his primary screen: Fuel Reserve: D-3 Hours.
Cutting power to Sector D—the lowest tier of the Citadel, home to the most vulnerable families—was politically disastrous, not to mention a security risk. He pictured the inevitable line of anxious faces, the arguments, the quiet desperation. He was the one who would have to face them.
No pressure, he thought, allowing himself a grim, internal sigh.
A sudden sound of steel sliding against leather cut through the low hum of the servers. Li Wei didn't flinch, didn't turn, but his posture instantly stiffened. He knew that sound intimately: Jiang Hu, the Commander, running a dry cloth along the edge of his combat knife.
Jiang Hu occupied a corner of the room that was always unnervingly silent, yet somehow dominated the space. He was leaning against a concrete column, monitoring the external feed from the perimeter cameras, his tactical vest and heavy boots radiating a contained, lethal energy. His presence was a protective cage Li Wei couldn't escape—and didn't entirely want to.
"Sector D will be fine," Jiang Hu's voice was low, a rumbling vibration that always felt closer than it sounded. It carried no warmth, only certainty.
Li Wei finally turned, his expression carefully neutral. "Commander, the morale reports from the barracks are already critical. We can't afford another power blackout without fuel to immediately restore it. The panic alone could cause a stampede at the lower gates."
Jiang Hu didn't look away from the monitor, where a cluster of 'walkers'—the most common infected—stumbled rhythmically against the barbed wire. "Panic is a resource, Li Wei. Use it. It reminds them why they need the perimeter secure." He spoke about people as he spoke about weapons: tools to be managed.
"And my priority is to prevent those people from killing each other over a contaminated food packet, or wasting the last diesel reserves trying to run," Li Wei countered, the sharpness in his tone surprising even himself. Jiang Hu was the shield; Li Wei was the life support. They fundamentally disagreed on what was more essential.
Jiang Hu finally shifted, his eyes—dark, intense, and always unsettlingly focused—flickering over Li Wei's face for a fraction of a second. It was just long enough for Li Wei to catch a glimpse of something beyond the military calculation, a flicker of raw exhaustion mirroring his own.
"I need to finalize a path for Zhang Lei's recovery team," Jiang Hu stated, his voice returning to its normal, detached tone. "Give me the coordinates that pose the lowest risk of hostiles but the highest probability of heavy fuel trucks."
Li Wei felt a familiar, aching pain in his chest. Lowest risk to the team, or lowest risk to you, Hu? He knew the answer was always "the team," because Jiang Hu would never admit to prioritizing his own safety. And yet, Li Wei always felt like Jiang Hu treated him as the single, most critical asset—not a person, but an object of necessity.
He bit back the words about their old friendship, about the warmth they once shared on this very campus under normal skies. Now, they only spoke in metrics and commands.
Li Wei swiveled back to his terminal, forcing himself to breathe deeply. "Wait one moment, Commander. I'll run the projections now. We should target the old industrial park adjacent to the river. High structures, clear sightlines, and those trucks shouldn't be too decayed yet." He began typing, the sound of the keyboard tapping out survival, while the quiet, possessive focus of Jiang Hu's gaze remained heavy on his back.
The Red Thread of Ruin. The Citadel was supposed to be safe. But the real ruin, Li Wei knew, was already happening inside, in the space between the man he loved and the Commander who wouldn't acknowledge it.