After dealing with the young man, Bryan felt the tension that had been building in his chest finally ease. The whole ordeal had actually been cathartic. Violence couldn't solve every problem, but as a way to blow off steam? Remarkably effective.
Ignoring the stares from the crowd, he turned and headed back the way he'd co, toward the abandoned factory.
Two blocks later, he reached the factory gates. A glance at his watch showed it was nearly nine o'clock. He spotted a soldier carrying a laptop toward a long table set up nearby.
Once the soldier took his seat, two more ard soldiers positioned themselves behind him, silently surveying the area—maintaining order while watching for anyone who might try to cause trouble.
The mont the clock struck nine, a loudspeaker crackled to life:
"Attention. All residents of District XX, please proceed to the Information Registration Point to record your details. Do not crowd. Maintain order. Form an orderly line..."
The surrounding crowd imdiately surged toward the table, ID cards in hand. But mindful of the announcent—and the rifles the soldiers carried—they managed to form a reasonably orderly queue as they approached.
The man who'd claid first place sat down with obvious excitent. He'd heard the rumor too. Even if he didn't quite believe it, securing this spot still felt like a small victory.
The soldier across from him remained stone-faced. Hands on the laptop, he began the interview:
"Na?"
"Enoch."
"Age?"
"Thirty-seven."
"Occupation?"
"chanical engineer."
"..."
Standing off to the side, Bryan listened to the questions. Na and age seed routine enough.
But when the soldier started asking about occupation, work experience, and other details, Bryan understood imdiately: the rumor was definitely false. He shook his head quietly, losing interest in listening further, and turned toward the RV.
Near the vehicle, Osborne stood holding his and Kelly's ID cards, ready to go join the queue. He'd already worked out an arrangent with Antoine—the old man would keep an eye on their RV while they were gone, in exchange for so supplies later.
Osborne had been nervous about asking, but to his surprise, Antoine had agreed without hesitation. That instant acceptance actually made Osborne more suspicious—was there so trick here?
But he'd already made the request. He had to trust the man now. Besides, once they entered the Quarantine Zone, all their supplies would be confiscated anyway. Holding onto them wouldn't matter for much longer.
"Bryan! I've been looking everywhere for you. Do you and Sarah have your ID cards?"
Osborne's eyes lit up when he saw Bryan approaching. He quickly confird they had their cards, then urged: "Great—let's go! The line's already huge. If we wait any longer, we might not even get a spot!"
"Didn't I tell you I was going to check things out first?" Bryan looked at Osborne with mild surprise. "You actually believe those rumors? I thought you said they were nonsense."
"Well..."
Caught off guard by Bryan's expression, Osborne's face reddened slightly. He coughed into his fist. "Even if it's just a rumor, there might be so truth to it. Can't hurt to try."
"No need." Bryan clapped his hands together, his tone certain. "I just confird it's definitely fake."
"How do you know?"
Bryan walked over to a bench Antoine had set up outside and sat down. He took a drink of water before explaining: "I listened to the questions that registration officer was asking. Besides basic information, they're asking about occupation, work experience, all sorts of things. Each person takes nearly five minutes."
"What's wrong with that?" Osborne still looked confused.
"Think about it. If the lottery selection were real, they'd only need to verify the ID card info and record nas. They'd ask the detailed questions after confirming who gets into the zone—not waste ti recording unnecessary information now. This inefficient approach just drags out the whole process and wastes precious ti."
"So... so what does that an?" Osborne's voice caught as realization dawned.
Bryan's lips curled into a sardonic smile. "It ans the so-called 'lottery' is just theater—a way to calm people down by creating the illusion of fairness. They're asking about occupations because they want to cherry-pick useful people for the zone: engineers, doctors, forr military like yourself...
"And asking about years of experience? That's to filter out the inexperienced—make sure everyone they keep can hit the ground running."
Osborne pressed a hand to his forehead, feeling dizzy. He walked over and slumped onto the bench, looking at the crowd still eagerly waiting in line. His voice was bitter: "So regular people don't have a chance?"
Bryan couldn't help rolling his eyes. Osborne's brain seed to have temporarily gone offline. "Of course they do. You can't run a society with nothing but elites. They need ordinary workers too—people to staff the factories and production lines. You don't expect engineers and doctors to work assembly lines, do you?
"My guess is they're prioritizing experienced professionals across various fields, plus a proportional number of young adults between twenty and thirty-five. And they'll take as many children over ten as they can. Families where parents and kids both fit those criteria? Priority selection."
"Seriously, where did you learn all this?" Osborne stared at Bryan in amazent. Whether the analysis was accurate or not, he couldn't fathom how a thirteen-year-old had developed this kind of thinking.
From theorycrafters in web novels, Bryan thought, but he just shook his head without answering.
Seeing that Bryan didn't want to explain, Osborne sighed and let it go. Everyone had their secrets. Pressing further would be rude.
Sarah, who'd been sitting nearby, spoke up once the two fell silent. "If what you're saying is true, it shouldn't be that hard to figure out. Sooner or later, others will catch on too, right?"
Bryan turned to look at her. Seeing her cute face, he reached out and pinched her cheek. He had to admit—he kind of enjoyed doing that.
"So people have already figured it out. But what can they do? They could sit here doing nothing, or they could take a gamble. Even if it's fake, they lose nothing by trying. And what if it's real? The governnt really thought this through."
Sarah swatted his hand away, glaring at him with a hint of embarrassnt. She didn't know why he kept pinching her cheeks. She didn't exactly mind, but other people were around—it was embarrassing. She huffed: "Then why don't we try?"
Bryan rubbed his stinging hand with a smile. "What's the point? Fake is fake. And even if we got in line now, it's too late to matter. Osborne's a military veteran—a forr lieutenant with command experience. People like him are incredibly valuable now, and only getting rarer. He's almost certainly getting in.
"As for the three of us..." He glanced at Kelly and Sarah. "We're all thirteen or fourteen. With a little training, we'll be productive adults in a few years. Kids our age are definitely a priority resource for the zone."
Even Kelly couldn't help asking: "But there must be plenty of kids our age in Dallas. How do you know they'll pick us?"
"Uh..."
Bryan scratched his cheek, montarily stumped. There were definitely quite a few kids their age in the city.
"Kelly, you're Osborne's daughter, and your age is just right. As long as he gets in, you will too." He paused. "As for and Sarah... let think about that..."
Then he looked up at them all. "Actually... I went to the Administrative Office this morning."
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