"An exit strategy is just a trap with better branding," Jaka said, his voice flat as he stepped closer to the perimeter bulkhead. "Why should we trust a man whose entire division is currently sharpening their bayonets for our throats?""Because my division is starving," Miller shot back from the dark corridor beyond the iron bars, his voice tight with desperation. "The supply chains to the Heights collapsed three days ago. The commanders are eating protein paste while the rank-and-file chew on boot leather. If I bring back fake manifests, they’ll execute me for treason. If I bring back real ones, you buy yourselves a week to fortify. Use me, Kanya. That’s an order."Kanya didn't lower her weapon. Her eyes locked onto the shadowy silhouette visible through the mesh of the gate. "You're out of uniform, Miller. And you're out of rank. You don't give orders down here.""I'm giving you intelligence," Miller growled, pressing his palm flat against the ruste

"If you don't move your boots right now, the only thing getting seasoned will be our corpses," Bambang muttered, his massive frame shifting as he hoisted the wooden supply crate higher onto his shoulder. The damp air of the underground transit tunnel clung to their skin, thick with the metallic tang of stagnant water and old iron.Jaka glanced down the darkened corridor, his fingers tightening around the handle of his utility knife. "We are wasting daylight—or whatever passes for it down here. The warehouse is two sectors past the flooded junction. If the salt's ruined by moisture, our entire winter reserve goes down the drain.""And if the feral pack in the dry storage is still active, we aren't coming back with salt or supplies," Kanya warned, her boots clicking sharply against the cracked concrete as she checked the magazine of her sidearm. "Miller's intel was solid on the route, but he didn't mention anything about the local fauna setting up a permanent camp inside an industrial c

"If you plan on standing there admiring the dental records of our local hosts, we are going to run out of daylight," Jaka muttered, stepping past Kanya with a heavy canvas sack slung over his shoulder. The coarse, industrial-grade sodium chloride bit into his palm through the coarse fabric, but the weight was a sweet relief. "Move, Bambang. I need every inch of that workbench cleared before the humidity ruins the next batch of pork bellies."Bambang grunted, his massive frame blocking the warehouse exit as he swung the empty heavy-duty fire extinguisher back onto his tool belt. The metal canister was dented, coated in a thick layer of grey ash and dried foam from where he had cracked the alpha dog across the skull just moments ago. The remaining pack of feral curs had vanished back into the dark recesses of the chemical vats, whimpering and licking their wounds in the shadows."The beast didn't want to give up the salt," Bambang rumbled, his voice echoing off

"A glowing neon sign in the middle of a subway terminus," Jaka muttered, his voice dripping with profound professional offense as he squinted across the platform. "They are drawing every scavenger, patrol drone, and stray animal within a three-mile radius. It’s not a kitchen; it’s a tactical beacon.""Keep your voice down, Jaka, unless you want every cutthroat in the West Concourse to know we are auditing their garbage," Kanya hissed, her fingers instinctively brushing the grip of her sidearm where she crouched behind the rusted corrugated iron of the subway pillar. "We came here for culinary intelligence, not to start a gang war over interior design.""I am not starting a war, Kanya. I am conducting a professional inspection," Jaka replied, his jaw tight as he adjusted the strap of his canvas satchel. "Look at that setup. It’s an insult to the culinary arts. That place smells like a chemical fire mixed with expired mouthwash, and they have the audacity to cal

"Shout? I am not shouting, Kanya, I am speaking at an appropriate volume for someone witnessing a gastronomic crime," Jaka whispered fiercely, his eyes locked on the sputtering neon sign of Chef Malek’s concession stand across the platform. "And as for my solution, it is entirely rational. A public challenge. A blind-tasting duel judged by neutral delegates from the Rust-Siders. Let the palate decide who truly runs the best kitchen underground."Kanya let out a slow, long-suffering sigh, rubbing the bridge of her nose beneath the brim of her tactical cap. "You want to settle a dispute over synthetic rations by holding a public cook-off in the middle of a lawless transit hub?""It is the only civilized way," Jaka insisted, crossing his arms and lifting his chin with stubborn pride. "If I simply ambush them, they win by default of martyrdom. But if I beat them at their own counter using superior ingredients, superior technique, and uncompromising standards, thei