Surviving the Zombie Apocalypse With My Military System

Chapter 83 Gathering Intel

Chapter 83 Gathering Intel

Leaving the Boss's office, Graves was escorted by the armed guards to his personal room in the hotel.

The room assigned to Graves was markedly luxurious, similar in extravagance to his residence in the Oriental. He took in the surroundings. A king-sized bed, adorned with plush pillows and a thick, velvety comforter, took center stage. It sat in stately defiance of the harsh, unforgiving world outside the camp's walls. The room was spacious, with polished hardwood floors that gleamed under the chandelier's soft light. Every detail, from the curtains draping the large windows to the artwork gracing the walls, is high-end.

There was a state-of-the-art entertainment system, a fully stocked minibar, and an ensuite bathroom equipped with modern amenities. The opulence was a stark contrast to the rudimentary living conditions most others in the camp endured. It was a clear indication of The Boss's tactic of using luxury and privilege as a means to manipulate and control his subordinates.

Graves was alone now, the guards having left him at the door. He knew that despite the apparent freedom, eyes were watching him; there was no room for error.

This would be his room until he had gathered sufficient information about the camp's operations. Taking a deep breath, Graves walked to the window. Outside, the camp buzzed with activity. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter, their watchful eyes scanning the surroundings, vigilant and alert. He wondered if there was a rotation schedule for the guards or if specific zones were assigned to them, such intelligence could be crucial for an eventual extraction.

Graves then did a thorough sweep of the room for bugs or cameras. The Boss might lavish him with luxuries, but trust was a commodity far more expensive and far less likely to be granted. Every sweep, every corner checked, was a step towards ensuring his safety and the success of his mission.

Fortunately, there was none to be found. Graves felt a slight ease, though he reminded himself not to get too comfortable. With the room seemingly secure, he could focus on planning his next steps…That is—getting to know the area.

Exiting his room, Graves walked down the corridor into the main atrium of the hotel.

Graves' priority was to map out the camp's layout. He noted the locations of exits, entry points, and possible escape routes. He observed the guards, trying to discern a pattern in their movements and shifts. Every detail counted.

The people within the camp were another element Graves needed to understand. Who could potentially be an ally? Who should be avoided? He was a stranger in a structured sanctuary, and missteps could be costly. Information was his currency, and he needed to accumulate it without drawing undue attention.

He casually interacted with some of the camp's residents, using his cover as an engineer to ask questions that would help him gauge the power dynamics within the camp. He needed to understand the hierarchy, the influential figures besides the Boss, and the unspoken rules that governed the lives of those within the camp's walls.

There he learned that the camp was absolutely controlled by the militants, who are Boss's men. But even though militant sounded military, it doesn't mean exactly like that. Militants are like the chain of command of the camp, there are ten seats, and the lower the number, the higher the rank.

The seats are composed of the Boss's military officers, six of them to be exact, while the remaining four seats are occupied by civilians who have contributed significantly to the camp's operations. These civilians possess skills or resources that are valuable to the Boss, thus earning them a special status within the camp's hierarchy. Their exact roles and contributions vary, but they all wield a level of influence and authority over the other residents.

They also act like a governing body, where decisions regarding the camp's operations, security protocols, and resource allocations are made collectively. A majority vote among the ten seats is required to pass any decision. The first seat could either approve or veto the decisions.

If one wants to become a militant, there's only two things they must achieve. First, they have to prove their loyalty to the Boss, and second, they must possess a skill or resource that is deemed valuable to the camp. The competition to become a militant was fierce, as it offered privileges and protections that the average camp residents didn't have.

The regular inhabitants of the camp, on the other hand, lived in constant fear and oppression. They had to abide by the strict rules set by the Boss and his militants, and any form of dissent was swiftly and harshly dealt with. Graves had witnessed the punitive measures first-hand.

As he was walking through the camp, a resident accidentally dropped a water gallon, causing the water inside it to spill all over the ground. An armed guard nearby saw the incident and immediately accosted and assaulted the resident.

As much as he wanted to help the guy, he couldn't do so, as it'll break his cover. And he kind of understood why the armed guard did that, water is a valuable resource in the camp, and any waste was not tolerated. The harsh treatment served as both a punishment for the individual and a stern warning to others.

At the hotel's cafeteria, he saw regular residents eating their food. Cup noodles and a bottle of water. While the militants were eating sumptuous meals cooked by chefs. The residents could only look at them with envy and resentment.

Oh, food is not free here. One has to buy it with the cheapest one being cup noodles and the expensive one being cooked meals. The currency used is the chips from the casino, in order to get chips, one must gamble or do daily work to maintain the camp.

It's like Oriental but they haven't developed a currency system yet. As long as one works and contributes to Oriental, they'll get their share of food.

Of course, aside from food, the chips can be used to buy other things, like rooms for example. Those who can't afford to buy a room are forced to sleep on the floors of the lobby. One can also buy pleasure with it.

Six o'clock in the evening, things in the camp started to get rowdy.

The noise increased and Graves followed the sound. He was stunned when he stumbled upon a fully functioning club right within the camp. The place was alive with loud music, flickering lights, and people dancing as if the world outside didn't matter. It was as if they were in a completely different place, unaffected by the apocalyptic scenario beyond the walls.

Tables were packed with gamblers deeply engrossed in card games like poker and baccarat. People were placing bets, some were winning, some were losing, but the atmosphere was electric. The chips from the casino were the currency here, and everyone was keen to earn more.

As he continued to explore the club, he saw a few residents having the day of their lives. Some were having sex others doing drugs.

"This is messed up," Graves muttered under his breath.

"Hello there handsome," called a woman behind him. Graves turned and saw a woman in her twenties wearing a swimsuit, revealing her well-endowed body. "I'll give you ten minutes for one purple chip."

"No, I had my eyes on him first!" said another woman who approached him. She licked her lips as she scanned him with her eyes. "It's rare to see a handsome foreigner in this club. All of them were old and ugly. If you want, we can have a fun time together for free."

"I'm sorry, but I'm not interested," Graves said and walked away. "This is starting to look like an underground club."