The shelter was the only place anyone felt safe anymore compared to the hell of the apocalypse.

The brief times expedition teams would return were spent peacefully, and Luchino Diruse would lock himself in his room to work, whether it was on supplies, weaponry, or seeing just how the fungus worked.

Only he was more pent up and stressed, crossing places off a map and clicking his tongue in frustration. Half of it was covered in red.

“Damn.”