At dawn, a medium-sized plane stopped at an airport in a certain city in Tennessee, USA. Out of it came more than a dozen solemn soldiers, and a young man with a head full of colorful hair, his whole body trembling uncontrollably.

　　At the front was a man who looked about twenty-seven or twenty-eight years old. He held an instrument in his hand, carefully checking something against it. After quite a while, he finally said, "We're already very close. Head east from here, and we should arrive in about two days. Where's the map?"

　　Someone beside him quickly pulled a large map out of a bag, and the others gathered around to examine it carefully. After a long while, everyone stood up, and that person carefully put the map away.

　　"Let's go. We might have to pass through a town on the way. For now, let's find some vehicles. We'll try to reach the base or fortress or whatever it is within two days." The leader waved his hand and was the first to head out of the airport.

　　This group was none other than Brian Carter and his companions, who had flown in from China. They had spent more than a day and a night in the air. In fact, they had stopped over in Hawaii for a while, since the plane they were using wasn't a large aircraft capable of crossing the Pacific. They needed to refuel and so on there.

　　Fortunately, although Hawaii had also fallen into chaos and riots just like China, the airport hadn't been too badly damaged—at least the fuel was still usable. Because of this, they were delayed a bit before arriving in the US.

　　In any case, they had finally reached their destination safely. After leaving the airport, they searched the surrounding neighborhoods and residential areas, and soon found enough vehicles. In fact, this airport was located in the suburbs, and there were still quite a few Americans living in these residential areas. But when they saw Brian Carter and his group, they all quietly hid away. Although most of them had weapons, how could they possibly compare to Brian Carter and his team? They were equipped with standard special operations weapons—sniper rifles, heavy machine guns, grenades hanging from their bodies, and so on. It was obvious at a glance that they weren't ordinary soldiers. The American civilians weren't foolish enough to attack them.

　　So, with almost no incident, the group drove further out into the suburbs. Unlike the city, the highways here, though dotted with abandoned vehicles, were wide and mostly clear, so their speed was even faster than expected. Setting out at dawn, by evening they had already reached the last stop—a small town.

　　This was a small town full of American rural flavor, not large and sparsely populated. But what puzzled everyone was that there wasn't a single resident here—not even a corpse. The whole town was silent, with no signs of destruction or looting. The town was eerily intact. It looked... it looked downright creepy, as if they'd suddenly arrived in a ghost town.

　　Brian Carter's heart skipped a beat. He didn't know what had happened, so he led the group to get out of the vehicles outside the town, made a few hand signals, and then, together with two scouts, stealthily entered the town. Next, Eagle and another man lay prone on the highest car roof, setting up sniper rifles aimed ahead, while the rest of the team spread out in all directions.

　　Michael Brooks was completely baffled. He gazed at the peaceful, quiet town in the distance and finally couldn't help but ask George Miller, who was guarding him, "What's wrong with them? Why don't we just drive into the town? It's so rare to find a town that's still intact—shouldn't we look for some food and water first? Aren't you all hungry?"

　　George Miller didn't even turn his head. He stared intently at the spot where Brian Carter had disappeared and said, "There's something strange about this town. We can't go in for now. Let's wait for Captain Carter to send back information..."

　　Michael Brooks was even more confused. He asked, even more puzzled, "Why is it strange? It looks so peaceful here. You guys aren't even afraid of places full of corpses, so why be afraid of this? Maybe the residents evacuated ahead of time."

　　George Miller turned and glared fiercely at Michael Brooks, even more annoyed by Michael Brooks's colorful hair. The glare startled Michael Brooks so much that he stumbled back a few steps and sat down on the ground. Seeing that he was about to cry again, George Miller curled his lip and said disdainfully, "You think it's that simple? Who in the world doesn't know by now that Earth only has eight months left before it's destroyed? The powerful and elite have already escaped first. The people left behind have neither the technology nor the time to build spaceships. The only outcome is destruction. In this situation, who wouldn't go mad? Maybe only a tiny minority. This town—at the very least, there should be ten thousand people, right? I don't believe all ten thousand are among that tiny minority."

　　"And the people here have all disappeared. They're not still living in the town. What do you think could cause that?"

　　Michael Brooks's face was still pale. He answered instinctively, "What could it be?"

　　"Clearing, massacre, relocation, or... this town is a trap!"