Because energy quotas are limited, and both spouses and the elders at home may all be at work, many employees choose to eat in the “Material Supply Market” on each floor.

This place is divided into two parts. One section provides goods from the “Inner Ecological Zone” such as sweet potatoes, potatoes, rice, flour, meat, vegetables, and fruit, as well as materials from the “Factory Zone” like fabric, white sugar, salt, etc. The other section offers various cooked foods, which everyone affectionately calls the “employee cafeteria.”

The cost of eating in the cafeteria is higher than cooking at home, and the taste isn’t great either, but considering everyone’s shortage of energy quotas and the fatigue after a day’s work, it seems to be the better choice.

This is also the tendency passed down from the company’s upper management—they hope to reduce energy consumption by providing unified meals.

When Brian Carter returned to the 495th floor, there were still about 20 minutes left before the cafeteria opened at 6:30—because some positions require cleaning, disinfection, or other necessary tasks after work, the board of directors, for fairness, stipulated that the cafeteria opens half an hour after the official end of the workday.

For those employees who return to their floors before 6:15, the “Activity Center” next to the “Material Supply Market” is the best place to pass the remaining time. They can gather together, chatting under the lights about all sorts of things in life and work, and mention with a clear sense of superiority the people struggling to survive outside.

Some employees also take the opportunity to bring things from home they no longer need to sell, in exchange for more contribution points. So, every evening from 6:00 to 6:30, and from 7:00 to 8:30, small markets appear in the main hall of the “Activity Center.”

As soon as Brian Carter walked in, he saw the supervisor of the “Activity Center,” Henry BrooksOld Mr. Brooks, sitting on a small stool that creaked from time to time, with a pile of odd items scattered in front of him.

“What’s this?” Brian Carter squatted down and picked up a rectangular object with a metal shell and a black screen.

“Who knows? Anyway, it’s pretty sturdy. You could use it to hit someone, or for bulletproofing.” Old Mr. Brooks poked his own chest.

“Where did it come from?” Brian Carter asked as he fiddled with it.

Henry Brooks cleared his throat and said:

“It’s my comrade’s youngest son’s. He’s also serving in the ‘Security Department’ now. He just came back from the ruins of an old world city. Ah, time really flies. I watched him be born, and then grow up…”

After reminiscing for a while, Old Mr. Brooks added with a smile:

“Anyway, this is something that’s been screened out, not needed by the company, so it doesn’t have to be handed in. That’s why he left it here with me to sell on consignment. You know, I don’t need to go to the cafeteria—someone brings me food.”

After all, he manages quite a few employees.

Brian Carter glanced at the spiderweb-like cracks on the black screen of the object, thought for a moment, and said:

“How many contribution points?”

“Not expensive, not expensive, 500 points.” Henry Brooks quoted casually.

Brian Carter slowly put the item down and muttered:

“That’s 10 jin of meat.”

After saying the word “meat,” he and Henry Brooks both swallowed.

Brian Carter swept his gaze around and picked up another item:

“Is this a watch?”

“Yes, a wristwatch. It has a complex mechanical structure inside, and it still works even now. Just needs a little adjustment and it’s good to go.” Henry Brooks’s eyes lit up. “So, what do you think? Want to consider it? Its hands and time markers glow at night, so you don’t need a flashlight to see the time. Let me tell you, in the whole company, there are definitely fewer than 100 people who own a good watch. If you have it, you won’t need to rely on the broadcast for the time anymore, or come here to look at the wall clock. You’ll become the envy of all the residents on this floor. Who knows, maybe some young lady will even approach you for a relationship…”

The watch in Brian Carter’s hand had a silver strap with several cracks and rust spots, and the emerald-green dial, like a gemstone, had a second hand that ticked intermittently, with glass shards everywhere.

“How many contribution points?” Brian Carter asked in a steady voice.

Henry Brooks paused before answering:

“Sixty thousand.”

Brian Carter put the watch down at lightning speed, as if it were burning hot.

With a D1 employee’s monthly salary of 1,800 points, it would take almost three years of not eating or drinking to save up enough.

Henry Brooks didn’t really expect Brian Carter to buy it—he was just joking with the young man. He then pointed to the pile of metal cans in the middle and said:

“Want to buy this?

“Good stuff—military rations!”

Brian Carter picked up a can. The outer plastic film was already torn, the label extremely faded, but he could just make out the words “braised beef” and “500g.”

“So, what do you think? Feels heavy, right? That means it’s packed full!” Henry Brooks said, spitting slightly as he spoke. “Let me tell you, this kind of military ration is delicious—unforgettable for a lifetime! Way better than the shrunken rations from the ‘Salvation Army’!”