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Here's a joke: A person from the bottom of the nest died and went to hell, but he thought he had gone to heaven.

They struggled to survive in this cruel environment, just to live one more day, unaware of the suffering that awaited them tomorrow.

Night fell, pressing heavily upon the city, like an inescapable dark cage.

A thick haze of smog mixed with industrial fumes swirled over the city, obscuring the stars' light.

Oak dragged his utterly exhausted body slowly out of the factory.

His back was bent, his eyes were bloodshot, and his skin was ulcerated from long-term exposure to toxic substances.

The machines roared incessantly, and acrid smoke and scalding steam filled the air, turning the entire Lower Nest into a stinking and noisy hellhole.

Each breath felt like swallowing razor blades, burning my throat and lungs.

Oak and his fellow workers were like enslaved laborers, mechanically and numbly repeating high-intensity work under the threat of whips.

Working non-stop for more than ten hours, without rest or relief, mistakes meant being torn apart.

In order to obtain the food stamps that were barely enough to sustain his survival, Oak endured physical exhaustion and mental torment, and even with his hands covered in oil and blood, he dared not stop what he was doing.

The overseers' eyes were like vultures, watching every worker who might slack off.

Hunger gnawed at his insides, dulling his mind and blurring his vision.

Left with no other choice, he gritted his teeth and headed towards the sewer.

This is the secret "dining hall" of the bottom nest residents.

It was a place filled with a nauseating stench, churning sewage, and various unidentified objects floating in it.

The rotting garbage and the corpses of dead creatures mingled together, emitting a stench strong enough to make an ordinary person faint.

Oak cautiously made his way through the sewage, constantly on guard against the mutated rats that might suddenly dart out from the shadows.

These creatures are enormous, with teeth as sharp as knives, capable of tearing him to shreds in an instant.

Beside a pile of garbage, he was pleasantly surprised to find half of a mutated rat carcass, but before he could reach for it, two other equally hungry people surrounded him.

Their eyes gleamed with a beastly light; they would stop at nothing for food.

In an instant, a fierce battle for food broke out.

Fists, teeth, nails—everything became weapons. There were no rules, only the instinct to survive.

Ignoring the bloody scratches on his face, Oak fought back fiercely, and through sheer willpower, he finally managed to snatch the food.

His mouth was split open and his left eye was swollen, but his hands were tightly gripping the half-mutated rat corpse.

Oak, covered in wounds, struggled back to his cramped and dimly lit home.

This so-called "home" was nothing more than a section of abandoned factory pipe with some tattered garbage stuffed at both ends, and the door was simply made of rags and scrap metal.

Upon entering the house, his child, who was not yet five years old, looked at him with expectant eyes, his thin body appearing even more frail under the light of the radiation lamp.

The child's ribs were clearly visible, his skin was as pale as paper due to malnutrition, and his legs were bent and deformed due to calcium deficiency.

"Dad, you're back!" The child's weak voice carried a hint of excitement.

The sound seemed to pierce through the darkness, which might be the only reason for Oak to continue living.

Despite his grief, Oak forced a smile and handed the child the food he had hidden in his arms.

You can see that his hands are rough and deformed from working, with broken nails and cracked, bleeding skin.

"Eat up!" The child eagerly took the unprocessed mutant rat and began to devour it.

Flesh and blood mixed with sludge were stuffed into mouths, without any hygiene or cooking, just the most primitive form of eating.

Looking at the child's appearance, Oak felt a sharp pain in his heart, as if countless knives were twisting inside him.

But this is life in the nest, this is their fate.

Oak gently stroked the child's head, his eyes revealing endless worry.

His vision blurred, whether from exhaustion or dry eyes, he couldn't tell if he was unable to shed tears.

In this dark and gloomy Lower Nest, life was like an endless abyss, leaving Oak with not a glimmer of hope.

He worried that his child might repeat his mistakes, trapped in this vortex of suffering for the rest of his life, struggling to survive every day, and enduring hardship under the shadow of illness and fear.

This kind of life isn't living; it's just not dying.

The upper-class nobles lived in the light, enjoying luxury and comfort, while the lower-class ants could only eke out a living in the darkness.

He worked hard, hoping to save something so that he could seek that almost non-existent opportunity to free his son from this life.

In fact, Oak knew that resistance was futile and escape was a pipe dream; their fate had long been locked in chains.

But this was his only hope.

"Dad, I want to eat more." The child finished his food, but his eyes still gleamed with hunger.

"Tomorrow, Dad will definitely bring you more food." Oak tried to make his voice sound firm.

He knew it was a lie; there might not even be food tomorrow, and they would live on the edge of hunger forever.

The child seemed to sense his father's pain and reached out his thin arms to hug Oak.

"Dad, you are the best dad."

These simple words slightly soothed Oak's tired and numb mind.

For the sake of his child, he must continue to live, no matter what hardships tomorrow may bring.

This is the Bottom Nest, a corner forgotten by the empire, a hell filled with despair and struggle.

In this hell, people always need to find a reason to persevere.

The upper level of the city was brightly lit, with luxurious floating manors quietly suspended in the air, and glittering fountains continuously spraying drinking water that had undergone more than a dozen purification processes.

The noblemen were dressed in exquisite silk robes, their necks adorned with gemstones made from rare minerals.

They hosted one extravagant banquet after another, with the food wasted at a single banquet enough to feed an entire neighborhood of residents in the lower district for a whole month.

But nobody cared whether the people who went down to the nest lived or died.

They only care about profit and pleasure, and have no concern for the suffering of the people at the bottom.

Even when nobles occasionally ventured into the lower levels out of curiosity, they would be fully armed, wearing filter masks and accompanied by a whole squad of fully armed guards.

The people at the bottom of society are like ants imprisoned in eternal night.

The gray sky never sees the sun, and thick industrial waste gas forms a thick barrier of toxic smog.

They struggled to survive in the filthy environment, clinging to that tiny glimmer of hope—perhaps tomorrow will be better?

But tomorrow is never going to be better; it's always just wishful thinking.

I've heard the Empire has angels? I wonder when they'll come to save us?

Chapter 129 Chen Haonan Summons Gul'dan?

In the bottom nest, hunger is only a tiny part of countless sufferings.

The industrial waste and chemical waste discarded by the upper-level companies were dumped in the lower and bottom areas.

Toxic substances accumulate and erode the air, water, and soil at the bottom layer.

Mutated diseases and plagues are rampant, and new viruses are emerging one after another.

People's skin becomes ulcerated and broken due to prolonged contact with toxic substances.

Children are often born with various deformities, some lacking limbs, and others having deformed bony protrusions on their foreheads.

But these are all considered "normal phenomena".

Thirty-year-olds coughing up blood can be seen everywhere in the streets and alleys, curled up in pain in corners, waiting for death to come.

There once was a man who called himself a doctor and opened a simple clinic.

It was a tin shack only ten square meters in size, filled with medical equipment salvaged from a junkyard.

The clinic was packed with people suffering from illness, waiting in the cramped space, sometimes for an entire day.

The doctor used the most primitive methods of diagnosis and treatment, without antibiotics or painkillers; the most advanced medical equipment was a chainsaw.

Even such a rudimentary clinic was seen as a lifeline.

Because after this treatment, one in ten patients miraculously survived.

Of course, the doctor ultimately could not escape the fate of being a descendant of the nest. He contracted an unknown virus that spread through an unknown route, and after a series of self-rescue efforts, he died in despair, convulsing with a high fever.

After the clinic closed, people were left to fend for themselves.

Some people try to save themselves with unknown drugs found in landfills, while others choose to numb themselves with substandard hallucinogenic drugs.

Some simply give up on treatment and silently wait to die.

Infectious diseases are rampant in the bottom nest.

One of the diseases, known as "black blood disease," is particularly terrifying. The blood in a patient's body turns black, and black lines appear on their skin, spreading throughout the body like tree roots.

When the disease occurs, the patient will cough violently and spit out black blood; it is highly infectious.

Once a patient is discovered, the entire neighborhood will be infected, and then they will be isolated in abandoned buildings to die.

There were no medications, no treatments, only endless suffering and waiting.

The water source for the nests is severely polluted, displaying an eerie green or brown color.

Residents have to use rudimentary filtration systems to treat their drinking water, but the water still contains large amounts of heavy metals and harmful substances.

Long-term consumption will cause toxins to accumulate in the body, leading to the failure of various organs, and in severe cases, it can even cause mutations.

Here, crime is a way of survival.

In the underworld, the law is no match for the rules set by the gangs; force and wealth are everything.

Various gangs carved out their own territories, controlling the distribution of food, water, and medicine.

Gang fights frequently break out between neighborhoods, as people fight over small territories or supplies.

Violence, robbery, murder, and extortion are commonplace here; Gotham City is as innocent as a child compared to this place.

The bailiffs in the lower dens were practically non-existent; those in uniform were not law enforcement officers, but rather resembled a larger criminal gang.