Tehran Grocery Store: My Intelligence is Priced Clearly

1.3 kilometers.

Zhang Jian looked down at his right leg.

Let's look at the countdown again.

00:14:17.

He had no time to hesitate.

He picked up a broken aluminum window frame from the ground to use as a cane, gritted his teeth, and moved southeast along the direction marked by the green dotted line on the panel.

The first three steps were alright.

Fourthly, my right knee buckled, and I almost fell over.

He staggered and grabbed onto a car parked on the side of the road to steady himself.

"Damn, damn, damn..."

Zhang Jian cursed his damn leg in frustration.

The streets were already in complete chaos.

There were scattered brick fragments and glass shards everywhere.

The utility pole leaned to the side in the middle of the road, the power lines dangling down, sparks crackling out.

He bypassed the power lines and turned into a nearby alley.

At the entrance of the alley, there is a three-story building. The wall facing the street has completely collapsed, revealing the rooms inside.

The living room on the second floor is completely open.

The sofa was still in its original place, and there was even a half-finished cup of tea on the coffee table.

A woman in a black robe was squatting downstairs, holding a child, muttering something as if she were praying.

The child was crying, but the sound was drowned out by the surrounding environment.

Zhang Jian leaned on the window frame as he passed by her, wanting to say something, but he opened his mouth and didn't say anything.

His Persian was sufficient, but nothing he said would make a difference in this situation.

He himself didn't know if he would survive another ten minutes.

Keep going.

At the end of the alley is a main road.

The road surface was blasted into a crater seven or eight meters in diameter, and the asphalt surface was rolled up, exposing the soil and broken water pipes underneath.

The water pipe had a large hole, and water mixed with mud gushed out of the pit, flowing down a large area of ​​the road.

Shoes sank into the mud, making each step exceptionally difficult.

The countdown on the panel is still ticking.

00:09:44.

This can't go on.

too slow.

Zhang Jian frowned, his face turning pale.

I looked back at the ruins behind me.

With a determined effort, he threw away the aluminum window frame and started running, his legs straining against the ground.

It was less of a run and more of a limping, rapid movement.

Every time his right leg touched the ground, the wound on his calf would tear open again, causing him to wince in pain.

Even so, he didn't dare to stop.

On the screen in front of me, time keeps ticking.

Nine minutes.

1.3 kilometers.

Even under normal circumstances, this speed would be quite difficult for him.

Run off the main road and turn onto another street.

The situation on this street is slightly better.

The building did not completely collapse, but all the glass was shattered, and the ground was covered with debris.

Several men were carrying people out of a building.

The man being carried out was an old man, his face covered in blood, and one of his legs bent at an abnormal angle.

"کمک! کمک! (Help!)"

Someone shouted at Zhang Jian.

Zhang Jian didn't stop.

It's not that he doesn't want to help.

He stopped, and in nine minutes we'll all die together!

He knows this perfectly well.

Time is running out.

The green dotted line on the panel guided him to continue forward and turn left at an intersection.

After turning left, the entrance to a subway station suddenly appears.

He had ridden the Tehran metro a few times; there weren't many lines, but they were quite extensive.

Iranians considered air defense when they built the subway.

After all, this country had been threatened for decades, and its underground fortifications were built in an extremely frenzied manner.

That's how it got its name as "Iran's underground city".

The green dotted line on the panel ends at that subway station.

Zhang Jian sped up his pace even more.

My right leg is numb; the pain has lasted so long that I don't feel it anymore.

My left arm is swollen, and it hurts terribly every time I swing it.

Blood from his forehead flowed into his eyes, and he wiped them haphazardly with his sleeve, his vision filled with crimson.

Halfway there, a pickup truck roared past him.

There were seven or eight people crammed into the truck bed, some in military uniforms and some civilians.

The car was going very fast, and the dust it kicked up covered his face.

Zhang Jian instinctively tried to flag down the car, and even raised his hand.

But the pickup truck didn't slow down at all and sped off north.

"You motherfucker..."

He cursed under his breath, reluctantly lowered his hand, and continued jogging towards the subway station entrance.

200 m.

150 m.

100 m.

The countdown on the panel jumped to 00:03:11.

The subway station entrance is right in front of us.

The iron gate had long since fallen askew to one side.

There was blood on the steps; someone had arrived before him.

Zhang Jian supported himself against the wall and walked down step by step.

The steps were very steep, and my right leg trembled with every step I took.

Halfway there, I heard hurried footsteps behind me.

Looking back, I saw seven or eight people running towards me from the street.

There were both men and women, and some people were holding children.

Everyone was running underground, so he couldn't help but speed up a bit.

The subway passage was pitch black, with only a few emergency lights on, their dim yellow light barely enough to illuminate the path beneath our feet.

There were already quite a few people sitting on the ground.

Some were leaning against the wall, some were lying on the ground, and some were huddled in a corner shivering.

Cries, groans, and prayers mingled together.

The air was filled with the smells of sweat, blood, and an indescribable stench.

Zhang Jian found a corner and plopped down on it.

Countdown.

00:00:47.

He subconsciously looked up at the concrete ceiling above him.

Thirty seconds...

Twenty seconds...

ten seconds...

coming!

First, the ground shook.

Even from more than ten meters away in the underground space, he could feel the ground above him shaking!

Then came a loud, muffled thud.

Several times in a row.

"Boom! Boom! Boom boom!!"

Explosions rang out one after another, and the entire subway tunnel shook.

Two of the emergency lights overhead went out.

Cement dust was falling down in a "whoosh".

Someone screamed.

A child is crying loudly.

Zhang Jian huddled in the corner, his hands covering his head.

Dust fell from above and poured down his neck, the smoke and dust causing him to cough violently and incessantly.

I don't know how much time has passed.

It might take a minute, or it might take five minutes.

The explosions stopped.

A few words were added after the warning message on the panel.

[The second round of bombing has ended.]

Zhang Jian slowly lowered his hand.

His whole body was still trembling.

However, he survived.

A line of small text pops up in the upper right corner of the panel.

[New player quest completed: Survive.]

[Reward: 200 Intelligence Points.]

Zhang Jian stared at that line of text for three seconds.

Then tilt your head back, hit the back of your head against the wall, and close your eyes.

The corners of her mouth turned up slightly in a slight arc.

"The system... is real."

He breathed a sigh of relief, his heart filled with the joy of surviving a disaster, and he couldn't help but relax a lot.

I opened my eyes again and looked around.

There were probably forty or fifty people crammed into the passageway, some worse off than him, some better off.

About three or four meters to his left, a middle-aged woman was bandaging a little girl's arm with a headscarf.

The little girl bit her lip to hold back her tears, but they still streamed down her face.

Further ahead, two young men were supporting an old man.

The old man's face was ashen, and his lips were moving as if he were chanting scriptures.

these people.

They are all ordinary people.

Shop owners, office workers, and students.

When they left home in the morning, no one expected to be hit by a missile.

Zhang Jian lowered his head and looked at his right leg.

Some of the blood had clotted, but the wound was still oozing.

The color of the pants is no longer discernible.

If you frequently travel to the Middle East, basic first aid skills are essential.

He tore a strip of cloth from his vest and tightly tied it around the opening on his right leg.

The ash on the wound served as a hemostatic agent.

Without cleaning, the wound will inevitably leave a huge, ugly scar.

But right now, who has time to worry about those things?

He took his phone out of his pocket.

The signal bar was completely empty.

The first wave of bombing essentially crippled Tehran's communications.

Put the phone back in my pocket.

On the panel, the next data entry in the 24-hour airstrike list began to flash.

[Second Wave / Designation TH-03B]

[Time of attack: 15:07:44]

[Positioning coordinates: 35.7015°N, 51.3923°E]

He glanced at the marked location.

About two kilometers to his northeast.

It's far enough from this subway station that it's safe for now.

Zhang Jian leaned against the wall, finding a relatively comfortable position.

But just then...

A voice suddenly came from deep within the passageway beside them.

It was very faint and intermittent.

"کمک!... کمک!..."

Zhang Jian had heard this sound too many times today, and he hadn't originally intended to pay it any mind.

But the next second, the voice suddenly switched to broken Chinese.

Are there any... Chinese people...?

Zhang Jian felt a shiver run through his body.

He turned his head sharply and looked in the direction of the sound.

Deep inside the passage, near a tightly locked iron gate.

The sound came from there.

Zhang Jian leaned against the wall to stand up and limped over.

A person was sitting by the wall.

His face was covered in blood, and his beard was covered in ash.

But Zhang Jian still recognized him.

He knew that face all too well.

I visit the grocery store at least twice a week.

She also loved to talk to him about the political situation, often saying things like, "America is going to attack," or "Why don't you run away quickly?"

Karimi.

The captain of the Iranian air defense battalion, a regular customer of his.

"open?"

Karimi recognized him, and his chapped lips moved.

"Do you have any more of your Lao Gan Ma chili sauce?"