The Last of Us: Survival

Chapter 169 169: Supply Distribution

"You guys are early!"

A few minutes later, the office doors swung open again and Mike's perpetually grinning face appeared.

He took in the three already seated and turned to call over his shoulder, "Looks like we're the late on—ow!"

"Get inside. Nobody needs a running commentary." A second voice from behind him, followed by a yelp as Mike stumbled forward clutching his backside.

Kim Seong-min entered behind him, trailed by Norman.

Bryan raised an eyebrow—they'd obviously met up on the way over—but didn't bother asking. With everyone present, he stood. "Let's not waste time. We'll divide the supplies now."

He gestured at the crates. "Everything's still sealed. Want to inspect them first?"

He was their squad leader and the one who'd brought them into the smuggling operation, but some things needed to be handled transparently. He wasn't the government—he wouldn't skim his people's shares for personal gain.

Bryan was confident that even if he did take a little extra, none of them would dare challenge him. But operations like these—where everyone was putting their necks on the line—only held together when the benefits were shared equitably. Resentment over unfair distribution could unravel everything, and the consequences would fall on all of them.

Besides, as squad leader and the operation's architect, he already received the largest share by default. There was no reason to jeopardize the team's stability over marginal gains.

"No need, Captain—don't you think we trust you by now?" Mike waved the suggestion away. "This isn't our first rodeo."

The others nodded in unanimous agreement.

"Alright then. Let me crack these open."

Bryan allowed himself a small smile. The trust he'd built through consistent, fair distribution was paying dividends.

In the early days, when the squad had first formed and supplies were divided for the first time, everyone had watched like hawks—eyes glued to every item, terrified of being shortchanged.

Not every mission yielded a haul like this one. Some areas were picked clean, producing meager returns or nothing at all.

When the take was generous, Bryan claimed the largest share as leader and organizer—a point everyone accepted without argument. He took it without guilt.

But when pickings were slim or nonexistent, he'd rewritten the rules entirely. Instead of taking the lion's share, he'd split everything evenly—sometimes even shorting himself to give others a little extra.

Everyone saw the calculation behind the generosity. Bryan didn't care. He didn't believe that goodwill always came back around—but that didn't stop him from weaponizing it. Someone would buy in. That was enough.

His first priority had always been building loyalty—forging the squad into a cohesive unit. That mattered more than any single supply run.

Over time, he'd saved their lives on multiple occasions, led them to consistent profits, and never once skimmed their shares. For members like Kim Seong-min, Mike, and Norman—men with families depending on them—he'd regularly dipped into his own reserves to give them extra.

The combination of gratitude and self-interest had done its work. The squad's trust in their captain had solidified exactly as he'd intended.

Of course, shared prosperity was the real glue. Deep bonds could hold a team together—but more often than not, it was mutual benefit that kept people aligned. Squad B12 was no exception.

Riiip.

Bryan walked over to the crates, box cutter in hand, and sliced through the red tape one by one. Inside: roughly half food and vegetables, the rest a mix of weapons, medicine, and component parts.

He picked up a head of cabbage wrapped in plastic. Days old, it was starting to wilt—but in this world, fresh produce of any kind was a luxury nobody would complain about.

"Bring your bags over."

He did a careful inventory of the contents, then called the squad forward. Everyone had come prepared with both backpacks and duffel bags—anything less wouldn't hold a haul this size.

Under the watchful eyes of all five, Bryan methodically divided the supplies into equal portions and packed each person's bags. Apart from his own larger share, everyone received identical allotments.

"Catch."

Once every bag was stuffed to bursting, he zipped them shut, hefted each one—noticeably heavier now—and handed them off.

He looked at the squad, all of them bulging with overstuffed packs and straining duffel bags, and grinned. "You all look like walking loot piñatas. Try not to get mugged on the way home."

"Hahaha—!"

Flush with supplies, spirits were high. Laughter rang through the room.

After a few more minutes of chatter, Bryan checked his watch. Nearly noon. By the time they reached their destinations, the streets would be at their emptiest—everyone holed up eating lunch and resting.

"Let's move. You're way too conspicuous carrying all that. Noon's our best window—streets clear out when everyone's eating. Go."

"Right."

No one disagreed. The sooner the supplies were stashed, the sooner they could breathe easy.

They filed out and followed Bryan to the room he'd entered yesterday—the one connecting to the smuggler tunnel leading outside the QZ.

He opened the door. Same as before—the old man and the middle-aged man, seated on the couch. The latter recognized Bryan from yesterday and didn't bother getting up.

Scrape.

The storage cabinet slid aside again, revealing the gap behind it. Bryan addressed his squad.

"I went through here yesterday and ran into trouble. The Stalkers seem to be... changing. Harder to deal with than before. There are also Fireflies operating outside—they've drawn extra patrols. Be careful, stay sharp, and don't get spotted. I'd recommend avoiding the underground routes for now."

He walked them through everything he'd encountered the previous day in detail, making sure each man understood the new threat. He also glanced pointedly at the middle-aged man on the couch.

Bryan had chosen to brief his squad here deliberately. The man would relay everything to Jeffrey, saving Bryan a separate conversation.

"What?" The squad members' faces darkened as they absorbed the information.

The increased patrols were a manageable concern. But the intelligence about evolved Stalker behavior was directly relevant to their survival. An Infected that could retreat, strategize, and ambush was a fundamentally different threat than one that simply charged.

They filed the warning away and agreed to stay above ground for the time being.

"Understood."

Norman went first—crouching at the edge, leaning forward, and dropping into the shaft below. A muffled thud echoed up.

Mike crouched at the opening. "You good down there?"

"Fine. Come on down."

One by one, the others followed, spacing their jumps to avoid landing on each other.

Once the last man had descended and Bryan had called down a final reminder, he pushed the storage cabinet back into place.

He returned to the office, packed his own share into the crate, and sealed it with fresh tape.

But he didn't take it with him. Instead, he walked out of the building empty-handed. Amir would come by tonight to collect it.

On the street, Bryan rubbed his chin and thought about the logistical nightmare of coordinating everyone's wildly different schedules. Getting them all together in one place was turning out to be far more complicated than he'd anticipated...

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