───「 Human POV 」───
Cheap fluorescent lights hung from the low rock ceiling, casting a harsh, unflattering glow that made the underground space feel claustrophobic. The shelter was spartan—no televisions, computers, or newspapers. Just sleeping bags, trash cans, and crowded halls stretching above and below.
The makeshift bathroom featured rudimentary squat toilets that leaked a nauseating stench throughout the area. This was humanity's last refuge, the sole sanctuary for survival.
"I'll take a tea, if you don't mind," Huang said, accepting a bottled beverage from a nearby service robot. He unscrewed the cap and gulped it down, then surveyed his surroundings with a grimace.
"Can people actually live in a place like this?" he muttered.
He had just settled into his assigned sleeping area when he noticed someone had vomited near his bed, and the cleaning robot had yet to address the mess.
His bedmate, an older civil engineering worker, responded with weary pragmatism. "It's good to have a place to stay. We're actually privileged. We have beds and aren't sleeping on the floor. We're in the top one percent of survivors."
"Up a few floors," he continued, "people are just huddled on the ground. Cold, desperate, with no one to help them. Compared to that, we're doing quite well."
As if on cue, a robot rolled up to clean the vomit. Old Huang watched, his initial disgust softening slightly.
The shelter was a marvel of desperate infrastructure. Dozens of meters wide, with fenced pathways barely maintaining order, it could accommodate millions. Every day, high-speed trains, buses, and helicopters delivered thousands of refugees. The scenes were chaotic—people pushing, desperate to find any space to survive.
Each underground floor housed tens of thousands. Robots constantly moved about, managing waste, constructing new areas, struggling to maintain basic functionality.
Huang remembered the previous day's horrors—an elderly woman trampled to death, her children's cries lost in the indifferent crowd. His thoughts drifted to the catastrophes that brought humanity to this point: Godzilla, King Ghidorah, Ghidorah's Wings.
The world had been shocked when Godzilla first appeared. Despite government assurances of victory, the creature had decimated the Far East and Australia. Human weapons proved futile; only the Oxygen Destroyer seemed effective, and people could do nothing but tremble before its might.
The World United Government's early declaration about Ghidorah's Wings had barely maintained public morale. Strange creatures had emerged even in normally peaceful regions, performing inexplicable acts. Violent suppression and government conspiracy theories were the only things keeping widespread panic at bay.
Australia's destruction had been the final blow to human hope.
"Sigh, we really can't handle anything else now," Huang whispered.
Suddenly, a distant cry broke the oppressive silence: "Someone has committed suicide here! Come quickly!"
He pulled out a cigarette, but couldn't even bring himself to light it. Instead, he watched the operating elevator, a bitter smile on his face, wondering how much longer humanity could endure.
───「 GODZILLA POV 」───
Far from the shelter, on the ravaged continent of Australia, Godzilla dug through soil contaminated by the Oxygen Destroyer. Its massive hand touched something—bones.
Two days remained until Ghidorah's Wings would arrive.