The gymnasium reeks of sweat and desperation. Morning light filters through cracked windows, illuminating dust motes dancing above makeshift trading posts. Jane grips her rifle tightly, scanning the crowd for threats while Sarah stands beside her, shivering despite the layers of clothing. They've come to trade medical supplies—antibiotics Jane scavenged last week—but Sarah's cough worsens by the minute, her pale skin flushed with fever.

Near the bleachers, a group haggles over ammunition. Jane spots their contact, a scarred man with a reputation for fair dealing, but notices the way his eyes linger on Sarah. Jane tenses; she's heard rumors of what some will trade for稀缺资源. When their contact finally approaches, he smirks. "Heard you're desperate," he says, eyes never leaving Sarah. "What're you offering for those antibiotics?"

Sarah steps forward, voice trembling but determined. "We have canned peaches," she says, gesturing to Jane's pack. The man laughs. "Peaches? I can get those anywhere. What else you got?" His gaze rakes Sarah's thin frame. Jane steps protectively in front of her. "She's not on the table," Jane growls. The man raises an eyebrow. "Then what is? Information? Labor?" He leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. "Or maybe... that 'genetic material' I've heard rumors about?"

Jane freezes. The trading system's dark underbelly—"fresh genetic material" as currency. Could rumors about sperm as cure be true? With Sarah coughing into her sleeve, Jane makes a decision that changes everything. "Name your price," she says, jaw tight.