How Can I Live in the Apocalypse with More Than Twenty Wives?

This world sucks. Looking up, the sky is always covered with a layer of gray and yellow that cannot be washed away, like an eye with severe cataracts, lifeless. The ground beneath our feet was covered with ferocious cracks, bottomless, and from time to time a sulfur-smelling vapor spewed out, which was pungent and disgusting. The skyscrapers that once towered into the sky are now only rusted and twisted steel skeletons, standing crookedly between the sky and the earth, like the pale skeletons left behind after the death of giant beasts. There is always a nauseating smell floating in the wind, half of it is the astringency of radiation dust, and half of it is the sweet and greasy smell of rotting deformed plants. In this wasteland that was rotten to the core, those who survived established an even worse set of rules. They called it the Shattered Throne. The people sitting on it changed one after another, but the methods were exactly the same: power is everything, and the law of the jungle is the law of nature. They invented a game that eats people without spitting out their bones, and it's euphemistically called: Survival Point Game. Those who have been caught, bought, or tricked are thrown into the designated death area. I throw you a weapon that is about to fall apart and let you fight and fight against the aberrant monsters. If you survive, you can exchange for a few pitiful survival points, buy a mouthful of mush that is less choking, or a broken gun that is less likely to jam. Dead? The corpses were dragged away directly and either became cold samples in the underground laboratory, or simply fed to the mutated hyenas who had been fed by radiation. Human life is as cheap as dust.