Night fell, and the train continued its relentless journey toward the distant horizon.

As Chen Mang sat in the rocking carriage, a daze washed over him. The rhythmic clank, clank, clank wasn't the sound of wheels on tracks, but of steel against the bare earth. He had noticed over the past few days that this train didn't run on rails; it just powered across the ground. It was... unique.

Just then—

"Hm?"

Chen Mang blinked, surprised. The birthmark on the back of his hand, a companion since birth, suddenly grew hot. He glanced down, and a semi-transparent panel materialized before his eyes.

[Survival: 3 Days.] 

[Train Captain Panel Activated.]

[Newbie reward granted:] GLS handgun x1, with 18 rounds of 9mm ammunition.

[Newbie Train Captain missions triggered]:

[ 1. Within three months, acquire your train.] 

[Reward: Unknown.] 

[2. Within three months, recruit three enforcers and ten slaves.] 

[Reward: Unknown.] 

[3. Within three months, kill 10 zombies.] 

[Reward: Unknown.]

[The faster you complete the missions, the greater the rewards.]

[Upon completion of all three newbie missions, the 'Train Captain Panel' will be fully unlocked.]

The sci-fi scene left Chen Mang stunned. The panel's soft white glow was blinding in the pitch-black carriage. He instinctively scanned his surroundings, but no one else seemed to notice.

It was as if... he was the only one who could see it.

"..."

After a long silence, Chen Mang lowered his head and looked at the mark on his hand, which was no longer glowing. He caressed it, a sense of wonder washing over him.

His name, Chen Mang, was one he had chosen for himself. An orphan, he grew up with a peculiar birthmark on his hand that looked like the Chinese character "莽" (Mǎng). He'd often wondered if it was a final gift from the parents he'd never met and had taken the name in their honor.

He never imagined this lifelong mark would finally reveal its purpose in this new world. Perhaps... my parents transmigrated long ago and left this for me before they were forced to leave?

He chuckled and shook his head, dismissing the absurd thought.

After some experimentation, he figured out how to operate the panel. It appeared and disappeared with a simple thought. When he reached into his coat, he felt the heavy, brassy weight of a handgun and a handful of bullets.

The reward was real.

But there was a problem.

He tucked the gun into the back of his waistband, concealed it with his shirt, and stuffed the bullets into his pocket. Only then did he feel a sliver of relief. This wasn't entirely good news. If the enforcers in the front carriage discovered a slave like him possessed such a weapon, things would get ugly. Even if he were a perfect shot, he couldn't take on that many of them, not to mention the heavy weaponry mounted on the train. A single handgun was no match for that.

I'll wait until we reach the mine. I'll find a secluded spot and figure this thing out.

And so, he drifted in and out of consciousness. After what felt like four or five hours, as dawn broke on the horizon, the train finally began to slow, coming to a halt with a loud clang in the middle of the wasteland.

The next moment—

CLANG!

The carriage door was thrown open. A group of men in steel-toed boots, with handguns at their waists and batons in hand, stood at the entrance, bellowing orders. They herded the slaves out of the carriage one by one, handing each a pickaxe.

Every slave received one.

Except for three.

Chen Mang and two other burly, fierce-looking men from the other slave carriages were designated as overseers.

"Everyone, line up!" a man roared.

The slaves, weak and exhausted, huddled together on the desolate plains. Chen Mang and the other two overseers stood at the front of their respective groups. The man who had given the orders, the same one who had ordered the beating just a day before, was now standing on the carriage, assigning tasks.

"..."

Chen Mang discreetly surveyed his surroundings, the cool, fresh air a welcome relief. After three days in the suffocating stench of the carriage, his body finally felt a sense of comfort.

He was dressed in a thin jacket over a short-sleeved shirt and long pants. The morning chill of the wasteland cut right through him.

All he could see was an endless, barren plain. There were no trees, no ruins, only cracked, desolate earth. Nearby, a small hill rose a few meters high, with a distinct mine entrance cut into its side.

This must be the mine.

It was unregulated, with no safety measures to speak of. Survival here was left to fate.

By now, the man in the steel-toed boots on top of the carriage had finished giving orders. The three slave teams were to enter three separate areas of the mine to begin digging. But first, they would be given a full meal.

Several enforcers hauled out crates of moldy bread and buckets of murky, sand-filled water. The slaves craned their necks, standing on their tiptoes as they lined up, terrified that the food would run out before they got their share.

On this day, each slave received ten slices of bread and three cups of water—far more than their usual rations. Of course, before hard labor, they had to be fed.

As for the three slave overseers, they each received six warm, moldy buns, two packets of pickled vegetables, two bottles of water, and a walkie-talkie.

When they went down into the mine, the train and the enforcers would remain outside. If any emergency arose, they would be contacted via the walkie-talkie and would have to lead the slaves out as quickly as possible and escape back to the train.

With the order to disperse, the slaves scattered, finding spots on the ground to wolf down their food.

"Have some."

Chen Mang glanced at the balding man who had been sticking to him like glue, tossed him a bun and half a packet of pickles, and then found a quiet corner to sit. He ate his bun slowly, deliberately. He wasn't particularly hungry; it hadn't been long since his last meal. But in this wasteland, any chance to eat was a blessing. Keeping his energy up was never a bad idea.

He watched the other two slave overseers while speaking in a low, casual voice.

"Thank you, boss! Thank you!"

The slick-looking middle-aged man caught the warm bun with fumbling hands, his gratitude overflowing.

"You have a name?"

Hearing his new boss ask for his name, he froze for a second, then his eyes lit up with excitement. He whispered, "Boss, my name is Lao Zhu."

"Your surname is Lao?"

"Yes, it's a rare one."

Chen Mang shook his head and let out a chuckle. "What kind of parents name their child 'zhū' (pig)?" 

"We were poor when I was a kid. My parents hoped I could live a happy life like a pig, with plenty to eat and drink, waking up whenever I wanted. My mother had intellectual disabilities and lost her limbs in a car accident when she was young. She married my father, who was a deaf-mute laborer. They lived in an abandoned shipping container. Not long after I was born, my mother died in a fire at home. When I was nine, my father fell from a scaffold and died too. But thinking about it now, it's better that they're gone. If they had lived to see the apocalypse, it would have been even more painful." Lao Zhu's family history was a tragic one.

"..."

The smile on Chen Mang's face slowly faded. He said nothing, just took another bite of his bun and chewed, his expression unreadable.