Chapter 605: Those Who Survived

Chapter 605: Those Who Survived

The broad, empty square, its entrance guarded by a wall cobbled together from steel plates, iron bars, and wooden stakes, the heavy gate tightly shut, the watchtowers on either side standing vacant.

The mutants stationed here had retreated in haste, leaving behind even some equipment, abandoned atop the wall.

Over twenty Chimera armored vehicles lined up in a row outside the wall, and a dozen or so players carrying satchel charges trotted forward, placing the high explosives at the base of the wall.

Watching his teammates withdraw from the wall, Edge Loafing, standing in the formation, shouted an order over the comms.

“Detonate!”

A player immediately gripped the detonator in his hand, and in the next instant, streaks of orange-red fire erupted along the edge of the wall.

Together with the battered gatehouse, the wall built from refuse was blown to pieces in an instant.

“Advance!”

The commanders of each brigade issued the order.

One by one, the Chimera armored vehicles revved their engines, and surrounded by a crowd of players shouldering rifles, they marched in a mighty procession into this camp of evil.

Mole, poking his head out of the turret and gripping the hatch cover, shouted loudly over the comms.

“Search every corner carefully, don’t let a single mutant escape! No surrender accepted—kill them all!”

A unified reply came through the comms.

“Roger that!”

It wasn’t just the Skeleton Brigade.

The Jungle Brigade was the same.

Leading the charge, Kill Chicken looked like a demon crawling out of hell, his steel shell caked with shredded flesh and blood, the chainsaw embedded in his left arm still whirring madly.

If you didn’t count the kills from the Chimera armored vehicles, he’d probably taken the highest kill count of the entire battle.

After all, he’d been mowing down those green-skinned beasts here since day one, arriving much earlier than the other brigades.

Aside from him, the second-highest kill count belonged to Trash Lord.

The drifting gray mist provided perfect cover for his close-combat style, and if not for the mutants’ thick, tough hides and the fact that some cybernetically enhanced mutant warriors were themselves masters of melee, his kill count could have climbed even higher.

Once inside this lair, the group advanced cautiously.

Though they had entered the stronghold of the Qi tribe, no one let their guard down.

One reason was that these green-skinned brutes weren’t all dead yet—occasionally a lone wolf would leap out. Another reason was the horrifying scenes that shattered the very limits of human conscience, making everyone who witnessed them clench their teeth in fury.

This was the site of a former settlement from the Three Years’ War era.

Two centuries ago, it had temporarily housed hundreds of thousands, or even more.

But now, it had become a hell…

Staring at the preserved meats hanging from wooden racks, the human skins drying in the sun, and countless bone artifacts, I Want Peace felt his stomach twist.

He hadn’t been playing this game for long, but he’d been through the war in Luoxia Province and thought he’d seen some brutal sights.

Yet compared to the sheer evil before him, that was nothing.

The Vlanders might not treat other races as human, but they rarely killed just for the sake of killing.

Mutants were entirely different.

In their eyes, old humans were nothing but livestock. Not only would they casually toss captives into boiling oil, but they’d also turn their bones into utensils and invent a series of blood-ritual cultures to prove the superiority of their bloodline and the legitimacy of their dominance.

The screams of their prey were the sweetest music to them, and for this, they had even borrowed countless inhumane tortures from old human history.

Seeing a corpse nailed to a stone bed with its belly cut open, this still-green newbie finally couldn’t hold back a dry heave.

“…%￥#@! Are these even human?”

Trash Lord 99’s expression was relatively normal. Though he too was shaken by the scenes before him and momentarily speechless, his facial muscles only twitched—he wasn’t at the point of dry heaving.

Standing nearby, Hard to Force let out a sigh.

“If these photos were posted on the official site, they’d probably all be censored.”

Trash Lord gave a subtle cough.

“Based on past experience, they might not even get uploaded at all.”

Past experience, huh.

I Want Peace quickly turned to look at this guy, stunned.

“Damn, bro, what the hell do you have in your album?”

Trash Lord coughed again.

“Secret.”

Hand on heart, he really didn’t have any grotesque photos saved. His album was mostly filled with shots of his own heroic fighting stances and moments of spectacular kills—well, considering his fighting style, some frames might indeed fall into the R18G category.

But that wasn’t the point.

The point was, according to the operator’s rules, some overly grotesque photos couldn’t be synced to offline accounts.

The game operator’s explanation was that the dreams constructed by players through VR headsets actually had a protective mechanism that dulled the senses. In practice, even timid players who fainted at the sight of a needle in real life would only feel disgusted when splattered with blood in the game.

But once they left the “dream,” this protective mechanism no longer worked.

The wasteland wasn’t a harmonious society after all.

For the sake of players’ mental health, and to prevent them from getting more scared the more they thought about it after logging off, the game operator not only reviewed photos synced offline but also restricted access to certain images based on the viewer’s age.

Not far from the “slaughterhouse” stood a massive department store.

Its shape resembled a cruise ship sailing on land, twelve stories high, covering over a hundred thousand square meters, with a total building area exceeding a million. The surrounding roads radiated in all directions, and its grand outline revealed glimpses of its former glory.

Yet its builders likely never imagined that, over two centuries later, their masterpiece would become a “livestock pen” for a herd of green-skinned beasts.

The moment they crossed the north entrance of the store, a pungent stench of decay hit them, and Elf King Fortune, walking at the front, couldn’t help but frown.

He was about to complain, “What’s that stench?” when a whistling gust of wind swept in from the side.

With a jolt, Brother Fortune instinctively ducked. A table flew past, grazing his helmet, smashing into the wall and shattering into pieces.

The mutant hiding in the shadows, seeing its ambush fail, let out an angry roar, grabbed a broad-bladed cleaver, and charged toward the entrance with long, heavy strides.

Irena raised his PU-9 submachine gun half an inch and sprayed a burst of fire into the mutant’s chest.

The bare-chested mutant’s chest erupted in a spray of blood, and after taking just two steps, it collapsed heavily to the ground without a sound.

“Damn, trying a sneak attack!”

Brother Fortune cursed as he got up from the ground, brushing off the dust only to find a smear of black grime on his hand.

He instinctively brought his fingers to his nose, then froze, shook his hand off, and stared at the black stain on his chestplate with a constipated expression.

Now he didn’t need to ask what that stench was.

“There must be a lot of people locked up in here… You okay?” Watching Brother Fortune, who seemed to be searching for something, Irena asked with a puzzled look.

“I’m fine, I’m fine… I’m good now.” Finally finding a piece of yellowish, tattered cloth, Brother Fortune wiped the black grime off his body, turned to Old Na, and coughed. “What the hell is this place?”

“Obviously, the Qi tribe’s pasture.”

Irena deftly reloaded her magazine and glanced up at the broad, elongated vault, where the escalators had been transformed into sturdy wooden staircases.

Not only that, but the mutants had also rigged up makeshift hoists with iron chains and pulleys, installed right beside the stairs.

These seemed to be for hauling goods, piled with bottles, jars, and moldy wooden crates.

Leaving the upper floors alone for now, the players who had entered the ground floor hall crossed the open space in front of the entrance and ventured toward the nearest shopping arcade.

Soon, they all beheld a sight that would haunt them for the rest of their lives.

The glass display windows of every storefront had been replaced with cages of iron bars, and behind those bars stood gaunt figures and hollow, numb eyes.

Most were disheveled, with sunken eye sockets—so much so that you wouldn't recognize them as human unless you looked closely.

When they saw the soldiers standing before the cages, the imprisoned people's faces twisted in unison with terror, and they recoiled like animals.

Those in the back, perhaps stepped on, let out whimpering cries.

"Don't be afraid! We're not mutants—we're here to save you," Elf King Wealthy said hastily, speaking in an unsteady Common Tongue, trying to calm them. But they showed no reaction, only growing more panicked.

Seeing Elf King Wealthy at a loss, Irena sighed, her expression complex, and placed her right hand on his shoulder.

"Save your breath. These people... they might not even understand Common Tongue."

Elf King Wealthy froze.

"Not understand...?"

"They probably weren't captured here—they were born here."

After a pause, Irena added her guess.

"...Most likely descendants of Singularity City's residents."

Elf King Wealthy stared at her in disbelief, then glanced at the prison beside him, his Adam's apple bobbing involuntarily.

It was hard to imagine that these people, living like livestock, once shared a history as glorious as that of Boulder City.

Between the adjacent storefronts, troughs filled with a murky green slurry connected them, positioned directly under the output chute of a nutrient paste synthesizer.

Judging by the mottled rust, the machine was old, and from its appearance and model, it was likely a model discarded by Boulder City's industrial district.

This prison wasn't very sturdy.

Elf King Wealthy reached out and gripped a rusty iron bar; with little effort, it groaned under the strain, and with a slight push from his exoskeleton, he tore it loose.

Yet the caged people only shivered, staring at the opened barrier, showing no other reaction, and making no attempt to escape.

"How to handle these people is going to give A-Guang a headache," Irena said, looking around. "For now, let's report to command."

Elf King Wealthy was silent for a long time before speaking with difficulty.

"Send them to Pioneer City?"

"That's one option," Irena shrugged helplessly. "But I think... no matter where we send them, it might not be the best choice."

Damn those bastards.

He cursed inwardly, but there was nothing he could do about what had already happened—what had been happening for decades, even centuries.

This place had been a nightmare for a long time.

And how many similar hells existed out there on the wasteland?

If the wasteland itself wasn't ended, crueler hells would keep appearing, and the tragedies that had occurred would repeat themselves over and over.

But how to end such a wasteland—honestly, he had no clue.

Perhaps...

The all-powerful Administrator had a complete plan in mind.

As an outsider, it was better to set aside the brutal core and just enjoy the game.

At least the daily life in the Alliance was still cheerful.

...

But what Irena didn't know was that the all-powerful Administrator didn't have a great solution either.

A significant portion of the Qi tribe's population had been born in mutant breeding farms; only a few were wastelanders captured from outside or slaves voluntarily contributed by nearby plantations.

As everyone knew, a person's worldview forms gradually during brain development. Only those raised in society can transform from biological humans into social humans.

The survivors here were more like people raised by animals.

The Blackstone tribe encountered earlier in the Great Wasteland had a similar situation for some, but the proportion was nowhere near as extreme as the Qi tribe's.

Based on real-world isolated cases, these biological humans would need ten or even twenty years just to learn to eat with their hands, let alone acquire a skill to support themselves.

The Alliance lacked the practical conditions to suddenly increase its dependent population by ten thousand—this wasn't a problem that could be solved by sending them to Pioneer City.

Not to mention that most of these survivors were Naga addicts.

Taking a large number of survivors carrying Naga mycelium away from the area wasn't a good idea, especially under the current circumstances.

Standing on the bridge, Chu Guang fell into deep thought.

Just then, Vanus, who had been silent, suddenly spoke.

"How about using the Mind Interference Device?"

Seeing that Chu Guang didn't respond, Vanus paused and continued his analysis.

"Since they are Naga addicts, theoretically, when they enter the trance state, they should be susceptible to the Mind Interference Device. If we use this brainwashing tool correctly, we might be able to bring them back into normal society."

After listening to his analysis, Chu Guang let out a soft sigh.

"Using the Mind Interference Device on humans has never been done in the Alliance. We've continued the practice from the Human Commonwealth era, only using it to drive away dangerous species on alien worlds. It's not that I'm inflexible, but I'm pondering a question... How can we ensure that the choices we make today won't plant greater hidden dangers in the future?"

Vanus was slightly taken aback.

"Such as?"

Chu Guang said succinctly.

"For example, let me ask you the simplest question: How can a mental patient prove that they are not mentally ill?"

Vanus looked puzzled.

"Is that something that needs to be proven?"

Chu Guang continued.

"If we do this, the people living here in the future will all have to face this problem—and that might be the smallest of them."

Though it was just a word from him, executing this order would be a systematic project.

And within that vast systematic project, there were too many points where the order could deviate from its original intent, using "technology that should never have been applied to humans" to create a dystopia.

The Alliance's sixth settlement would become a large mental hospital, even a black mark in the Alliance's history.

But honestly, Vanus's idea did tempt Chu Guang. The Mind Interference Device could at least enable those survivors lacking full capacity to perform simple labor to support themselves.

The only problem was that he needed a morally flawless, selfless administrator to carry out his orders.

Unfortunately, he himself wasn't that kind of perfect person.

Just then, Hanshuang, who had been silent all along, suddenly spoke.

"How about letting me give it a try?"

Rìshí glanced at it expressionlessly, hinting that it should take back those words that might cause trouble, but Hánshuāng showed no intention of retracting them.

Chǔ Guāng was slightly taken aback, and a look of keen interest suddenly flickered in his eyes.

He had almost forgotten.

There was still this character by his side!

But this involved the fate of tens of thousands, or even more, and was no trivial matter to be taken lightly.

To confirm its resolve, Chǔ Guāng stared into its eyes and spoke in a serious tone.

"Are you sure? This is no easy task. You can think of those survivors as infants with the strength of adults, and you’ll be their nanny. You’ll have to plan their daily work, living arrangements, cultural education, and every other aspect—down to their eating, drinking, and waste management. With limited resources, you’ll need to make them live as humanely as possible."

Whether it was his imagination or not, Chǔ Guāng felt that the android’s eyes seemed to grow more excited.

He was clearly describing an incredibly troublesome job.

Could this guy be a masochist...?

Harboring this strange thought, Chǔ Guāng cleared his throat and continued in a serious tone.

"...In short, in the initial phase, you’ll need to make them at least self-sufficient, and eventually, ensure that they and their descendants can fully integrate into our society. During this time, we’ll provide some assistance, but honestly, we’re pretty poor ourselves, so we probably can’t give you much."

"Have you thought it through—"

"I’ve already thought it through!"

Eagerly cutting off Chǔ Guāng’s inquiry, Hánshuāng stared at him with unwavering eyes, pressing its right fist to its chest in a clumsy Alliance salute.

"I’ve always longed to use my knowledge and experience to help the suffering on this wasteland, and now this opportunity is right before me... I can feel it!"

Chǔ Guāng fixed his gaze on it.

"Feel what?"

Clenching its fist against its chest, Hánshuāng declared with fervent emotion.

"The cognitive module... is burning!"

Its voice carried a faint tremor, as if singing, and the rising tone took on a devout and sacred melody.

But Chǔ Guāng listened in utter bewilderment.

What the hell does 'cognitive module burning' mean?

Never mind.

Let’s set that aside for now.

From this android’s eyes, Chǔ Guāng truly sensed its unwavering sincerity and determination.

Its compassion for the suffering on the wasteland was as steadfast as that madman Yībósī, who delighted in chaos.

Moreover, as an android, it had no material desires or moral flaws.

It was the perfect candidate for this task, one no human administrator could accomplish!

At least it was worth a try!

Wānusī shot Chǔ Guāng a worried glance. Though the idea was his, he couldn’t shake the feeling that this android wasn’t reliable.

But Chǔ Guāng’s attention was entirely on those fervent eyes, completely ignoring the advisor standing by.

"Then I’ll leave it to you!"

"Mm!" Staring intently at Chǔ Guāng, Hánshuāng said with full force, "Leave it to me!"

Rìshí, standing behind it, pressed a hand to her forehead.

This guy seemed to have forgotten that he was still the representative of Kangmao Group...

She had a feeling things were about to get messy.

...

Nightfall.

The captain’s quarters.

Xiǎo Qī, sitting on the pen holder at the corner of the desk, propped her chin on her hands and swung her pencil-thin legs, looking a bit unhappy.

"Master."

Chǔ Guāng, busy with official duties, looked up from the tablet terminal in his hand and spoke gently.

"What’s wrong?"

Xiǎo Qī muttered.

"Xiǎo Qī may just be an assistant AI, but I can help with a lot of things too..."

Seeing through her thoughts at once, Chǔ Guāng couldn’t help but smile, reaching out a finger to gently rub her little head.

"I understand you want to help, and I trust your abilities, but this isn’t within your scope of work. Besides... you represent me."

"Huh?" Xiǎo Qī tilted her head in confusion.

Glancing at the draft plan for the Alliance’s sixth settlement, Chǔ Guāng gave a faint smile.

"The Alliance needs to unite all survivors it can, but it must do so based on their actual circumstances. For survivors who voluntarily choose progress, we’ll give them enough room to develop independently, letting them bring progressive elements into our society. But for the special case of Qídiǎn City, we have to take the opposite approach—manage them strictly to prevent them from disrupting our society."

"This isn’t just about ten thousand people. There are still large parishes in Hǎiyá Province to liberate, and the pressure we’ll face then could be several times, even dozens of times, what it is now."

"Though it’s a bit unfair to say this, if Hánshuāng messes up, the blame will fall on Kangmao Group and the corporations. The credibility of androids in public service will also be questioned. I tend to think that, within their means, some members of the council won’t just stand by and do nothing."

In fact, it was their fathers’ generation that had caused this mess in the first place!

If not for that accident a century and a half ago, none of these chaotic problems would exist today.

Xiǎo Qī nodded, half-understanding.

"So you’re doing this to make it easier to shift the blame later?"

She didn’t get it at all...

But some people would probably interpret it that way.

Chǔ Guāng chuckled and shook his head, unconcerned.

"If I really wanted to shift the blame."

"I wouldn’t have bothered with these troublesome matters from the start."