System: My Doomsday Train Chapter 1: Sudden Murder.

"Clang, clang, clang!"

Darkness blanketed the night like thick ink, ready to devour everything in sight. Across the endless, desolate wasteland, a massive steel beast of a train thundered ahead.

The rhythmic clash of wheels against the tracks echoed like a heroic orchestra in the shadows.

Every jolt sent the carriage shaking nonstop.

...

"Phew..."

Within the carriage.

Chen Mang huddled in the corner atop a straw mat, matching his body's sway to the relentless bouncing of the train, a trick that eased his nausea just like on a rocking boat.

Darkness shrouded the entire compartment.

No windows existed, only two faint bulbs dangling from the ceiling.

A heavy foul odor permeated everything, blending sweat, stinking feet, feces, piss, and puke—stronger than any midsummer outhouse, even worse.

He'd secured the cleanest corner spot possible, but his face stayed ghostly pale regardless.

Three days were gone.

In those almost three days, just two cups of gritty, sandy muck-water and two chunks of mold-ridden bread had passed his lips, nothing more.

Over a hundred starved souls packed the ten-by-three-meter space, hunger gnawing at them fiercely. Without his savage defense, those wolves would've stolen and devoured his straw.

Madness gripped these folks.

Day three in this hellish realm for him.

A realm turned into doomsday desolation, stripped of all civilized rules.

Right then—

A filthy, ragged brute sidled up unseen, lusting after Chen Mang's straw with a raspy growl, "Brother, shift over a bit? No way you hog that whole mat alone."

No answer from Chen Mang, so he licked his chops and glanced at the mob, "What you all think..."

But suddenly, the words cut off.

From his corner perch, Chen Mang exploded upward, slamming the brute down. Before reaction hit, he snatched his sharpened stick and plunged it into the man's eye.

Once, twice, thrice.

On the fourth stab.

Chen Mang halted. Strength scarce, he saved what he had. The brute flailed wildly like a gutted fowl. Silent, Chen Mang clamped the throat until stillness came. Then he raised his head, eyes blazing savage as he swept the crowd.

Everyone shied from his stare on instinct.

Corpse kicked aside, he reclaimed his mat, steadying his breath to hide frailty.

Under the weak glow, onlookers stayed mute. Fleeting greed in their eyes faded fast; they edged away from him without thought.

Briefly.

Space cleared around Chen Mang in the once-jammed car.

"...Phew."

Back against the cold metal wall, Chen Mang stashed the stick beneath the straw. Hesitation in killing would've meant his end. No longer people, these were starving fiends.

If one sparked them.

Their inner darkness would explode unbound, and even his best fight couldn't beat the horde.

First kill for him.

Tougher yet easier than imagined.

Truth be told.

Fluster hit him, limbs quivering faintly, but weakness shown now would summon the wolf pack.

Not merely the mat, but his cleaner frame too.

Brute slain.

Silence reclaimed the car. No chatter, no vigor for words; hoard energy instead, yet...

Instant later—

The linking door burst open.

Dazzling light flooded from beyond as three armed men—guns holstered, batons ready—strode in stone-faced, boots crushing bodies without mercy, met by no protests or whimpers.

Straight to Chen Mang they came.

Leader eyed the body first, then Chen Mang on his mat, voice flat: "You kill him?"

Chen Mang yet to reply.

Leader signaled.

Flankers advanced, raining full-power baton strikes on Chen Mang.

He balled up tight in the corner, shielding his skull, jaws locked, silent through it all.

Sixty seconds of pounding passed.

Batons ceased.

Leader eyed the huddled, quiet Chen Mang, interest sparking briefly, then sneered hoarsely, "Everyone here's Master Kun's slave. Killing one takes balls."

"You're tough."

"But lucky you—Master Kun likes your style. You're now boss of these slaves."

"Manage them. Laziness or trouble? On you."

Signal given, they retreated to the lit car, hurling a pickle sack, two mold-flecked buns, and water bottle onto Chen Mang's mat.

All eyes witnessed it.

Corpse dragged out the link, door slammed shut.

Gloom swallowed the car again.

Just clang, clang, clang persisted.

Bound for some mystery end.

...

Once they departed.

Teeth grinding, Chen Mang rose from the floor, slumped against the metal wall on his mat, ripped the pickle bag, and gnawed the semi-moldy buns deliberately.

Warmth.

No gourmet feast, but hot buns and pickles beat prior rotten bread hands down. Warmth hit his parched mouth, throat burning from thirst, barely able to mash it.

Cap twisted off water, half gone in a single swallow.

Bun finished, belly still empty, but vitality trickled back.

"..."

Eyes narrowed, Chen Mang glared at the door link. Door ajar for a flash revealed the front car: glaring lamps, seat rows galore.

Held by twenty-odd roughnecks.

During his thrashing, they'd gawked, jeering and yapping like at a spectacle.

Guess confirmed.

Slaying the brute wasn't pure defense. He sensed rulers here craved underlings, none spotted in this car.

He craved the role; front car needed his type.

It promised intel flows.

Dragged aboard, destination mine revealed, he knew killing wouldn't doom him—front wouldn't waste him.

Execution cost two slaves; sparing lost just one.

Inside the compartment.

Chen Mang sensed myriad hungry stares locked on his bun's rising vapor, gulps echoing like cicada chorus in heat, yet none advanced.