System: My Doomsday Train Chapter 3: ’Survival Days Reached 3, Activating Train Captain Panel.

Amid the pitch-black night.

The train kept racing forward into the horizon.

Chen Mang remained seated in the rocking carriage, his face showing a hint of bewilderment. That rhythmic clanging wasn't from wheels on rails, but from scraping against the earth.

Over the past few days, he'd realized.

This train wasn't following tracks; it barreled straight over the ground, something truly unusual.

Right at that moment—

"Hmm?"

Chen Mang felt a slight shock. The birthmark on the back of his hand, a lifelong companion, began to warm up. He glanced down instinctively, and a see-through panel materialized before his eyes.

-

"Survived 3 days, unlocking the Train Captain Panel."

"And receiving a starter reward: gls handgun*1, with 18 rounds of 9mm bullets."

"Triggering the starter Train Captain tasks."

"1: Acquire a train of your own within three months. Rewards unknown."

"2: Have three thugs and ten slaves within three months. Rewards unknown."

"3: Kill 10 zombies within three months. Rewards unknown."

"The shorter the time taken, the greater the rewards."

"Complete the three starter Train Captain tasks to formally unlock the ’Train Captain Panel’."

-

The futuristic display in front of him caused Chen Mang to hesitate briefly, particularly the stark white light from the panel that pierced the total darkness of the carriage. He quickly scanned his surroundings.

Yet no one else reacted unusually.

As though...

Only he alone could perceive this panel.

"..."

After a prolonged silence, Chen Mang finally dropped his gaze to the birthmark on his hand's back, now cooled. He touched it lightly, still somewhat lost in thought.

He went by the name Chen Mang.

He'd chosen that name himself; orphaned and raised in an orphanage, he bore a distinctive birthmark on his hand's back resembling the Chinese character "Mang."

On numerous occasions.

He'd wondered if this mark was a gift from his absent parents, leading him to adopt the name Chen Mang.

To his surprise, this mark that stayed with him all his life revealed its true role only in this world. Maybe... his parents had traversed to this place ages ago, leaving it for him before they had to leave?

He chuckled wryly, shaking his head to banish such wild notions.

Through testing, he'd figured out the panel's operation; it could pop up or vanish at his mental command. Slipping his hand into his pocket, he sensed a hefty handgun with its cold metal feel and a stash of bullets.

The prize had truly materialized.

However, the issue was...

He secured the handgun in his waistband behind his back and hid it under his shirt, jamming all bullets into his pockets. Only then did he exhale in relief; this wasn't purely fortunate.

Should the thugs up front discover a mere slave like him possessing such a weapon, things would turn ugly fast.

Even with flawless marksmanship, he couldn't take on that many thugs directly. Besides, the train's mounted heavy arms were the real threat; a pistol stood no chance.

Upon arriving at the mine.

He'd need a secluded spot to examine it properly.

In that manner...

Lost in a trance, after what felt like four or five hours of travel, as dawn broke, the train decelerated at last, coming to a stop with a thud on the desolate wasteland.

The instant after—

"Bang!"

The carriage door burst open violently, revealing thugs clad in steel boots, pistols holstered and batons gripped, bellowing orders at the entrance while herding slaves outside. Specific men handed out pickaxes at the door.

Every slave got one.

All except three.

Chen Mang plus two other burly, intimidating-looking slaves. Evidently, they were picked to supervise the labor.

...

"Stand properly, all of you!"

A thunderous yell rang out.

The weakened slaves huddled together on the barren land, as Chen Mang and the other two supervisor slaves positioned themselves ahead of their carriage groups. The middle-aged man atop the carriage—the same one who'd disciplined him recently—was now barking out assignments from there.

"..."

Chen Mang swept his eyes around idly, breathing in the crisp morning air that invigorated his body.

Confined in the carriage for three days, the foul stench had overwhelmed everyone.

He sported a light jacket over a short-sleeved shirt, paired with pants below.

The wasteland's early chill pierced right through him.

Everywhere he looked stretched endless wasteland.

Vast barren expanses without trees or wreckage, just cracked, dry soil looking utterly desolate. Nearby rose a modest hill a few meters tall, its side featuring an obvious mine entrance.

This had to be the mine.

It looked utterly makeshift, lacking any safety setups, leaving everything to sheer luck.

And right now—

The steel-booted middle-aged man on the carriage roof wrapped up task distribution. The three slave squads headed into the mine's three sections to start digging. Prior to that, every slave got a proper meal.

Numerous thugs hauled out crates of mold-speckled bread and gritty water from the cars for handing out.

The slaves craned their necks eagerly, standing on tiptoes in line, desperate not to miss their portion if it ran short.

That day.

Each slave managed to snag ten bread slices and three cups of water, way more than their normal rations. Before grueling labor, filling up made sense.

The three overseers, though.

Got six steaming moldy buns each, two pickle pouches, two mineral water bottles, and a walkie-talkie.

While mining inside, the train and thugs guarded outside. If trouble hit, they'd radio in, and the overseers had to rush all slaves out and bolt back to the train.

Once the call for break, free activity, meal time, and then mine entry sounded.

The slaves scattered, dropping to the ground in spots to devour their food ravenously.

...

"Have a taste."

Chen Mang turned to the middle-aged man shadowing him and lobbed over a bun plus half a pickle bag before settling in a secluded nook.

He munched slowly on the bun he held.

Hunger wasn't gnawing at him much, since his midnight bite wasn't long ago.

But in the wasteland, extra food was always wise; staying powered up couldn't hurt.

Eyes on the other two overseers, he murmured casually.

"Do you have a name?"

"Thank you, big brother, thank you!"

This slyish middle-aged fellow took the hot bun with care, thanking profusely, and upon his new big bro inquiring his name, he froze briefly. Moments later, buzzing with thrill, he replied softly.

"Big brother, my name is Old Pig."

"Surname Lao?"

"Yes, yes, it’s an uncommon surname."

Chen Mang shook his head with a laugh: "Who names their child Pig."

"When I was young, life was hard. My parents hoped I could live happily like a pig, with no worries about food and drink, waking up naturally each day."

"My mother had a mental disability, having lost all her limbs in a car accident as a child, marrying my father after they met. My father was deaf and mute, doing physical labor on a construction site."

"We lived in an abandoned shipping container."

"Soon after I was born, my mother was alone at home and died in a fire. My father died when I was nine, falling from a scaffold."

"But thinking about it, it’s good that they died."

"If they had lived to see doomsday, it would have been more painful."

"..."

Chen Mang’s smile faded into stiffness, and he stayed quiet, just biting into another bun piece with a blank face, munching away.

Old Pig, unperturbed, kept grinning excitedly.

In doomsday.

A name holds great weight; learning one's name signals a basic level of recognition. For example... the train's thug boss never asked for big brother's name.

After all, for disposable folk, a name meant little.