Let Us See the Administrator!

At a checkpoint near the ruins of Haibei City, north of Settlement No. 1, Anthony sat in the barracks with a cigarette dangling from his lips, flipping through a novel he had bought from a nearby settlement. Ever since he took the lead in brokering the deal with the Goblin Corps, he had been promoted from decurion to centurion. At present, the entire area from the checkpoint to the encampment was under his jurisdiction. After the Battle of the Torch concluded, the various forces of the Mutual Aid Community did not immediately withdraw from Haiya Province. This included the Eastern Legion's expeditionary force, which left behind a myriad to continue scouring what little spoils of war remained, as well as excavating pre-war ruins. Although the Southern Legion and the Alliance were locked in fierce combat in Brahma Province, relations between Triumph City and the Alliance were not too bad, and the Eastern Legion followed Triumph City's lead—at least for now. Because of this, the so-called checkpoint here was essentially just for show, allowing both sides to assert their military presence. Up to this point, the Eastern Legion's 37th Myriad and the local Alliance garrison had not experienced a single military friction. In fact, they could occasionally pick up jobs from nearby settlements to wipe out marauders, mutants, and alien nests, or to guard the railway lines. The Alliance usually paid in silver coins, which could be traded at nearby settlements and with passing merchants for plenty of things that improved life—like cigarettes, Happy Water, and vodka. At first, Anthony had not been used to this sort of lifestyle, but as time went on, he grew accustomed to it. When off duty, he would even head over to a bar in a neighboring settlement for a drink or two. Today was just like any other. With his rear numb from sitting in the chair for so long, he stood up, stretched lazily, tossed aside the novel he had not quite finished, and picked up the rifle leaning against the desk, intending to go out for a stroll to loosen up his muscles. Yet just as he stepped out of the barracks, a decurion trotted up to him, snapped to attention, saluted, and reported. "Sir, a crowd of settlement residents has gathered at the eastern railway. There are around one hundred and twenty of them—almost the size of a century." Anthony yawned and said impatiently, "So what if they're here? Why bother with them?" Scavengers occasionally came around these parts to pick through scrap; after all, this area was the site of a pre-war city, and there was always something to scavenge. As long as they did not approach the construction site or get in the way of official business, Anthony usually could not be bothered to care. However, the decurion wore an awkward look on his face. "But... they've occupied the tracks, and it's the patrol section contracted to us by the railway operating company." "Huh?" Anthony froze, taking a moment to process the words before asking in utter bewilderment, "Why the hell are they occupying the railway?" The decurion gave a wry smile. "No idea. I tried to communicate with them, but they refused to speak to us." Anthony's expression wavered. After a moment's thought, he decided to see the situation for himself before making a decision. Turning to his subordinate, he said, "Take me there." The decurion breathed a sigh of relief, snapped to attention, and saluted. "Yes, sir!" The two hurried over to the dirt road beside the checkpoint, climbed into an open-topped off-road vehicle parked there, and sped off toward the railway not far from Haibei City. Sitting in the back seat, Anthony spotted the crowd standing on the tracks from a distance. Among them were elderly people, children, and even women cradling infants. They held wooden signs and unfurled banners. A ten-man patrol squad stood beside them, locked in a tense standoff against the crowd. Yet, perhaps emboldened by their numbers, the crowd showed no sign of fear whatsoever, their expressions and emotions burning with agitation. Anthony raised his binoculars and peered toward the crowd, immediately catching sight of the words painted on a wooden sign: [Wilantes Get Out]. His brow twitched violently. "Damn it... are these bastards here looking for trouble?" "I don't know," the decurion said with a wry smile, hesitating before adding, "I think they're survivors from Brahma Province... maybe it has something to do with the Wilante Street Act passed recently in Settlement No. 1." Anthony had heard about that matter. Due to events in Evernight Port, local Wilantes had fled here—over five thousand arriving at once—which stirred up discontent among the Polos living locally. If you asked him, the Alliance was simply too soft-hearted. Under Wilante rule, when had these Polos ever been indulged with so many pretentious grievances? Even in West Sail Port, governed by weak, incompetent civil officials, these folks could only kneel on the ground and lick boots. Now that they had finally been helped to their feet, they suddenly fancied themselves masters of the house. "...What should we do?" the decurion asked uncertainly, seeing that his superior had remained silent with narrowed eyes for quite a while. "What should we do..." Anthony gave a cold, sneering chuckle, unhooked the PU-9 submachine gun mounted below the car door, and racked the bolt with a sharp clack. "The Alliance has spoiled these mud-dwellers rotten, but I'm not with the Alliance, and I'm not here to pamper them." With that, he aimed the muzzle toward the sky and fired a burst of suppressive fire. Hearing the sudden staccato chattering of gunfire, the people standing on the tracks jumped in terror. Some scattered from the crowd, but quite a few stood their ground. One old man, for instance, did not flee. His eyes glared at Anthony with a mixture of shock and fury. "What do you think you're doing?!" Seeing that the other side was finally willing to communicate, Anthony hopped down from the open-top vehicle, shouldered the submachine gun, walked up to the side of the tracks, and faced the old man. "I should be the one asking you that. What the fuck do you think you're doing?" "None—none of your business!" The old man glared fixedly at Anthony's nose, his shoulders trembling uncontrollably, whether from sheer fury, sheer terror, or both. A young man beside him took a step forward, summoned his courage, and yelled at Anthony. "This is an Alliance railway... We are Alliance citizens, and we built this section of track! We have the right to stand here—" "Rights... haha, hearing that word come out of a Polo's mouth is rich. But what's the use of spouting that crap to me? I'm not an Alliance citizen." Anthony picked at his ear impatiently, glaring menacingly at them. Then something crossed his mind, and he grinned. "Let's make a deal. I won't ask what you're planning to do. Since you've already walked this far, why not walk another ten kilometers forward? Once you pass that milepost, that section of track won't be under our jurisdiction anymore. Even if you tear the railway apart, no one will give a damn about you. "But here, if you want to fight for your precious 'rights,' I suggest you head back and fetch your guns first." Hearing this, a commotion rippled through the crowd standing on the tracks. In particular, several old men leading the group exchanged glances and whispered among themselves. "We didn't come here to fight... getting into a conflict with these Wilantes isn't worth it." "Makes sense..." "We've already walked over a hundred kilometers anyway; another ten won't hurt." Yet others voiced their concerns. "But... further north is the wasteland. It's nothing but uninhabited territory. What if we run into mutant beasts?" Looking at the worried man, the elderly leader lowered his voice and said, "There's an outpost along the railway every few dozen kilometers, and the path it takes stays far away from water sources. It should be safe." Watching them debate endlessly without reaching a conclusion, Anthony finished his cigarette, tossed the butt to the ground, crushed it beneath his boot, and shouted impatiently. "Hurry it up! You've been dithering forever—did you reach a decision or not?" Seeing that the officer was losing his patience, the old man at the head of the group finally stepped forward and called back. "We accept your terms!" Anthony waved his hand dismissively. "Then get the hell out of here." Although the Wilante's attitude was thoroughly grating, the crowd on the tracks ultimately held their tongues, grumbling curses under their breath as they continued forward along the railway. With the matter settled, Anthony returned to the vehicle and tapped the driver's seat with his knee. "Hit it." The driver smoothly started the engine and checked the rearview mirror. "Back to camp?" "What camp? Follow them," Anthony scoffed with a grin. He cleared the chamber of his submachine gun, engaged the safety, and slung it back beside the door before gazing at the group moving along the railway in the distance. He had no idea what they were up to, but he had a feeling that tailing them would lead to some good entertainment—far more interesting than sitting in the barracks reading a novel. While he instructed the driver to keep a distance and trail behind them, the Polos marching north were also whispering anxiously among themselves. "Those Wilantes are following us..." "What do they want?" "Could they be planning to quietly wipe us out once we reach the wasteland...?" "Impossible! The Alliance isn't blind! Not unless they want to go to war with the Alliance!" "What if the Eastern Legion really has that intention...? It's not like they've never fought before." Pessimism spread silently through the ranks, and some began to get cold feet. Watching these timid folk, the old leader felt anger surge within him. It had been the exact same way in Mammoth State! These useless cowards dropped the ball at every critical juncture. No wonder they could never accomplish anything great. His name was Jeremy, hailing from Mammoth State. He had once been a veteran figure in the Moon Clan Resistance, but after Laxi rose to power, Jeremy stormed off in indignation, first heading to Port French Fries and later drifting to Settlement No. 1. Like Suka, who was also of the Moon Clan, he had tried taking the representative route. However, due to the Moon Clan Resistance's abysmal performance during the Mammoth State period, he could neither convince his fellow Moon Clan members to rally around him nor earn the trust of the Rat Clan and Snake Clan. In truth, this was hardly surprising; the people he tried to unite were inherently the hardest to bring together. Had he emulated Suka by reaching out to local survivors, he might have found a way forward. Yet he had no intention of reflecting on his own flaws, choosing instead to blame every obstacle he encountered on an unfair environment. In his eyes, the Alliance's Representative Council had degraded into a tool for political manipulation. Those delegates in the assembly would stop at nothing to win popular support... yet they had no idea what the people truly needed. Not a single Polo would ever agree to letting Wilantes come ashore! What right did that man named Gu have to let them land?! Had those bastards ever asked for his opinion? To his mind, this was not order at all; it was tyranny of the majority over the minority! Alas, the Lord Administrator stood far too high to see the suffering beneath his feet. Perhaps the Lord Administrator's intentions were noble, but the subordinates below were twisting execution. Still, it did not matter. He would plead with the Lord Administrator to step in and dissolve that corrupt, fallen Representative Council! The Alliance had once saved him. And now, it was his turn to save the Alliance! This was not just for the good of the Alliance, but for the good of everyone living on this land! Jeremy was utterly convinced of his cause, harboring not a shred of doubt that he was the most loyal of all. Noticing the increasingly hesitant steps of his kin, he could not help but roar. "Shut the hell up, all of you! Where's your backbone?! You've already made it this far—are you going to turn back now and let those spineless cowards laugh at you?!" The roar had some effect, and the grumbling abruptly choked off. This was not because of backbone or noble conviction, however, but because of the latter half of his words— They refused to be made laughingstocks. Striking while the iron was hot, Jeremy shouted at them again. "Think of your children, and think of your kin! Do you want them living side by side with those big-noses... with those slave masters?! "If that's not enough, then think of our people who died in West Sail Port and Lion City!" With those words, all doubt vanished, and their hesitant steps grew resolute once more. A ten-kilometer march felt agonizingly long in a crowded settlement, but out on the desolate wasteland, it was brief. Like devout pilgrims, they traversed the final stretch of track with steady strides. At last, they stepped beyond the railway section guarded by the 37th Myriad. Jeremy halted, turned toward the vehicle behind them, and shouted, "Is this far enough?!" Centurion Anthony, lounging in the open-top vehicle, yelled back with a chuckle, "That'll do! Past that sign in front of you, you can do whatever the hell you want." Jeremy roared back at him, "Then why are you still following us? How long do you plan to ride our asses?!" Anthony fished out a cigarette, placed it between his lips, and clicked his lighter with a grin. "That's our business, none of yours." Having yelled that, he turned to the decurion beside him. "When's the next train?" The decurion hesitated for a moment before answering in a low voice, "Should be here soon... maybe half an hour or so?" "Tch, why does it take so long?" Anthony squinted toward the old man, watching the crowd gather once again on the tracks. Just then, a young man walked up to Jeremy, his tone carrying a trace of hesitation. "Mr. Jeremy... I don't mean to doubt your plan, but will we really be able to wait out the Administrator here?" Jeremy steadied himself and said, "Without a doubt! I read the newspapers—the lord is traveling by train... If not today, then tomorrow. We brought food and water; at worst, we camp out here for the night." The crowd looked at one another, and someone else whispered, "But... the newspaper didn't say which train the lord would be on." Jeremy froze, but quickly regained his calm, composed facade. "That's easy enough. There are only a handful of trains in total. When we see one, we stop it and ask." The idea sounded absurd, yet under the circumstances, it was their best option. The Administrator would never travel on a freight train carrying supplies, which already eliminated most possibilities. Trains coming from the north were predominantly cargo transports; passenger trains ran only four or five times a day. While stopping one might cause some inconvenience for the passengers on board, petitioning the Administrator was, after all, for the greater good of everyone. And so the group made camp on both sides of the tracks. Some, exhausted from the walk, simply sat on the rails to rest, popping open cans of food and eating away as if on a picnic. Watching them feast made Anthony's own stomach rumble, and he could not help swallowing hard. Unfortunately, the vehicle carried only compressed biscuits, leaving him to gnaw on the brick-hard rations to curb his hunger. Right then, a distant rumbling echoed through the air. Though the train was not yet in sight, it clearly was not far off. The young man sitting beside Jeremy tossed aside his can, leaped to his feet, and turned to the old man with an eager expression to volunteer. "I'll go stop the train." Jeremy nodded approvingly. "Go on, son." Under the admiring and reverent gazes of the crowd, the young man stripped off his shirt, waving it wildly as he sprinted toward the approaching train. As he ran, he screamed with all the strength in his lungs toward the roaring locomotive. "Stop! Stop the train!" His shouts were loud enough, but they stood no chance of piercing the train's soundproof hull. Not to mention the kilometers of distance still separating them... The two sides closed the gap for a long stretch until only several hundred meters remained between them. Only then did the engineer in the cab catch a hazy glimpse of a young man sprinting along the rails, frantically waving a shirt, his mouth moving as if shouting something. The engineer's face drained of color. He hastily engaged the brakes and yanked the horn to sound a warning. The brakes clamped near the wheels threw off showers of sparks, letting out an ear-grating metallic shriek. Inside the carriages, passengers felt a violent lurch, their bodies swaying uncontrollably in their seats. At the same time, the blast of the horn outside blared like an air-raid siren. The piercing blare was enough to scare off any Deathclaw prowling near the tracks, yet somehow it failed to deter the young man waving his shirt. "Damn it! What the hell does this guy want?!" "Is it a marauder?!" The security captain rushed into the cab, already gripping his firearm nervously. His concern was well-founded; after all, this was the wasteland. Even though the Alliance's military was formidable, there was no shortage of reckless marauders. Not to mention brain-addled mutants. Otherwise, they would never have mounted heavy machine guns and grenade launchers on passenger trains in the first place. "Doesn't look like one... more like an out-of-his-mind lunatic." Cold sweat beaded on the engineer's forehead as he cursed inwardly, praying they wouldn't hit him. He had already applied maximum safe braking; stopping any harder risked cars colliding into one another, and he could not endanger the entire train for the sake of one suicidal fool. Seeing that the young man had no intention of getting off the tracks, the assistant engineer turned pale, grabbed the communicator mounted on the wall, and called the nearest watchtower. Meanwhile, the young man sprinting on the tracks had shouted himself hoarse, yet the hurtling train showed no sign of slowing down. With the locomotive bearing down on him, he had no choice but to leap off the rails. Barely two seconds after he cleared the tracks, the roaring beast barreled past him, the violent backdraft nearly dragging him back onto the rails. Seeing the train completely "ignore" him, the young man furiously scooped up a rock and hurled it at the carriages, cursing at the top of his lungs. "Stop! Fuck!" Why wouldn't it stop?! The blaring horn sounded continuously, not ceasing even as the last carriage vanished past him. The young man picked up his shirt from the ground and turned to jog back the way he had come, only for his face to suddenly twist in horror. "Oh no!" He abruptly remembered that everyone else was still sitting on the tracks, waiting for him to bring back good news. From the moment he spotted the train to when it barreled past him had been a matter of mere seconds. Though he believed they should be able to dodge in time, the group did not consist solely of young men—there were elderly folk, children, and women as well... "No... wait, scatter! Get off the tracks!" Realizing the horrifying gravity of the situation, he frantically chased after the train, running and screaming with everything he had, just as he had done when charging toward it earlier. Yet how could two legs outrun countless steel wheels? He had failed to stop the train before, and he certainly could not catch up to the roaring behemoth now. Inside the cab, the crew breathed a collective sigh of relief. Though they had no idea why that idiot had tried to stop the train, the young man had at least managed to leap clear in the nick of time. The rest would be up to the Security Bureau. Once the guards patrolling the railway arrived, they would teach that suicidal fellow a proper lesson. "Crisis averted..." Wiping away a handful of cold sweat, the engineer sank back into his seat. But just as he raised his arm to wipe his brow, he caught sight of a dense, dark crowd of people standing on the tracks ahead. "Fuck—!" The heart that had settled two seconds ago shot straight back into his throat, and he bolted upright as if struck by lightning. Beside him, the assistant engineer reacted even faster, once again yanking the whistle that had fallen silent for barely two seconds, slamming the brakes back down with all his might. *Woooo—!* A panicked commotion erupted among the people sitting on the rails. Some scrambled clear in terror, but not everyone was agile on their feet. Some panicked as they stood, some scrambled on hands and knees, others tried to grab the food cans resting on the rails, and one unfortunate soul had their trouser leg snagged on a track spike. This was a crowd of over a hundred people; they could never move with the agility of a single individual. With bloodshot eyes wide with horror, the three men in the cab watched helplessly as the unstoppable locomotive plowed into the defenseless crowd, crushing an unlucky old man into paste before mangling half a torso and a leg. "No—!" The engineer inside the cab and Jeremy outside screamed in despair at the exact same moment. The violent shuddering of the train and the sudden jolt of emergency braking triggered a chorus of screams and furious curses from the passengers inside. The swaying train finally ground to a halt on the rails. The engineer led several security guards off the train to assess the situation, just as Jeremy—who had nearly wet his pants in fright—charged forward in a blind fury with his kin. "You murderer! Why didn't you stop?! Why?!" Faced with this utterly unreasonable old man, the engineer was so incensed that he swung his arm and delivered a resounding slap across Jeremy's head. "Are you fucking insane?! Do you think this is a minibus or your tractor at home?!" Jeremy was a veteran of the Resistance, but who on the wasteland hadn't wielded a gun? The blow sent Jeremy's head spinning, and he lost his footing, tumbling to the ground. Seeing Jeremy collapsed in the dirt, the Polos surrounding the train erupted into an uproar, looking ready to tear the engineer and the "thugs" behind him to shreds. In particular, the young man who had finally caught up, gasping for breath, saw red the moment he spotted the old man on the ground. He lunged at the engineer, roaring, "I'll kill you!!" The furious crowd startled the engineer. Sensing danger, he quickly retreated into the carriage and grabbed the communicator to call for reinforcements. Sitting in his off-road vehicle, Anthony was struck dumb, the biscuit halfway to his mouth slipping from his fingers and dropping to the floor. "Holy shit..." He had picked up the phrase from Alliance folks, and now he was using it right back on them. So these bastards had gone through all this trouble to march all the way out here just to have a picnic and get two people killed? What the hell were they after? And here he thought they were about to pull off something monumental! Just then, the vehicle's communicator buzzed, and the decurion beside him turned with an odd look. "...Should we go help?" Anthony glanced at the locomotive's position—it had stopped square within his patrol sector. His brow twitched violently. Although every fiber of his being screamed against getting involved, thinking of that generous "protection fee," he obediently reached for the communicator and hit the receiver button. "...Hold on, we're on our way." "Damn it... hurry up! I'm afraid these lunatics are going to tear our train apart!" the engineer shouted, leaning against the door and cursing as he looked out the window. Under the relentless pounding of the mob, the window glass was already spiderwebbed with fractures. The passengers inside were completely bewildered, unable to fathom what the crowd outside was trying to do. The security personnel had already chambered rounds, but because the people outside were unarmed, they hesitated to fire the first shot. The engineer was also filled with regret; he shouldn't have slapped the ringleader unconscious. Backing away from the shattered window, he yelled at the lunatics outside, "What the hell do you actually want?!" One of the middle-aged men screamed back at him, "Let us see the Administrator!" The engineer was stunned, completely baffled by the demand. "The—the Administrator?! Then why the hell did you stop our train?!" The man pounding on the door froze as well. "...The Administrator isn't on the train?" The engineer nearly choked on his own spit, roaring at the madman, "Use your fucking brain! If the Administrator were on board, do you think you'd be clinging to the door talking to me?!" The Guards Corps weren't decorative ornaments! Just then, a gunshot cracked in the distance. The crowd surrounding the train jumped, instinctively looking in the direction of the sound. Not far away, an open-topped off-road vehicle had pulled up. Standing beside it was that obnoxious big-nose, shouldering a submachine gun. With a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, Anthony glanced at the old man lying on the ground, then at the blood-stained locomotive, before turning his gaze toward the rioting Polos. "Alright, every single one of you, freeze. I don't give a damn who you're trying to see—you're on Wilante turf now." Defiance still lingered on their faces; some did not even take the submachine gun in his hands seriously. Anthony had no intention of being polite, nor did he plan to reason with them. He said impatiently, "Line up nicely, put your hands over your heads, and lean against the train. Anyone who doesn't listen gets treated as a marauder."