Year 2007.
The night was heavy with silence.
Sunny slowly tuned the dusty radio, carefully adjusting its volume so as not to attract unwanted attention. The static cracked and hissed, an unpleasant reminder of how broken the world had become, before settling on a faint broadcasting signal.
> "Going to the east is the Natrack Slave Train. It has a total of fifteen carriages, with two still available... to any survivors listening out there..."
The voice paused.
Then another spoke in the background, frustrated and tired.
> "This is stupid. How sure are we that anyone's even listening? We've been doing this for ten days straight and not a single soul has replied!"
Static filled the air again before a new, smooth, almost cheerful voice came on:
> "Have you lost all hope? Not able to acquire a train? Worry not—because the Dark Market, located in the center of Benshing City, is giving out free train blueprints.
But remember... only those with a natural affinity to trains can use them.
In the end, it all comes down to faith."
The signal wavered, fading into the background before another voice—this one trembling with fanatic passion—replaced it.
> "Heading south, deep within the mountain range, lies a Tier Two Iron Ore Site. Twelve trains have formed a temporary alliance to mine it all before the beasts return.
The road is bad—terribly bad—and the slaves are starving. Some won't survive the month."
Then came a man's voice, calm and unnervingly serene:
> "Haaaa... The apocalypse is the world's purification. The wicked shall be purged, and the righteous will stand. But fear not—God will not forsake His children.
The Holy Light Train accepts all—old or young. Food and clothing provided. For more inquiries, contact 64532…"
Suddenly, a weak female sob cracked through the static.
> "Please... anyone... help. I've been trapped in this sewer for days... no food... chased by underground things... I'm just—"
Her voice cut off.
Groans followed.
Then snarls.
A desperate scream.
The sound of tearing flesh.
And finally—silence.
The next voice was a young man's, trembling but trying to sound brave.
> "Day 225 of trying to contact the government... We're the last students in Flasx High School—"
A violent pounding interrupted him.
> "Sung Ming! I know you and your girl are in there! You pests think you can hide forever? When I break this door down, I'll rape your girl right in front of you—then kill you both. Let's see how long you last without food!"
The transmission ended abruptly.
More static. Then another broadcast.
> "Moonlight Train, Tier Eight, fifteen carriages, is roaming through cities rescuing survivors. Stay alert—it could be your city next."
Then came a deep, mocking laugh.
> "This is the captain of the Blazing Sword Train. I need four hundred slave survivors—both genders welcome!
But I ain't running no charity. The more iron ore you mine, the more food you get.
Those interested, meet me at the collapsed football station in Kipinga Stadium, straight west, two o'clock sharp."
The radio went silent again.
Sunny exhaled slowly.
"Cannibalism's already started," he murmured, turning off the radio. "Doesn't surprise me. Humans were twisted long before the world ended."He walked to the kitchen with slow, deliberate steps. The air smelled stale, metallic. Opening the cupboard, he frowned—two cans of beef, half a loaf of bread, and a pack of cigarettes stared back at him.
> "Guess I'll have to go out soon," he thought grimly.
He sighed, grabbed an empty plastic bottle, urinated into it, and drank.
It was salty. Disgusting. But it was survival.
> "At least it's my own," he whispered, forcing the bottle down in one long gulp.
Moving to the window, he lifted the curtain just enough to peek outside. The city lay dead under a dark sky. Rusted cars. Collapsed buildings. Streets hollow and still.
Zombies wandered aimlessly between shadows. Some dragged broken limbs; others moved with eerie human-like grace, sniffing the air.
One suddenly looked straight toward his window.
Sunny's heart stopped.
He dropped the curtain and pressed against the wall, holding his breath.
> "Did it see me?"
He waited. Silence.
His heartbeat thundered in his ears.
After a long moment, he forced himself to sit on the sofa, grabbed his old notebook, and began to write.
---
Day 1,460 into the Apocalypse.
Still no sign of my train system awakening.
Guess I'll be joining my family in hell soon.
I keep hearing Grandma's voice whenever I feel despair. She says she misses me.
My food is running low.
Last time I scavenged—eighteen days ago—I found four cans of beef, two loaves of bread, a bottle of water, and a military knife.
That's what's kept me alive so far.
---
He closed the book, sighed, and sniffed his armpit.
Instant regret.
> "Ugh... I'll rot before the zombies eat me," he muttered, forcing a laugh.
The truth was, he had barely enough water to drink—bathing was a fantasy.
He lay down on the sofa, listening to the wind outside whisper through the broken walls. Hunger growled in his stomach, but he ignored it.
Eventually, sleep claimed him.