The world behind Carriage 20 is completely different from the harmonious barbecue atmosphere inside the dining car.

The cushioning layer inside the walls was completely dismantled, leaving only the outermost layer of Tier One Armor. In each carriage, only the middle had four windows left; the rest were sealed shut with smooth synthetic armor, like the smooth interior of a can.

Although the armored train, not counting the locomotive, had a total of 55 carriages, after removing the two front sections, three bullet workshops, two garages, four research carriages, and two new carriages at the back, the regular passengers could actually only live in about twenty carriages.

Each carriage accommodated around 40 people. Though it was cramped, at least everyone had a bed.

Previously, when there were over a thousand people, nearly a hundred people were crammed into each carriage, and the stench of sweat, excrement, and rotting food fermented in the enclosed space.

The passengers squashed together like sardines, with people lying on the ground and on luggage racks, leaving no place to set foot.

"Move aside! Move aside!"

A gaunt man clutched his stomach, struggling to move through the crowd.

Seven people were already queued at the toilet door, and just as he finally got to the front, a robust woman squeezed in. She was muscular from years of physical labor, and her man was even heavier than her. The two of them were considered a domineering presence in this carriage.

"Is the person inside dead or what? It's been half an hour!"

A weak response came from inside the door: "Just, just a little longer..."

The woman cursed and kicked the iron door, which echoed hollowly.

The thin man broke out in a cold sweat, his legs clamped together unnaturally.

"Get lost." The woman turned and glared at him.

The man opened his mouth but ultimately retreated silently to the end of the line. He couldn't take on her, or even her man.

That was the rule after Carriage 20: whoever had the toughest fists had the say.

He returned to his bunk, covered himself with a ragged blanket, his teeth chattering.

The fat woman and her man were not far away, sharing a piece of jerky from who knows where.

Cursing them in his mind, he dared not speak out loud.

The lighting in the carriage was dim, illuminating only a small part of the corridor.

Like his food, after buying a ticket, only a small portion was left, barely enough to sustain life. Those hateful people always managed to get extra food and clean water.

"Hey, skinny." A low voice sounded in his ear.

Zhang Qiang jerked his head up, seeing a scarred man squatting beside his bunk.

He recognized this man as Old Ma, one of the few in the carriage who dared to challenge that bully couple.

"What's up?" Zhang Qiang asked warily.

Old Ma glanced around, lowered his voice, "Want a full meal?"

Zhang Qiang's eyes brightened, "You have extra food?"

"Not me." Old Ma's eyes glinted in the dim light, handing him a piece of paper. "There's a mutual aid group. Go there, you'll get some food. Ten tonight, Carriage 30."

Having said this, Old Ma patted his shoulder and walked away as if nothing had happened.

Zhang Qiang stared at Old Ma's back, his heartbeat quickening.

A mutual aid group?

On this train?

He'd heard older passengers mention that there had been similar gang-like organizations at the back of the train some time ago.

But they disappeared for some reason later on.

The only officially recognized entity on the train was Lu Xiao's squad, but they looked down on someone as scrawny as him.

He also heard about how well the "crew" in the front carriages lived, with private rooms, plenty of food, and even the luxury to bathe. That Old Liu, just because he was skilled at fixing cars, could even brew a pot of tea every day.

Before the apocalypse, he lived a comfortable life with a few properties left from demolition, plus a storefront. His biggest thrill was getting an easy job, not for anything else, just to watch others work hard.

Casually showing off his multiple properties, he raked in tens of thousands monthly in rent.

While others avoided their bosses, he was eager to be near his bosses, just waiting for them to assign unreasonable tasks, driven to quit in anger.

Instead, the apocalypse hit. The properties remained, but they were worthless.

He hated himself for being so lazy back then. If he had learned a trade, he wouldn't be like this now.

Even basic dignity was slipping away.

At nine fifty, Zhang Qiang quietly slipped out of the carriage.

The corridor was empty, only the rhythmic sound of the moving train could be heard.

He counted the carriage numbers until he reached Carriage 30. Two people stood in the corridor, noticing his sneaky demeanor, they motioned with a finger on their lips to stay silent, then pointed to a compartment behind them.

Zhang Qiang cautiously approached the compartment door.

A sliver of light peeked through the door crack.

Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door.

The door opened slightly, an eye scrutinized him, then the door opened fully.

Zhang Qiang was pulled inside, the door closing behind him.

He was surprised to find this carriage transformed into a small assembly hall. The compartments on both sides had been opened up, with over twenty people sitting, standing, or lying on bunk beds, gathered around a middle-aged man standing on a box.

But no one uttered a word.

Soon, someone handed him a piece of paper, shining a flashlight to illuminate the words. Written in pencil, it read, "Don't speak, there's an ability user at the front of the train who can hear us."

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