"What the hell—you call this a train?!"
Zhao Kuo stared at the contraption in front of him—a rickety handcar powered by pedals, little more than a wooden plank with a control panel bolted to it—and smacked his lips in disbelief.
The worst part? It was pedal-powered.
Just moments ago, Zhao Kuo had still been sulking over the failure of his thirty-eighth job interview.
The next second, he was on this… thing.
Around him stretched pure darkness, thick as pitch.
Fortunately, a dim light flickering at the front barely held the shadows at bay.
But it didn't look like it would last long.
> [Welcome to the Train Survival World. Operate your metro unit as fast as possible and reach the next station within three days, or face unknown consequences.]
The cold, mechanical voice echoed in his ears.
Zhao Kuo was too tired to even complain anymore.
A train? This thing? You've got to be kidding me.
The so-called "car" was no more than four or five square meters in size and looked completely run-down under the faint light.
Its four rusted wheels looked like they could fall off at any moment.
The control panel was equally corroded, and the speed gauge read 0. The status of the vehicle displayed as follows: a half-broken railcar powered by human effort.
Zhao Kuo tapped the panel, and a list of basic parameters popped up:
> [Old Pedal-Powered Railcar]
[Frame: Barely intact flat platform]
[Chassis: Nearly falling apart]
[Wheels: Severely worn]
[Light Source: Weak (note: if the light goes out, the metro operator will encounter unknown dangers)]
[Power Source: Human pedaling]
[Max Speed: 10 km/h]
[Rating: Honestly, even the system has no idea how far this thing can go. The owner and this vehicle might vanish into the darkness at any moment.]
Ten kilometers per hour? That's it? I could jog faster than that.
There had to be a way to improve the speed later on.
The next tab was a chat and transaction channel.
It was divided into two sections: regional chat and global chat.
The regional chat was full—10,000 out of 10,000 users online—and each person had 15 free messages per day.
As for the global chat, users could send only 5 messages daily for free.
> [You've got to be kidding! A survival game?! I like reading novels, sure, but I didn't sign up for a time-travel experience!]
[It'll take an hour just to go ten kilometers. Who knows how far the next station is? This is a joke! Just lie down and wait for death.]
[Wang Li, Wang Li, are you here?!]
[Stop shouting—Wang Li's right here in my arms!]
[You mother—]
[Don't get your hopes up. Out of all the people in the world, what are the odds of meeting someone you know? This game is obviously trying to kill us.]
[Damn it! I was just sitting on the toilet when this thing showed up. Now my tablet's covered in something called 'Oli Gay'. What am I supposed to do with that?!]
[Keep it. Might come in handy later.]
[…]
Zhao Kuo scrolled for a while, then closed the chat window—nothing useful, just people freaking out.
Still, they were chatting this much already. Guess their mental states are holding up… for now.
He tapped on his character stats:
> [Zhao Kuo (Healthy)]
[Strength: 7/10]
[Constitution: 8/10]
[Agility: 6/10]
[Spirit: 7/10]
[Sanity: 100/100]
[Luck Value: ?]
Luck value? What the hell was that supposed to mean?
Zhao Kuo shook his head and sat down at the control panel.
The surroundings were nothing but a pitch-black subway tunnel. The occasional whistling wind made it feel even creepier.
Having a crew would've been nice. Might've given him a sense of security.
That "sanity" stat probably meant there were things lurking in the dark that could mess with your mind.
Taking a deep breath, Zhao Kuo began slowly pedaling.
The car groaned as it moved forward with a shrill metallic creak.
Good news: it could move.
Bad news? Everything else.
No matter how hard Zhao Kuo tried, the gauge refused to climb above 10 km/h.
But he didn't give in to despair.
From childhood to adulthood, he'd lived by one principle: there's always a way.
If the system had dumped them into a train survival world, then survival must be possible.
There had to be a mechanic built into the game that let people live.
Luckily, the light on the console seemed to grow a bit brighter the more he pedaled—just enough to illuminate the tracks ahead.
After pedaling for nearly an hour, he'd covered only eight or nine kilometers.
Just as his thighs were about to fall off, Zhao Kuo spotted a wooden crate lying in a pile of rubble by the tracks.
His eyes lit up.
Yes! A chance!
He quickly unhooked the light from the console and jumped down to investigate.
The crate was heavy—he had to struggle to lift it into the car.
Just as he tried to open it, a progress bar appeared.
> [Current Euro Energy Value: 60%. Do you want to open the crate?]
The hell is this now?
As if in response, the system flashed another message:
> [The higher your Luck Value, the greater the chance of obtaining a rare item. At 100% energy, a rare item is guaranteed.]
[Energy recovers over time—10% per hour.]
Is this... a cheat skill?!
Zhao Kuo's heart raced. His current energy was already at 60%, which wasn't bad—but if he waited another four hours, he could reach 100%.
A guaranteed rare item!
He didn't know what it might be, but it would definitely help him survive.
He gently placed the crate on the car's flatbed.
Then, he reopened the chat window:
9956/10000.
Forty-four people had died in just one hour…
Zhao Kuo sighed, wondering how long before he vanished into the endless dark tunnel.
He scrolled through the chat again. Most people seemed to have used up their 15 free messages.
Finally, he found something useful:
> [Guys, don't forget to keep an eye on the sides of the track. You can find crates and open them for supplies. I got a bottle of water and some bread. Lucky! You can also break down crates to build workbenches and repair your railcars. First thing everyone should do is build a workbench!]
The message came from someone named Ma Shi. Zhao Kuo made a mental note of the name.
Replies poured in:
> [I got some supplies too. Not food, though… whatever.]
[I opened one with fried chicken. Smells amazing!]
[Dude, I got a stinky sock. WTH.]
[That sock might be useful. I got bitten by a black widow. I'm dizzy. Guys… I think I'm gonna go first. Goodbye, cruel world.]
[Middle finger] [Middle finger] [Middle finger]
[Have a nice trip…]
[Have a nice trip…]
[Have a nice trip…]
[…]
The repeated "have a nice trip" messages went on and on. Everyone was seeing their own fate now.
So these crates might contain supplies—or danger.
Zhao Kuo's face darkened slightly.
Thankfully, he had the luck system. He could save up energy before opening crates and avoid the risk of pulling something dangerous.
The lamp in his hand began to dim from overuse.
With a sigh, Zhao Kuo hung it back on the railcar and began a new round of pedaling.