Chapter 549: Dad, Mom, I

The Wailing Cryer…

When Dan Ding named the temporary camp "Wailing Cryer," everyone present fell into a silence.

The Wailing Cryer carries both nostalgia and sorrow for Earth's heroic past, as well as a certain vengeful meaning.

Seeing that the brothers offered no objections, Dan Ding continued: "The first battalion of the Wailing Cryer camp consists of our six brothers; though pitifully few, this does not mean the numbers of support troops and technicians will be scarce.

Therefore, we now open recruitment for support personnel among the comrades present!"

As he finished speaking, Dan Ding, towering over the prisoners, raised his voice so that all could hear.

His words hung in the air.

"Support troops and technicians… hmm…"

"If I'm recruited, I wonder if I'm qualified?"

"I've long wanted to join the resistance; now I can fight alongside the battle angels—couldn't ask for more!"

The prisoners' expressions varied: some fell into contemplation, some doubted themselves, while others were as exuberant as youths, eager to follow Astate in slaying alien abominations and human traitors.

"Then…" At that moment, a taller, bald prisoner raised his hand and asked: "If we become members of the Wailing Cryer, what practical benefits are there? We can follow you in resisting the United Empire's rule; without your rescue, we'd have died long ago or been turned into mechanical puppets.

But we are mere mortals; we cannot be like your battle angels, impervious to blades, and stepping onto the battlefield could mean death the next second. So I want to eat and drink my fill before dying, and have the strength and stamina to fight."

"Indeed."

"Hey, I was captured because I was starving."

The bald man's words instantly drew many prisoners into agreement.

"Well asked."

Dan Ding still feared the prisoners might have no requests.

One must know that across worlds and universes, comrades and warriors who fight for faith are not scarce, but most people fight with all their might for some benefit.

In the first chapter of the history class taught to Astate's new recruits, it recounts that two hundred years ago, when their fathers formed the Mobile Task Force, they offered the earliest teams generous, irresistible conditions and benefits, which inspired the task force to adopt a fighting spirit willing to perish alongside anomalous phenomena and creatures.

If one has no desires, no demands, and no strong faith, that becomes a matter worthy of suspicion.

So Dan Ding slightly raised his left hand toward the equipment crate behind him, smiling faintly: "Food and water supplies are sufficient, and there are various flavors for you to choose from.

Weaponry needs no mention; it's enough to ensure your survival rate. Most importantly, as we gradually expand our controlled area, we'll obtain even more abundant provisions, so you need not worry about that."

"Good!" Hearing Dan Ding's affirmative reply, the bald prisoner exclaimed heartily: "Then I will entrust my life and fortune entirely to you! Hahaha! I will both slay the scoundrels and feast to my heart's content!"

"Me too!"

"Count me in!"

At this point, the prisoners had no further reservations and believed Dan Ding's words completely.

After all, these giants are the offspring of the 'Gods'!

Moreover, since being rescued, everything Dan Ding has said has been factual, with no lies, and thus no suspicion of empty promises.

"Thank you all for your understanding," Dan Ding nodded, then immediately shifted into work mode, commanding the prisoners:

"Among you, those who served in the old society's military, or worked in police or fire services, or consider yourselves physically and militarily superior, please step forward voluntarily!"

Hearing this,

The prisoners glanced at their companions, hesitated briefly, and over two hundred of them, including the bald man and the youth, stepped forward.

"Very good." Dan Ding raised his left hand toward Fenni Si nearby and continued: "Those who step out of the line, please stand behind Brother Fenni Si first.

Then, those who worked in maintenance or engineering in the old society…

Next.

Dan Ding quickly divided the over seven hundred prisoners into several categories: candidates for combat support troops, candidates for maintenance technicians, candidates for medical personnel, and so on.

However, this is only the initial stage, as so far all enlistments have been voluntary.

The following half day,

Dan Ding, Fenni Si, Ze Lin, Huo En, and Yang Luo were responsible for further screening the prisoners, ensuring those who passed could assume duties immediately or quickly get up to speed, each in their respective roles.

Among them, the simplest screening was likely for the support troops.

After all, among the initial two hundred plus who stepped forward, seventy percent had served in the military or worked as police or fire personnel in the old society.

Coupled with the individual equipment transmitted by their fathers, which is simple and easy to use.

If urgency is needed, they could carry out combat missions as early as tomorrow.

But coordination and rapport are issues, so Dan Ding and the brothers prefer to first stabilize and train qualified support troops, which is the proper choice.

Technical or logistical staff need to maintain individual equipment and some instruments, which poses a real difficulty for prisoners unfamiliar with main‑universe technology.

They cannot handle repair tasks in a short time, but simple upkeep of gear and instruments should be feasible.

Regarding medical matters…

Among the transmitted equipment are one hundred thousand injectable nanorobots.

Moreover, this model can cure any known disease or infection symptom; even parasites can be 'disassembled' and converted into proteins the human body needs.

Overall, the duties for medical staff are relatively light; for now they only need to master quick bandaging and basic disinfection.

The only one who did not partake in screening or training, Ba Er, used the equipment transmitted by his father to construct a small communication base station.

The frequencies this station emits and receives essentially prevent detection by City No. 13 or even the Earth United Government.

Moreover, Ba Er, drawing on his experience cracking the Razor Train, made the station silently disrupt monitoring and real‑time feeds while operating.

In other words, unless City No. 13 and the Earth United Government dispatch reconnaissance units to Ke Luo Mu Fu town in person, they cannot discover that the Wailing Cryer have already occupied it.

But even if they uncover the true situation in Ke Luo Mu Fu, the recon units cannot transmit the information outward.

The most perverse part is that once a recon unit enters the station's radiation range, Ba Er can decode its communication band and send out a fabricated 'all normal' reply.

Thus, even if the recon unit discovers them, City No. 13 and the United Government cannot learn of it immediately.

Furthermore, the new recruit brothers have no intention of staying long in Ke Luo Mu Fu; they aim to liberate City No. 13 and, using that as a foothold, free all of Eastern Europe and the European continent.

The town is merely a stepping stone for them.

It won't take long; just seven days of training and preparation, and the name of the Weepers' Battalion will resound. ——————

…

Late night.

Boom… boom…

Dark clouds blocking the pure moonlight.

The night of early spring this year feels even more bitterly cold than before.

But such weather anomalies are utterly trivial for most human residents living in City 13.

Or rather, people troubled by hunger, disease, despair, and confusion have no energy to consider or care about the weather; seeing the districts and streets of City 13 designed in neat squares, it seems to be cooperating with the weather, falling into a gloomy, silent state.

Except for the central area where the treasonous officials managing City 13 gather, and the core buildings tower into the clouds like giant pillars, the castle lit up; other districts merely have streetlights and necessary lighting equipment.

Actually, this should be the true portrayal of all cities after the Seven-Hour War, with no so-called cooperating with the weather.

Pulling into view.

Arriving at the edge of the western industrial park.

Here stand many six-story old apartment buildings; the streets have no private cars, only heavy trucks entering and exiting the industrial park, or occasionally appearing National Guard patrol vehicles.

Passersby?

Not a single one.

Although City 13 has no curfew, in these times what place is there for entertainment and consumption?

In the colonies of the main universe, the most numerous and common bars and nightclubs, etc., representing nightlife spots, would be unthinkable to exist in City 13.

When night falls, those with permission to live in the apartment buildings dare not turn on the lights; of course, there is no electricity to power them, nor dare they light a fire for illumination, fearing to attract the National Guard.

Fortunately, it is now mid-April; if one adds extra clothing and bedding at night, the interior of the apartments is not overly cold, at least no longer will someone freeze to death in their sleep.

However, those without residency rights and few contribution points to exchange for shelter and food must, as soon as night falls, consider which sewer is not too damp and chilly, and whether there are any discarded cardboard boxes…

If there were a wooden crate, that would be perfect.

Being able to sleep soundly, then waiting to see if they can wake up the next day, is left to fate.

If they wake, they continue working in the factory, living a futureless, hopeless existence; if they don't wake, that is true release, sparing them further suffering.

However, those willing to actively give up their lives are few, after all 'a good death is no better than a wretched life'.

At this moment.

Inside the west-side alley of a food processing plant, people wearing tattered padded jackets and coats can be seen everywhere, wrapped in 'quilts' made of discarded newspapers and paper, sleeping on the ground.

Some shiver, some breathe rising and falling, but others have already fallen still.

And a girl with bare feet turned purple from the cold, her black hair long and tangled from not being washed for too long, about fifteen or sixteen years old, is curled up at the alley entrance.

Obviously, a down jacket with a hole and a thin pair of jeans cannot help the girl get through the early spring night in Eastern Europe very well.

Especially without shoes, the soles of her feet have swollen wounds.

Even if she manages to survive tonight, come morning whether blood can circulate in her feet, or whether the wound will become infected and fester, etc., are all problems.

The girl works at the processing plant across from the alley entrance, but after finishing today's workload, when she prepares to find a bridge culvert or a sewer inlet to spend the night, she is spotted by a group of National Guard.

They want to use two days' worth of high-quality food to get her to provide 'service,' but the girl firmly refuses.

Seeing the girl resist, that group of National Guard didn't get angry; instead, they forcibly pulled off her shoes, and the squad leader laughed at her: 'Little miss, we aren't utterly wicked people; we'll let you serve us wholeheartedly, so no one will say we used force! Hahaha!'

Having said that, the group of guards drove away in their vehicle.

Without shoes, the girl could barely walk far, and this alley doesn't welcome newcomers, so she had no choice but to curl up and lie at the alley entrance, unable to hold back a soft sob:

"Dad… Mom… I miss you so much, when will you come back… I'm so cold… so hungry…"

Even now, the girl still harbors a certain fantasy.

Although the mayor of City 13 said humanity's final counteroffensive declaration had failed, the girl still firmly believes that her parents who participated in the counteroffensive are surely still fighting somewhere, and someday they will overthrow the rule of the traitors and the United Empire.

"Pfft!"

However, just then, a patrol off-road vehicle suddenly braked and stopped beside the street in front of the alley entrance.

"Thud thud!"

Immediately after, four National Guard members not wearing octopus helmets jumped out of the vehicle, chatting and laughing as they walked toward the girl.

Approaching.

The squad leader with a mohawk hairstyle half-squatted before the girl, reached out and patted her cheek, putting on a hypocritical smile as he urged:

"How about it, have you decided? Want to come back with us? We have a stove, hot soup, and plenty of food to fill you up."

"No… don't… don't touch me!"

The girl weakly struggled.

"Tsk!" a guard, seeing the girl still resisting, said impatiently: "Captain, why not just take her back?"

"Well, fine, I underestimated this little wretch's willpower." The traitor captain stood up, gesturing for his subordinates to move the girl onto the vehicle.

These traitors, before the Seven-Hour War, were merely a gang of thugs and ruffians; after the war, seeing City 13 form the National Guard and recruit members, they volunteered to join.

Being among the earliest batches of the guard, they wield considerable power in City 13, and their usual pastime is to use that power to torment fellow citizens' mentality, spirit, and body, to satisfy the emptiness left after the apocalypse.

But…

"Damn it, it hurts like hell! How come there's a wall?!"

But when the traitor captain turned around, intending to continue back to the off-road vehicle, he slammed headfirst into an 'air wall'.

That impact made blood gush from his nostrils.

At the same time, he and his subordinates heard a low voice filled with endless anger:

"A bunch of trash."

(End of chapter)