Chapter 1: Death Express (Part 4)
His neck bent sideways at an unnatural angle—by the time he hit the floor, it was nearly 180 degrees, his body contorted in a grotesque position, completely motionless.
Looking at my own handiwork, I couldn't help doubling over and vomiting. I admit, I'd gone all out. I'd abandoned any moral or ethical restraint and fought like a monster myself—because my opponents were monsters. Even a shred of mercy or hesitation would have gotten me torn to shreds.
Meanwhile, Quinn's fight was also nearing its end. His devastating combination punches had practically turned the teacher into a sieve. The black-framed glasses were gone, and his entire face was a bloody pulp barely recognizable as human anymore.
Quinn ended it with a textbook rear hook. The teacher's body didn't move, but his head had nearly been spun a full rotation before he slumped to the floor.
Incredible power. Quinn was truly the king of the welterweight division—his punching was ferocious.
After finishing the fight, Quinn came over and helped me up from my hunched position. "Brother, you okay?"
I said, "This is my first time doing this..."
"It's fine. Everyone has a first time. Yours is actually not bad." Quinn supported me. "Let's go, to the control room."
Suddenly, the teacher—who'd been lying on the ground—somehow stood back up. Like a zombie returning from the dead, he grabbed the steel pipe and lunged at us!
And his movement was right in my blind spot. By the time I realized something was wrong, the pipe was already inches away!
I had just finished vomiting and my body was in a sluggish state, completely unable to react. Just then, Quinn threw himself in front of me. With a sickening "squelch," the barbed end of the steel pipe drove straight into his abdomen.
My eyes burned with hot tears. I couldn't help but scream: "Quinn!"
His face twisted in agony, but he let out a roar and raised his right fist high, bringing it crashing down on the teacher's head.
This time there was no accident. With a sharp "crack"—I don't know which bone broke—the teacher's head wobbled like a bobblehead, then went limp and dropped behind his back.
I rushed to examine Quinn's wound. It was a direct puncture to the lower left abdomen—an open wound the width of a thumb, blood oozing out steadily.
"Hang in there!" I took off my jacket and pressed it against his wound, but the blood kept flowing, soaking through the fabric in no time.
"Don't worry about me..." Quinn grimaced in pain. "Get to the control room, or more people will come."
How could I abandon him? If he hadn't blocked that strike for me, I'd be the one lying on the floor right now.
I supported Quinn without hesitation, and we shuffled step by step toward the front of the train. Sure enough, there was a control room. I closed the door and locked it from the inside, creating a temporarily secure enclosed space. Luckily, I also found a medical kit with some emergency supplies inside.
I disinfected Quinn's wound with alcohol, applied gauze, and wrapped it with bandages, barely managing to stop the bleeding temporarily. I checked the time—less than thirty minutes until we'd reach the final station.
"Just hang in there," I encouraged him. "We'll be at the final station soon."
"Damn it..." Quinn leaned weakly against the seat back. "Talk about a slip-up in the gutter... But like I said, on this train, everyone's equal. Anyone can fall from their pedestal."
"Why?" I asked.
"What do you mean, why?"
"Why did you save me?" I stared into his eyes.
"I told you, we're allies..."
"Cut the crap!" I interrupted. "At a time like this, do you really expect me to believe in this alliance garbage? I should be grateful if you didn't sell me out for my ticket stub. So why—why did you save me?"
Quinn gave a wry smile, as if I'd struck a nerve. "I didn't get on this train for the money."
I knew he didn't need the money. A WBC reigning champion raked in appearance fees alone.
But then why would he participate in this sick death trip? He didn't have loan sharks breathing down his neck.
"My younger brother," Quinn said, looking out the window. "He died because he participated in this game."
"Your brother?"
"He was about your age, also a fighter. Two years ago, he started joining 'Death Trips.' I asked him why. He said the world's operating mechanism is like the Dark Net—what you can see on the surface is only about 5%. The vast majority of data lurks beneath. And the organization that runs this game is the 'Dark Net' of the real world. They decide the direction of this world. Every 'Death Trip' is a selection process. Those who survive round after round can enter the Dark Net, touch the truth of this world, and learn its ultimate secrets."
I was stunned.
This was darker than anything I could have imagined.
"It's thrilling, right? Far more tempting than money. My brother kept joining the games under that temptation, and eventually died on his third 'Death Trip'... I miss him so much." Quinn pulled a photo from inside his jacket and handed it to me. "You look a lot like him."
I took the photo and studied the young man. Indeed, his features bore some resemblance to mine—something familiar in his eyes.
"So that's why you came to me for an alliance," I understood immediately. "It's not because I'm a martial artist. It's because of this."
Quinn smiled. "I know it doesn't make sense, but 'Death Trip' itself doesn't make sense. After my brother died, I fought my way to becoming the WBC champion—just to get an entry ticket to 'Death Trip.' I didn't enter this game for revenge. I just wanted to go all the way and see what kind of force could make my brother willingly give his life."
I understood in that moment. The loan shark debt was just a setup—a trap to reel me in. But I was still confused: "Why me? I'm not a champion. I'm just an ordinary professional boxer."
"The Dark Net has no set criteria for selecting people. Murderers, robbers, butchers, hunters, psychopaths... all are people who can adapt to extreme environments and survive. I don't know why they chose you, but they must have noticed something in you."
So that was it. These "Death Trips" had been running countless times, and I was only now stepping into this world for the first time.
Like that kid in the bathroom who'd nearly strangled me had mocked—I was a newbie.
My worldview had been shattered. I mumbled, "All of this... you already knew. Am I the only newcomer on this train?"
"Maybe," Quinn said weakly. "'Death Trip' doesn't only happen in one place. There are other arenas. Survivors from this arena will meet winners from other arenas in the next trip, then compete against each other. To replenish fresh blood, each trip brings in new people, but very few—maybe two or three."
And this time, I was the "fresh blood" they'd brought in.
5
I chose to gamble, and I chose to borrow from loan sharks, but it had all been part of their plan.
I didn't know who "they" were, but they'd put me on this train—
A bare-knuckle high-speed rail battle royale: survive, get five hundred thousand; die, and you're nothing.
If this had been before, I'd never have believed such a thing could happen in reality.
But now everything was laid out naked before me. I couldn't deny it.
Quinn, who'd revealed the truth to me, was now barely clinging to life. His face had gone pale. I checked his wound—the bandage had soaked through with blood again.
This couldn't go on. The medical kit couldn't handle a wound like this. I forced myself to stay calm. "Quinn, we're going to the dining car. We'll find the conductor for help. She's the only one who can treat an injury like this."
"No, that won't work," Quinn's lips were pale as he shook his head. "Going to the dining car means forfeiting your qualification. Disqualified fighters can't enter the next trip..."
"Screw that! You should be happy just to survive this one!" I was beside myself with frustration. "Do you want to end up like your brother—dead in some pointless game?"
The moment I said it, I knew I'd gone too far and immediately regretted it.
But Quinn wasn't angry. He just looked out the window into the dark night and said, "Didn't you say earlier that we're almost at the final station?"