Armed Train in the Apocalypse

Some are happy, some are sad.

When Luo Jingyi was really about to take action, he realized he was a one-man army. The train could only provide strong military support and the supercomputer at the back.

So he spent half a month interviewing over two thousand people, pieced together personnel from various labs, and finally formed an artificial intelligence team with 8 core members and 160 peripheral members.

It was only by mid-September that they had just taken over Xiao Ai.

They still needed to conduct modular design to meet the various needs of different labs.

To cope with these complex demands and the rapidly increasing workload, all departments of the train madly expanded their workforce, giving Zhijin extremely ample job demand.

Those with abilities contributed them, those with skills offered them, and even those with nothing could evolve by consuming a couple of Pan-energy Crystals.

The power supply system within the site was also fully completed.

Through the perfect design by Professor Wang Duoyu and a number of planning talents and logistics talents, the ”small” Zhijin site was as bright as day even at midnight.

Hundreds of vehicles, at all hours, carried all sorts of scavenged resources into Zhijin, feeding the factories that ran tirelessly through the night. Thousands of evolutionary materials were extracted and synthesized daily, engineering vehicles were repaired, and started restoring the city.

The Armed Corps, with new recruits, scoured the site like a sieve. Under the bright lamplight, various Mutant Beasts and zombies were driven out of the dark corners.

All kinds of resources were collected and integrated, preparing for the large-scale trade market in October.

The sound of gunfire, the roar of engines, and the bustling of crowds brought vitality to this long-dead city.

Amid everyone’s fervor for work, the third phase of the armed train’s renovation plan was rapidly advancing.

First was the train body’s main structure, using a new ”Tier Two” hybrid metal as the framework, made from large amounts of materials including ”whale bone,” ”metal tungsten,” ”Tier Two Zombie Materials,” and ”Tier Two Mutant Plants.” They came up with an apt name for this metal.

Tier Two Keel.

Its hardness and toughness reached the peak; it could withstand small-caliber shell impacts without deforming, and large-caliber shells without breaking. Most crucially, due to the integration of extensive Tier Two materials, it was even lighter than steel.

The train armor required too much material to replace it entirely with Tier Two metal, so they only overlaid an additional layer on the original structure.

The outermost layer was Tier One Armor Steel, followed by composite armor (Tier One Cyan Steel + Tier One Resin + Tier One Cyan Steel), and the innermost layer was extremely thin Tier One Titanium Steel, covered with a layer of ironwood insulation.

Because all used were Tier One synthetic materials, only about 40% had been replaced so far.

Among them, water and electricity renovations, especially the water recycling system proposed by Professor Wang Duoyu, were already preliminarily completed. The comprehensive recovery efficiency could reach 80%, and in extreme conditions, like in a completely closed environment, this figure could even reach 92%, similar to space station levels.

Thanks to a temperature and humidity control system dismantled from Zhijin, sweat and breath moisture could be recovered, which was a major part besides recovering water resources like sanitary water and urine.

With this thermal control system, the directly related atmospheric circulation system was also 20% complete, with many energy cycle-related parts still in design.

He Jie, busy slaying zombies, brought back some oxygen chambers from the city hospital, pushing this progress up another 10%.

”I heard this stuff can extend life?”

Su Huan curiously patted the metal shell in front of him.

Shu Wei, replying to messages on the tablet, looked up and said coldly, ”No, if it could extend life, you wouldn’t see it in hospitals.”

”Then it’s just a...”

”Hyperbaric oxygen chamber. We brought it in to modify it into an emergency oxygen chamber. If the on-board oxygen generation equipment fails, this thing can hold out a bit longer.”

Su Huan, somewhat puzzled, asked, ”Is it very difficult to manufacture this thing?”

Shu Wei sighed internally, thinking that the train chief needed some supplementary lessons.

”Theoretically, we’ve lost all industrial manufacturing capability. The only reason we can produce now is, first, not everyone is dead, and second, we’re relying on the ruins of past cities. If we lose the current cities, with our technology, even with evolutionary abilities making up, the industrial level would regress a hundred years.”

”So severe...”

Su Huan frowned. He thought the train, even if it couldn’t catch up to pre-apocalypse, had at least achieved self-sufficiency.

”What about within the cities?”

”Pre-apocalypse tech and industrial levels are our ceiling. If we can’t advance along the evolutionary path, we’ll never break through. That’s from a human perspective; from the train’s perspective, we should never hope to make breakthroughs with traditional tech levels.”

”The past tech levels were built through decades of peace and several generations’ construction, with significant advancements in all foundational sciences, and numerous talents across various fields. With pre-apocalypse Donghuang’s strength, a project like the armed train renovation could be done in hundreds or thousands simultaneously, with minute-level precision control...”

He didn’t finish, but Su Huan understood the disparity within.

It’s not multiples, but exponents.

Building an industry requires countless conditions’ accumulation: peaceful environment, generations’ effort, stable inheritance... but destruction takes only an instant.

Knowledge spread pathways are quite like AIDS.

But knowledge is not.

If you don’t know, you don’t know, you can’t even pass it down in one generation.

Su Huan didn’t dwell on this issue. Each generation has its tasks.

He needs to deal with the group of fools out there.

”What’s the next project to inspect?”

”The split plan in Phase Three renovations, and the materials prepared for the October auction.”

Su Huan thought for a moment, ”Let’s look at the split plan first.”

The train split plan is a new idea proposed during renovations, not to entirely split the train, but to design some train compartments to be separable.

On one hand, it reduces the train’s motive pressure; on the other hand, the separated compartments can be retrofitted into engineering vehicles, assisting the train in traversing special terrains and facilitating later modifications.

Su Huan walked ahead with hands in pockets. An invisible energy barrier appeared on his black shirt, blocking wind and sand.

Every step he took seemed as if measured with a ruler, bearing a terrifying precision.

He was using this method to adapt and adjust his massive presence.

”Have I changed recently?”

To verify, Su Huan casually asked.

Perhaps because he asked casually, Shu Wei, engrossed in her work, replied just as casually.

”Hmm, not as self-conscious as before.”

The chief’s raised step didn’t fall again.

Shu Wei’s pale gray pupils froze. Realizing what she had said, a fine cold sweat appeared on her smooth forehead.

Damn, what nonsense was she spouting.

A massive shadow and eerie aura enveloped her, and besides wind and sand, the air carried a faint sweet metallic scent.

Like blood rust.

”Didn’t expect you to observe so deeply.”

Su Huan’s voice was calm, like the prelude to danger.

Sensing the familiar aura, Shu Wei’s pores slightly opened, and her fine hair seemed to stand as if attracted. Before the chief could make a move, Shu Wei quickly said.

”Something happened.”

Su Huan smirked, ”It better be real.”

Shu Wei, with a composed expression, raised her tablet and enlarged a picture on it.

”A quarter of an hour ago, the factory manager passed away despite rescue efforts.”

The image showed the interior of the train’s medical carriage. An elderly man lay on a white hospital bed, dressed in sleepwear, without a respirator, his eyes slightly closed, as if asleep.

Su Huan didn’t expect such an answer. Black pupils flickered with electric arcs, like a crack in the night sky.

Then, it returned to silence.

As if the light had never appeared, the night enveloped the earth and would continue to do so.

Only a light response was given.

”Understood.”