No one responded.
It was as if the "family" was weeping in grief over their master's poverty as well.
The train door opened behind him. Under the soft lighting, there was no luxurious private compartment or attentive service—only the ceiling panels that had been pried open, with cables hanging down one after another and crackling with sparks.
Behind the damaged iron plates lining the carriage walls were parts covered in rust. Beneath the floor panels that had yet to be put back were convoluted structures.
It was like stepping into the enormous workshop of a shipyard. Everywhere he looked, there were nothing but problems and trouble.
"This is a pain."
Ji Jue sighed, casually hung his bag from a protruding screw on the wall, and sat down in the battered cockpit seat, looking at the scene before him.
No matter how many times he saw it, his scalp still went numb.
As his Wristwatch ticked away, pop-up windows appeared, followed by an endless string of damage alerts—[Central Dispatch Center Unresponsive], [Spirit Essence Fuel Reserves Critical], [Forward Transmission Mechanism Unresponsive], [Stars Navigation System Unresponsive], [Lower Compartment Damage Alert], [Emergency Maintenance Expiration Alert]...
Alerts, alerts, alerts. Every fucking one of them was an alert.
On the entire Doomsday Train, the only thing whose integrity still passed the threshold was the core Myriad Manifestations Engine. That was at least one small blessing amid the misfortune.
But the Wristwatch promptly added another reminder—The engine hasn't undergone maintenance in over two hundred years, dear. Overload operation mode has been restricted and locked, and it can currently only operate at low power. Oh, it's okay, don't worry... because you don't even have any fuel, hahaha.
The fuel tank was empty!
They were clearly all proper written reports, yet Ji Jue somehow felt that every line dripped