Mira Sister

On June 11, 2489, it was a cloudy day in the Deadman's Port.

This has always been the case.

The dense fog that persists for most of the year obscures the sunlight, making the sky appear perpetually hazy.

Fifteen-year-old Mira Han believed that there were many places in the world where the sun shone brightly and flowers bloomed in all seasons, but the planet Deadman's Rock was not one of them. Unrestricted industry had destroyed the planet's already fragile ecosystem, and the sewage flowing into its rivers and lakes was like poison injected into the blood of Deadman's Rock.

Mira and her coworkers walked along a muddy path, made slippery by the rain, toward a high-energy gas refinery that was belching thick smoke. All of them were dressed in polyester clothing, covered with waterproof canvas jackets, and wearing rubber rain boots.

The group of workers numbered about forty or fifty, a third of whom were children and women around thirteen or fourteen years old. The elderly were still working—until they completely collapsed.

Despite their generally lack of higher education, the workers were acutely aware of what was poisoning their planet's atmosphere.

Moreover, these pollutants will eventually fall back down, returning to the inhabitants of the Deadman's Rock through the atmospheric circulation system. Even if this pollution cannot have an indelible impact on the people of the Deadman's Rock, the retribution will eventually fall on their descendants.

However, humans are short-sighted in this way, or perhaps the top managers of the company clearly know what terrible consequences this will bring, but they simply choose to ignore it.

Once they have exhausted all the value of the Deadman's Rock, the planet and its inhabitants will be immediately abandoned. Perhaps the workers here will be sent to other planets as cheap labor, but the Deadman's Rock will inevitably become a forgotten ruin.

Several years ago, the Governor of the Terran Confederacy at the Deadman's Rock signed a secret treaty with several intergalactic mega-corporations. Since then, interstellar cargo barges docked there have been dumping industrial waste in the wastelands of this planet, and many decommissioned interstellar ships have ended up being towed to this planet.

Unseen by the inhabitants of Deadman's Rock, their homeland is slowly turning into a garbage dump and a graveyard of spaceships. The truth may not be revealed for years, but by then it will be too late.

"How so?"

Walking beside Mira Han, a young worker who looked not much older than her complained loudly, "I receive the lowest wage in the entire Koprulu Sector, eat food that barely allows for the bare minimum of physical activity, and toil tirelessly in the most arduous and numbing work, working fourteen Earth hours a day."

"What do we end up with? The aftereffects of high-intensity work, illnesses, disabilities, and poverty caused by the inability to work."

"We work hard, but all the money goes to those who sit in offices."

"What's the use of complaining?" another said. "The Deadman's Rock can't grow any more crops, and even the rivers are drying up. What else can we do if we don't go to the factories? Nobody's even willing to be our servants."

"Our ancestors gave this planet an extremely unlucky name when they arrived here. I dare say there must be something wrong with the onboard AI of that colony Mothership that mistook the Deadman's Port for a habitable planet."

"Go to O'Bannon, you're sure to find work there," said another, slightly older voice.

"Many of the guys who worked for him made a lot of money, but I've also heard that quite a few people lost their lives trying to make dirty money."

Mira Han shook her head. Everyone knew what this "dirty money" referred to: drug manufacturing and trafficking, human trafficking, organ trafficking, prostitution, money laundering—they did every imaginable evil.

Since the Deadman's Rock has become increasingly turbulent, the people's situation has worsened. Those who cannot survive or are unwilling to endure the enslavement of the factories either save enough money to leave or take up jobs that are less strenuous and pay more.

People complained about the hard life in the factory, but with the stock market turmoil caused by the Guild Wars and the Korhal IV uprising, businesses on the Deadman's Rock withdrew their investments one after another, and soon the workers here would even lose their stable jobs completely.

In the somber, class-stratified Deadman's Rock, people no longer have a future.

"Guys, I heard that Korhal IV's Revolutionary Army is recruiting in the Deadman's Port," said a voice that sounded more cheerful and unaffected by the surrounding circumstances.

Mira, who was pulling her boots out of the muddy sludge, looked up at the sound and saw a big boy in tattered work clothes, "They get paid, every month, and more than the Confederate Marine Corps."

"Revolutionary Army?" An old man shook his head. "Rebels! Do you know what they do? Burning, killing, looting, committing all sorts of atrocities. They kidnap children, abduct women... They're utterly wicked."

"They seem quite kind to me," the cheerful voice said hesitantly. "I think that Revolutionary Army Gustav Mengsk must be a good man."

"He distributed bread to the children and had his accompanying doctor treat the people. His engineers built water towers and replaced the water pipes for the industrial area. He recruited workers of any background and gender to work at the newly built recruitment building and the port, paying wages daily without delay."

"He gathered many people and told us what it means to truly be alive."

"Are they still hiring workers?" Many people were asking this question, not even caring whether Augustus's men were rebels.

"Now they only recruit new soldiers, or rather, revolutionary fighters." The voice that answered sounded somewhat unsure.

"But his name is Augustus, right? You're mistaken." Someone questioned the coworker's literacy level, "You can spell that word, right?"

"What are the requirements?" the old man who had previously denounced the rebels asked. "What are the requirements for conscription? I'm not old yet."

The people of Deadman's Rock now have a few ways to leave their homeland, but only a very few can pass the mercenaries' rigorous tests, which are perhaps only slightly less difficult than the selection of Spartan warriors. Every time, people die in the mercenary selection process. Successful candidates must not only be physically strong, but also skilled in using weapons and possess excellent battlefield adaptability.

In comparison, the requirements for conscription sound much easier.

As for whether they will die, for those who consider their current life to be worse than death, that's simply not a big deal.

"As long as you're healthy and can pass the recruit tests, that's all you need. It's not difficult at all; lots of people signed up, even the Magistrate went." The young man who raised the question was excited to have gained the attention of others.

Where?

404 Northwest B-23rd Street

With a whoosh, the workers all scattered.

"Wait, it seems I've forgotten something." The young man's voice was no longer cheerful.

"What is it?" Mira Han walked up to him.

"Revolutionary consciousness? I didn't understand that at all. How did he determine that we have that consciousness?" the young man said after a moment's hesitation.

"Okay, then I'll go take a look." Mira looked at him and said, "Hmm? Why don't you go?"

"I'm scared... I'm afraid of dying." The young man said dejectedly.

Only then did the young man get a clear look at Mira Han, who had dyed her hair bright pink. Even her long bangs couldn't hide her pretty, playful eyes. She was slender, and the coat she wore, made of rough fabric, looked like a robe covering her body, reaching all the way to her calves. It was covered in mud.

"Well, that's your own choice. Haha—why are you so dejected!"

Mira Han slapped the young man hard on the shoulder, so hard that the man coughed.

"Smile, life isn't that hard," Mira said, making a face.