70: Chapter 69 9527

(There was supposed to be another chapter.)

(I was sneakily typing during military training and forgot to save,)

(It is gone.)

(I will post it at noon.)

(It is easier to read the two chapters together,)

(it is more coherent.)

In the various crevices of the Space City, a special group survives—lifelong debt contract workers.

Most of them, due to some unexpected catastrophe, ended up with external debts they could never repay in a lifetime, and subsequently, lost their status as "people."

After being branded with serial numbers and barcodes representing commodities by major corporations, they were sold to various places in need of large amounts of labor under the guise of "long-term labor dispatch."

Perhaps because the only way to pass the time in such harsh environments was to create new life, over the long course of evolution, these interstellar-era slaves gradually began to reproduce and developed their own settlements—

until that daunting debt is paid off, the children of slaves are still slaves.

9527 is a member of this group.

From birth, this string of code has been his name; and the job of handling cargo transport at the port, inherited from his parents who died young, is the proof that he is still paying off the debt left behind by his great-great-great... great-grandfather.

Although one could say that people like him are "wetware" equipped by the space station since birth, 9527 seems to believe that being born in the mud does not mean he is deprived of the right to look up at the high heavens—

I do not know what the catalyst was—perhaps he accidentally caught a glimpse of the world outside the cage in some crevice, or perhaps he inadvertently heard a newly joined member describe the wonders of the starry sky—but a dream, impossibly distant for a debt slave, took root in his heart: he wants to pay off his debt in his lifetime and then go see the starry sky outside.

—although the amount of debt he carries is something even his great-great-great-great-grandchildren might not be able to pay off.

However, accidents always appear in unexpected ways.

A group of people from the upper levels, wearing uniform attire, burst into the crevice where his ancestors had lived for generations—

"Hurry up!"

"You bunch of rats!"

"From now on, forget about those damn debts!"

"His Great Majesty the Marshal has given you a chance!"

"Join the Cosmic Army and become glorious Amnesty Soldiers!"

"The time to show your loyalty to His Majesty the Marshal has arrived!"

They used rubber batons and steel pipes to smash countless shacks, hammocks, and tents, dragging out one bewildered person after another.

Suddenly, cries, shouts, and screams mixed together.

There was a hot-tempered guy who just cursed at a soldier and had his legs broken instantly by someone wielding a baton with a speed of six hits per second.

After this settlement had been "recruited" enough, the lieutenant of the recruitment squad walked around with a patrol and returned to report to the captain, "The young and strong are basically all here."

"What about the children and the elderly?"

The captain just glanced at them lightly and whispered, "Most of the people who can work here are gone," "Why are you keeping them?" "To waste the capacity of the protein block factory?"

The lieutenant froze for a moment, then replied, "Yes!"

Those recruitment team members ensured there was no one left in this place, and then, like driving livestock, roughly gathered them together.

9527 was swept up in the surging crowd, feeling uneasy, and slowly moved toward the table that had been set up temporarily.

... ...

"Sir!"

"The enemy's anti-aircraft fire is beginning to weaken!"

"The probability of the cannon fodder's Boarding Craft colliding with the enemy warships is increasing significantly!"

"And the enemy's formation is scattering!"

In the command center of the Cosmic Army fleet, the Radar Operator's surprised shout reached Suhart's ears.

Hearing this news, Suhart felt a wave of surprise—he had thought these enemy forces would be able to withstand the first wave of the assault, but was that it?

After thinking for a moment, Suhart looked at the Damage Control Director beside him and said, "This batch of slav... Amnesty Soldiers probably won't need to use the Boarding Craft."

"Distribute them all to your damage control department,"

"Within eight standard hours,"

"I want to see the gaps caused by the torpedo explosions simply patched up!"

The Damage Control Director immediately stood at attention, saluted, and answered loudly, "Yes!"

"Also!"

"Concentrate all the strength of the Marine Corps!"

"Use those citizens who just 'committed treason' as auxiliary troops!"

"After the current cannon fodder is almost exhausted,"

"Deploy all Marine Corps forces,"

"Mix them into the ranks,"

"And prepare to seize the enemy Battlecruiser in one fell swoop!"

... ...

"This is your ID!"

"Now you have joined the glorious Cosmic Army and become an Amnesty Soldier!"

9527 walked to the table, where two soldiers were sitting. One was responsible for quickly filling in the blanks on the ID and stamping it for issuance; the other was constantly handing out low-quality combat uniforms to the recruits and then attaching shock collars.

"Oh... oh!" He clumsily took the ID and combat uniform, allowing a black metal collar to be placed around his neck.

Soon, everyone was squeezed into a small Shuttle. As the last person was forcefully pushed in, the Shuttle's hatch closed, and it began to move slowly.

A few dozen seconds after takeoff, a burst of gunfire suddenly came from behind.

9527 was stunned for a moment, then realized—everyone realized.

Suddenly, cries erupted one after another, filling the entire Shuttle.

... ...

After a violent shake, the Shuttle suddenly stopped.

The hatch opened, and a large number of the newly enlisted Amnesty Soldiers filed out. Outside was no longer the mechanical structure they were familiar with, filled with the smell of oil—scattered debris, deformed and blood-stained armor plates, and the occasional wail of a wounded soldier revealed what this place was—a battlefield!

"New arrivals!"

"What are you standing there for!"

"Everyone come and get your protective suits!"

"You must patch all the breaches in this damn place within eight hours!"

A rough voice sounded from behind. 9527 turned his head and happened to meet a gaze filled with contempt and anger—

Ten minutes later, 9527, wearing a simple protective suit, was already squeezed among a large group of his own kind, listening to the instructions announced over the loudspeaker.

Soon, his squad was brought to an external hatch. The supervising regular Cosmic Army Marine casually threw a tether to him and opened the hatch directly.

Suddenly, a powerful suction force came, pulling against the magnetic boots on his feet.

In the end, the magnetism won out.

Outside the door, the floor was broken, and countless small fragments were floating in the air. The charred marks were still there, and the ripples of the explosion were clear.

The desperate environment was instantly revealed before his eyes; however, the overseer behind them didn't care about anything, and directly kicked the new Amnesty Soldiers out of the hatch one by one—

... ...

(I will post another chapter at noon.)