The leader of the Neo-Guevara terrorists was named Zucker. His ideology centered around liberating society from the control of the social credit system. In Zucker's eyes, Neo-Guevara wasn't a terrorist group but revolutionaries fighting against the oppression of the powerful.
To him, the social credit system was an evil mechanism that stripped away basic freedoms—such as access to restaurants, hotels, and public transportation—privileges that should be equally available to everyone. Why was one person allowed these rights, while another was excluded?
The takeover of the train, taking hostages, and killing officers were Neo-Guevara's ways of making their stand. But to make their ideals a reality, they also needed money. Zucker had demanded a $100 million ransom through the train's communication system, but no response had come yet, making him restless.
Zucker was staying in one of the luxury cabins of the intercity train, on the second floor, near the front, where the VIP passengers were held captive. These passengers were all wealthy individuals who had bought the most expensive tickets. Capturing these high-profile targets was a calculated move to use them as bargaining chips against the train company. Zucker had only brought a few dozen men, and instead of trying to control the entire train, capturing these rich businessmen was enough.
Among the hostages was Ivy Tesla Lake.
'Ivy Tesla Lake, could life possibly get any worse for you? Dumped by your boyfriend, forced out as CEO, and now taken hostage by terrorists. It's just one humiliation after another,' Ivy thought bitterly, recalling the mocking faces of those who had laughed at her downfall.
Once, Ivy had been a six-star Miner with power and influence, the president of a rising company that had successfully launched an IPO and led city-level projects. She had been a young woman with a bright future, but now, she couldn't even protect herself. Being taken hostage by these outlaws was more shame than she could bear.
"Mommy... Mommy," a little girl whimpered, hiding behind Ivy. Ivy used her body to shield the girl from the terrorists' view. The poor child had lost her mother when the terrorists first stormed in—she had been caught in the initial gunfire. Her body now lay near the wounded train police.
As someone trained in martial arts and once possessing high-level powers, Ivy could tell the mother hadn't been shot in any critical area. There was little blood, and though she was unable to move, there was still hope if they got her to a hospital. But for that, they needed the train company to respond.
'I guess I'm the one waiting to be rescued now. Sorry, Susinna... I should have brought you with me.'
"Damn it, why aren't they responding yet?" Zucker's frustration boiled over.
"Boss, we're almost at the next station. They're definitely going to have people waiting for us there," one of his men said.
"Then we don't stop. Just keep going. What are they going to do about it?"
"Even if we keep going, fuel is limited. If they don't respond to our demands soon, we're screwed."
"You think you can teach me something, punk?" Zucker snapped, his irritation clear. The subordinate stammered, choosing his words carefully.
"N-no, sir. Just a suggestion."
"Good. If they don't respond, we'll start killing hostages—one every ten minutes."
"!!!" The hostages, including Ivy, turned pale at Zucker's words. If the company didn't comply, someone among them would die every ten minutes.
"No!"
"Please, spare me. I'll pay you a million dollars—no, take a blank check, write whatever you want, just don't kill me!" An old, bald, overweight man pleaded, bowing his head, tears streaming.
Hearing his desperate plea, the other VIP passengers followed suit.
"Let me go. I have houses, cars—take them all."
"I have shares in fifty major companies. I'll sell them and give you the money. Just let me live."
"I own an ancient painting worth ten million dollars!" The hostages all started to offer whatever they had. Money didn't matter if they couldn't live to use it. Seeing that the terrorists were after money, they offered theirs. But Zucker, instead of being swayed, showed only contempt.
"You filthy pigs," Zucker spat, twisting his waist and kicking the overweight man's bloated face, knocking his head against the edge of his seat, leaving him with a cracked skull. The sound of a woman's scream echoed, heightening the tension among the hostages.
"You think our ideals can be bought with money? You really are pigs. You're nothing but brainless zombies who think money can solve everything. You don't understand what it's like for people like us, struggling under the social credit system. You think having money makes you better than me, huh? To hell with all of you," Zucker roared, kicking the old man again, this time hard enough to break ribs and injure his internal organs.
"Stop! You'll kill him!" the old man's young wife cried out, trying to shield her husband. Zucker paused and turned to her.
"You his wife?"
"Y-yes."
"Ha... You're half his age, and you still married him. I guess money really does smell sweet to you. Take her," Zucker ordered.
"No, don't! Please, help me!" the young woman screamed as two men dragged her away from the group. They didn't violate her but hit her with a rod, striking her frail body hard. The other women in the group couldn't bear to watch the brutality.
"Choose now. If the company doesn't respond, we'll kill her first," Zucker declared.
"No, please, no."
"Unless... if that fat old man over there is willing to die for her, I'll let her go," Zucker said, pointing his thumb at the unconscious old man beneath his feet. His wife looked to him, pleading, but he said nothing. He was too terrified to speak, pretending he couldn't hear her. In his mind, her value had been weighed long ago—she was just someone he kept around to stave off loneliness, nothing more. Why would he die for her?
"Help me, please! Somebody!" She looked around, but no one dared speak for her. Zucker remained stoic, indifferent. He wasn't enjoying this—he was testing them. He wanted to see if any of these wealthy people had even a shred of moral decency.
"Just shallow shells," Zucker muttered, his disdain for the wealthy clear. It wasn't just the rich he hated, but the entire capitalist system and the social credit mechanism that had brought about inequality. He wanted to create a free world where everyone was equal—that was his ideal.
"Have we heard from the company yet?" Zucker asked his closest subordinate.
"They responded, but they said they need more time to consider."
"I guess we need to apply some pressure. Record the video of killing her and send it to them. Let them see we're serious," Zucker ordered.
The young woman, terrified, her face contorted in fear, sobbed as the men pulled her hair. Her expensive, silky hair treatment was now a tangled mess. She screamed, looking at her husband who refused to even glance her way.
It was so unfair.
All she did was beg the terrorists to spare her husband, and now she was about to be killed. She cursed the twisted fate that had led to this. The camera started recording as the gun was pressed against her head. The fear broke her, causing her to soil herself.
"Boss, she pissed herself. Hilarious," one of the men said, laughing.
"Enough joking. Pull the trigger," Zucker ordered.
"Yes, sir!"
"Wait." A voice spoke up from among the hostages. A young woman with silver-purple hair stood up, her gaze locked on Zucker, her eyes showing no fear.
"And who are you?" Zucker asked.
"Ivy Tesla Lake, CEO of Black Rose Foundation. You might recognize me," she answered.
"Oh, I do. So what?"
"I'll be your hostage. Use me to negotiate with the train company. Whose head do you think they'll value more—hers or mine, a CEO?" Ivy's voice was firm.
"Interesting. Take her," Zucker ordered.
"No need. I can walk myself," Ivy said, her voice dripping with disdain. She wouldn't let these filthy men touch her. Just looking at them was enough to make her nauseous. She glanced back at the little girl hiding behind her, crying softly. Ivy hoped the girl would stay strong until her mother recovered—there was no big sister to protect her now.
"Big sister, please don't go!" the little girl cried, her tiny hands clutching Ivy's shirt. She didn't want Ivy to go; none of the other adults were as kind as she was. Her crying irritated one of the terrorists, who moved to strike her, but Zucker stopped him with a glance.
'Don't touch the kid.'
'If you harm a child, you die,' Zucker's eyes conveyed the warning clearly.
"It's alright," Ivy said softly to the little girl, her voice both comforting the child and herself. She moved to take the young woman's place, the gun pressed against her head, yet her expression didn't change.
Ivy herself didn't fully understand why she was doing this. She had no personal connection to the young woman. Her experience and intelligence were far more valuable than anyone else here. But at this moment, she chose to sacrifice herself.
Maybe it was because her life had disappointed her so much that she felt she had nothing left to lose. Or maybe it was the last way to preserve her own dignity.
'No,' Ivy thought. She wasn't giving up—she was trying to save herself and everyone else here.
She was no longer the CEO of Black Rose Foundation, but that information wasn't public yet. She still had the status of a six-star Miner, once a significant figure for humanity. If the news of this got to the media, the train company would be pressured to act. Miners were highly valued in the new world. If a Miner wasn't treated according to their reputation and achievements, why would anyone else want to be one?
Zucker wasn't stupid. Killing some random woman was pointless—using Ivy as leverage against the company was far more beneficial. He finished recording the video and sent it through the train's network. Just as he waited for a response—
BANG!
One of his guards at the door fell. Zucker's pupils narrowed in shock.
"Who's there?!" The closest terrorist pointed his gun out the door, but as soon as he did, he was shot in the throat, collapsing instantly. Cold fear gripped Zucker—two of his men down in the blink of an eye.
Who was it?
Zucker's heart pounded. Ivy felt it too.
'Who is that?'
Zucker debated whether to check, but hesitation held him back. He pressed his gun against Ivy's head, ready to use her as leverage the moment the attacker appeared.
Minutes ticked by with no movement. The tension in the room was palpable, breaths held in suspense. Zucker's men, weapons ready, awaited orders, unsure of what to do.
'Have they taken out all my men already?' Zucker questioned himself.
'How many are there? Who is this? And why are they even on this train?!' Zucker had used his criminal connections to investigate and confirmed that there were no elite enforcers, bounty hunters, or high-level Miners on board, which was precisely why he had chosen this train to attack.
"An agent," Ivy whispered, the word escaping her lips before she could stop herself. When Zucker heard it, sweat poured from his brow, dripping down his face and chin. It felt like millions of fire ants were crawling all over his heart.
An agent?!
'Impossible.'
As Zucker tried to convince himself that it couldn't be true, the door, left unguarded, suddenly slid open, and a man rushed in, gliding across the floor soundlessly. His amethyst eyes glowed as he entered, revolver already raised and aimed.
"Damn it!" Zucker was about to pull the trigger to blow Ivy's brains out, but the newcomer was faster.
BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!
Six shots fired in rapid succession. The first hit Zucker's hand, knocking his pistol away. The remaining five struck Zucker's men, dropping them unconscious as each shot hit a critical point.
Asic tossed an empty cartridge at Zucker's face to create a distraction. Purple lightning energy radiated from his body, forming a visible aura around him. Ivy saw it clearly with her own eyes—it was as if time itself had skipped a second around Asic, like an edited video.
The seventh bullet flew out of the chamber without even a visible reload. It hit Zucker's neck precisely, incapacitating him before he even realized what had happened or saw the face of the person who had dismantled his group.