Chapter Four: The Black Coffin

Yet the three of them still harbored secrets unknown, just as this sorrowful era remained shrouded in mystery.

There was a hidden armory in the office building, but Lamia had no use for it, and I was unwilling to burden myself. A person has but one life; carrying more firearms does not guarantee surviving more bullets—one trusty weapon is enough.

Water and food, however, were another matter entirely.

Old Wei asked, “Can you really stomach this stuff?”

In the Sorrowful Era, scavengers and bandits developed similar tastes. We had no qualms about eating cockroach or rat meat—especially when it was so large, so juicy, so tender. In fact, it was worth trying.

But then I remembered: I was no longer a scavenger, but a Ranger; a member of Black Coffin. My palate ought to improve.

I hadn’t even set foot in the skyscraper, yet my goal was already in hand—Lamia trusted me, and I had become her follower.

Would I be satisfied with just this? No, I would keep climbing higher. One day, I would live in the finest quarters of Black Coffin, eat the best food, indulge in the most extravagant entertainments, savor the most exquisite pleasures. I would become a celebrity in Black Coffin—its master—living in comfort and ease for all eternity.

Only then would the Fish keep away from me, never seeking me out. The Fish could scent poverty, pain, despair, and every negative emotion within a person. When it arrived, everyone died—myself included.

I could no longer be sure I could escape.

Therefore, I must reside in paradise.

Lamia asked, “How is Varga doing?”

Old Wei replied, “She’s the last person you need to worry about. I bet even if someone shot her in the forehead, she wouldn’t die.”

I suspected Old Wei was exaggerating, but looking at Varga’s strange appearance, I half believed it. It was hard to tell how much of her was still flesh and blood—I wasn’t even sure she was human.

Lamia said, “It’s good you’re both unharmed.”

I pointed out that we should return to the skyscraper sooner.

Lamia shook her head, “The mission isn’t over. It’s too early to go back.”

I felt as though a bucket of ice water had been poured over me and asked what task could be more important than preserving our lives.

Lamia replied, “My honor, my conviction, and the Consul’s orders—these are all worth guarding with my life. As a Ranger, you must be prepared to do the same.”

For the first time, I wondered if being a Ranger was truly for me.

Lamia said, “If you shrink back, I’ll consider you a deserter. Not only will you be forever barred from Black Coffin, I will execute you myself.”

On reflection, how could I so casually go back on my word? If I’d promised something to the old, the weak, the sick, or the crippled, perhaps I could let it slide. But with Lamia, the price of shirking was too steep.

Perhaps it was cowardice, perhaps duplicity—but the world had already ended. Those of us who survived had to be flexible, our moral standards lowered.

Lamia smiled, “That’s better.” Old Wei and Varga had no objections.

This district had once been a so-called “commercial street.” Who knew whether it could accommodate two bandit gangs? One gang was already gone, but if another appeared, it would be best not to fall into an ambush. Lamia couldn’t detect human presence, and even she wouldn’t withstand a hail of random bullets from all sides.

I offered to scout ahead. After all, I was used to being alone and was good at staying alive. If there were snipers atop the high-rises, I might just spot them.

My heart was full of questions, but I forced myself to remain optimistic. I felt the Fish was following my scent. Sometimes, when I suddenly turned around, I seemed to glimpse its ghostly shadow.

Someone laughed and asked, “Why resist? Why?”

I forced my eyes open; sweat poured off me. I saw countless hands, countless eyes, countless human faces.

Ochid appeared before me, alive—but he was no longer Ochid, no longer human. He had become something else.

He said, “Come, join us. We were just like you once, but now we understand—why did we struggle back then? We are being redeemed. We are ascending to paradise.”

To become part of the Sun King.

I shouted, “No! Stay away!”

The Fish.

A pair of warm, small hands pressed against my forehead. I thought it was Ochid and tried to push him away, but then I realized it was Lamia.

She asked, “Who is Ochid?”

I told her he was an old acquaintance from Waterless Village.

Lamia asked, “You saw him?”

I said Ochid had long been dead.

She pressed, “What happened?”

I was blunt: while scouting, it was best not to talk—it was distracting.

Lamia asked, “Varga, how much farther?”

Varga’s eyes lit up and projected an image onto the marble floor—a highly detailed map of the surroundings.

To me, a detailed map was a relic from the last era—a treasure. With a map, we became like omniscient gods, able to explore vast areas at will. And Varga was even better than a map. I saw two points in the projection, connected by a winding line—she could calculate the optimal route to our destination.

Who knew how many such maps she carried in her mind?

I had developed a good habit on the road: whenever I found something useful, I’d usually find a way to take it with me. For now, I could restrain that impulse—but I was deeply impressed.

What exactly was Varga? In ancient times there were so-called computers. I’d thought that was a fairy tale—perhaps Varga was one, yet she was clearly human.

Old Wei looked up, “Thirty kilometers left—we’ll arrive tomorrow.”

Lamia said, “It’s getting dark. Let’s find somewhere to spend the night. Hopefully, we won’t be robbed again.”

I continued as the scout, checking a shop called Barry’s Café. It was safe inside; this time, there was no need to light a fire and repeat past mistakes.

Lamia produced that same kind of sandwich wrap we’d seen before and handed one to Old Wei. Old Wei took out something like fuel, and Varga’s left arm had a round port for refueling. Old Wei poured the fuel inside.

I decided to try the sandwich wrap, but Lamia said, “Sorry, none for you. Eat your cockroach meat.”

I explained the necessity of teamwork. Lamia smiled, “We’ve worked very well together so far. Once we return to Black Coffin, you’ll receive an unexpected reward.”

I was disappointed, but cockroach meat was not hard to swallow.

I asked about the purpose of our journey. Lamia said, “Where we live is called Black Coffin—a skyscraper over seven hundred meters tall. It’s a masterpiece of ancient technology, able to withstand any disaster, with inexhaustible energy. Most importantly, residents breathe fresh air and drink clean water.”

I did my utmost to shower it with praise, and I meant every word.

Lamia continued, “However, the Consul believes we cannot simply remain content. Black Coffin gives us the right to survive, but not the right to abandon our duty to save the world. We are the chosen people, living in Black Coffin. We can live well, yes—but is that all? Black Coffin preserved us, so we are humanity’s fire-seed. And the fire-seed must one day burst into flame, letting the world shine again.”

I shared my thoughts—first agreeing with the Consul’s ideals without a hint of dissent, but I also pointed out that there was still light in the world. The sun above, albeit a force that seemed to mutate people over time, was at least bright.

Lamia nodded, “Correct. The sun is indeed a problem. And demons are another. Thus, the Consul has chosen a strategy of steady expansion. From Black Coffin as our center, we’ve built towns outward, using materials similar to Black Coffin for walls and low buildings. The town now has a population of seventeen thousand—enough for daily life. But we lack everything: guns, ammo, building materials, soil, energy, water…”

I asked if there was a contradiction in her words. While I respected Lamia greatly, hadn’t she just said Black Coffin’s energy was limitless?

She answered, “You haven’t seen it yourself. You can’t imagine what Black Coffin is truly like. It’s indestructible—they say even a nuclear bomb couldn’t penetrate its shell. It generates a shield, repels demons, purifies water, produces food, has automated fire response, intrusion defense… It’s like a human body, but healthier, more precise, more resilient. Everything is recycled—eternally renewed.”

I pictured my future home, my heart soaking in sweet, warm honey.

Lamia went on, “But its energy is limited to Black Coffin itself—none can be sent outside. The current Consul has decided to use Black Coffin’s technology to rebuild civilization, but Black Coffin remains a black box to us…”

I interrupted, “A black box? That’s an apt metaphor.” For her, I spared no effort in flattery.

Lamia smiled, “So we must acquire technology, resources, and talent from beyond Black Coffin—proud legacies from the previous civilization.”

Old Wei said, “Exactly. And the place we’re heading is on the border of Bayview and Hunter’s Point.”

Suddenly, I recalled some old maps and magazines I’d scavenged and showed them. They identified Bayview as a former San Francisco research base.

Old Wei smiled, “It’s not easy to find magazines in such good condition. In Black Coffin, these old things are worth a lot. I’ve heard a Marquis pays handsomely for antiques.”

I thought my start in paradise would be promising—perhaps I’d make a fortune. I still had five more such magazines, but knowing human nature, I doubted even paradise was free of thieves. As the saying goes, one mustn’t flaunt wealth when away from home. I was cautious, tucking the sandwich wrap I’d pilfered from Lamia deeper into my pack.

Old Wei said, “But your map’s already outdated. San Francisco’s landscape is completely different from a century ago. Haven’t you noticed that from Silicon Valley to Bayview—even with a few detours—it shouldn’t be a hundred kilometers apart?”

I asked if tectonic activity had expanded San Francisco’s borders.

Old Wei replied, “No—the situation is far more complicated.”