Dan Neng

July 29.
The air, saturated with salt and something bittersweet—reminiscent of rot and seaweed—was astounding. Dan Heng extended a hand to Kelus, helping him climb onto the rusty container. Kelus still felt slightly weak. Even a couple of months after being found, he looked frail and emaciated. He had struggled to gain weight, and even this simple climb required considerable effort, causing a sharp ache in muscles long forgotten by physical exertion.
Sunday, clutching the map tightly in his hands, carefully studied the small details written on the paper.

Their train stopped at a dilapidated port town, a ghost of its former prosperity. Leaning and dilapidated buildings stood in disrepair. Rusted remains of cargo cranes, fences eaten away by time, and vacant lots overgrown with weeds. Himeko, an experienced navigator and the only person on the express, who had been a professional cartographer before the tragedy, plotted a route to their destination and provided them with a schematic map.
Their destination was old warehouses on the outskirts of the city, where supplies might still be available. Kelus wasn't paying much attention to what Misha and Himeko had said when they sent them here. His motivation was simple: to get off the stuffy express, get some exercise, and shake things up after a long period of stagnation.

Kelus didn't remember when the virus had engulfed the world. Nor did he remember how the marra-infected—walking corpses with massive tumors on their chests—had taken over the world. Because he remembered nothing at all—neither the world nor himself. But his body seemed to remember: he held his weapon confidently, and his reflexes seemed honed over the years. And the name "Kafka" seemed to be stuck somewhere in the back of his mind.
On April 1st, Kelus was discovered in an abandoned hospital. He awoke—as it turned out, from a coma. On his chest was only an ugly scar, like a sun with vile rays. Overcoming his own body's resistance, he encountered an infected: although he managed to kill it, he was completely exhausted. It was in this painfully thin and emaciated state that Mart, Dan Heng, and Sunday found him, scouring the hospital for supplies.

"Nameless." "Star Express." Ironic... Having boarded the express—a train that, like other trains, traveled along routes, delivering supplies and mail from the station to other settlements—he met a sizable group: Dan Heng, the archivist who kept records; Mart, a restless and cheerful girl; Sunday, who restored art objects to preserve them; Miss Himeko, the express's navigator and mechanic; Mr. Welt Yang, second in command after Mikhail; Locha, the train's doctor; and, of course, Pom-Pom, the short conductor on the express, stern but sincere in her concern.

Kelus remembered nothing of his past life—as if he were an empty vessel. But sometimes memories would burst through, sharp and painful. He remained on the express—at least until it stopped at Hertha Station and he could decide what to do next. In the meantime, he lived in the archive car with Dan Heng, trying to keep a low profile while helping out in any way he could.

Kelus took in the view. It was certainly not beautiful. Small wooden houses stretched along the horizon, most of them long since rotted and collapsed. He spotted a pier: boats had once docked there, but now rusty vessels lay there, upside down.

Adjusting the strap of his backpack, Kelus walked to the edge of the container he was standing on and looked down. There, on the ground, were patches of asphalt overgrown with grass. There were no infected on the horizon.
"Let's go down and walk through this block. From here, you can see the framework of the warehouses," Dan Heng said, pointing in the direction of the time-worn buildings.
"There shouldn't be any problems. We stick together, don't scatter," Dan Heng said, turning to Kelus.

Kelus snorted and turned away. He felt like he was being spoken to as if he were a small child. Without waiting for further explanation, he crouched down and jumped off the container. A disgruntled sigh came from above. Then Dan Heng jumped down, his arms outstretched, ready to catch Sunday.

• There shouldn't be any problems.