death of hope

Chapter 974 "Psionic Storm" (50) Mass Grave
Human Federation homeworld

Tyra,

Novosibirsk Oblast, a barren and frigid land.
Looking out from the ridge, all that can be seen is dry, cracked, gray frozen soil and gravel.
Tenacious purple irises and green moss dot the landscape, while a thin layer of white frost covers the stones.

Three figures, each with a different style of dress and bearing different demeanor, were trudging against the wind along the ridgeline, leaning on ice climbing picks.

The man leading the group was tall and lean, young and capable, with a straight spine like a pine tree. He strode with vigorous strides, wearing a green double-breasted long military overcoat and a black wool felt hat with a chipped five-pointed star pinned to the center.

The woman in the middle gripped her ice-climbing pick tightly against the biting wind as she tried to keep up with the leader. She was thin and short, clearly a woman, wearing a softshell jacket. A pair of thick, golden braids peeked out from under her felt hat, and her beautiful light green eyes, peering through her goggles, were fixed on the leader's back with a look of admiration.

The man at the back was a short, fat, and rough-looking fellow, as strong as a bear, with a thick beard, wearing a furry leather cloak, holding a bottle of liquor in his hand, tilting his head back and gulping down half of it.

·
The bearded man wiped his mouth, realized he had fallen behind, and shouted to the tall, thin man in the lead:
"Paul! You little brat... can't you slow down a bit?! Trying to show off your long legs, huh?!"

The leader slowed down upon hearing this: "Old Xie, if you drink less, you'll walk faster."

"Drink less? That won't do. Alcohol is my life. If I drink even a little less, I won't have the energy to keep going."

The bearded man burped, the exhaled breath turning into white mist, and panting, he caught up with the group.

"Huff...huff...wait...I'm clearly the guide, so why are you, you brat who's still wet behind the ears, walking ahead of me? Look at you, so capable!"

"Old Xie, you're really disrespectful to your elders, completely lacking in organization and discipline," said the woman in the middle of the group.

"He's the soul of our organization, the most capable and charismatic member of the Supreme Committee, and our boss. And you call him 'brat'?"

"He's about the same age as my kid! So what should I call him?" The bearded man shrugged: "S-rank kid? Or W-rank lad?"

"You're all wrong!"

The girl shook her head vigorously, covering her mouth and laughing, "You have to call him 'Sir S' or 'Mr. W'~"

·
The tall, thin man leading the group stopped, his brow furrowing slightly. "Hey, Donya, you're making jokes like this again. I have to reprimand you."

"Oh, boss, please speak, I'm listening!"

"Whether it's the feudal ethics of ancient times or the hypocritical 'management democracy' of the current Federation, they are all the dregs of thought of people oppressing people. People of virtue and ambition, regardless of their status or wealth, are all brothers and sisters, and all comrades."

The young woman made an exaggerated gesture of bowing gracefully: "You are right, Comrade Secretary Paul. After hearing your words, my ideological level has been elevated once again!"

"Come on, Tonya, you're just teasing me again..."

The leader was unmoved by the girl's joke, and without turning back, strode off again, leaving the two behind.
"You two hurry up, it's getting colder and colder."

"Damn it! You brat...you're going to die! Damn it...slow down!" The bearded man hurried after him, panting and muttering:

"Damn it... this kind of clueless, clueless kid... actually has a way with women... those silly girls are all chasing after him... why... it's just not fair..."

The girl quickly caught up with the team leader, turned back to look at the bearded man, and said, "Why do you think so? It's because our Comrade Paul is charismatic, a good fighter, and handsome!"

·
After another two and a half hours of arduous trekking, the three finally arrived at their destination: a forgotten mass grave.

This place is specifically used to collect the bodies of rebel leaders, terrorists, and political prisoners executed by the Terra Federation's Ministry of Justice.

To prevent the public from spontaneously holding memorial services for these prisoners and to prevent the spirit of these troublemakers from being inherited,
Federal agents secretly transported the prisoners' ashes to the sparsely populated, barren frozen wasteland of Novosibirsk, where they were hastily buried in a makeshift pit.

Two pieces of inferior wood, one horizontal and one vertical, nailed together; only such a simple cross-shaped tombstone is fit for a sinner.

Most of them have been eroded away by the harsh environment, and the rest have been blown crooked by the strong winds.

The three of them circled the mass grave, shining flashlights and bending down to examine each of the remaining crosses. Finally, they found the inscription they were looking for on one of the leaning, fallen pieces of wood:
Marcus Lynch,

1947-1986,

traitor,

terrorist,
They gathered an illegal armed force and brutally murdered our beloved senator.
He was killed by brave soldiers of the 17th Division of the Federal Army.
May this sinful soul suffer eternal torment in purgatory.

Federal Ministry of Justice
1986
"