I searched and fought in America.

(I changed the time)

Rosen turned around to face his squad.

His gaze slowly swept across everyone's faces. Caesar's anxiety was written all over his face; Wang Ling remained silent; Gabak's eyes were red, as if he was expecting something; Cade stood at the back, his brows furrowed, looking at Rosen, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes appearing particularly deep at this moment.

At this moment, a system notification appeared:

【02: 25】

He took a deep breath, his voice hoarse:

"If I told you now that I want to stay and try to save these people, what would you think?"

The air froze for a second.

Then Caesar laughed.

This 2.3-meter-tall giant, this man who was once disappointed after being crushed by Rosen in the strength test, is now smiling like a child. There is no hesitation, no weighing of options in that smile, only openness.

He straightened his chest and spoke in a loud voice:

"Wherever the Father goes, I will go."

It's that simple, that straightforward.

Wang Ling remained silent for two seconds.

He merely raised his eyelids slightly and looked at Rosen:

"I can."

Gabak immediately knelt down.

The burly black man's eyes were completely red. He looked up at Rosen, his voice almost broken:

"Holy Father, your...your mercy..."

He couldn't continue speaking; he just lay prostrate on the ground, his forehead pressed tightly against the earth, his shoulders shaking violently.

Cade stood at the back.

He watched all of this, the fanaticism of these believers, and his nephew standing in the center, then slowly rubbed his temples.

He muttered a curse under his breath:

"Hold."

Then he looked up and glared at Rosen.

His eyes were incredibly complex, containing helplessness, anger, but even more so, a deep-seated pride that he himself might not be willing to admit.

He strode forward, grabbed Rosen by the collar, and spat out each word through gritted teeth:

"You saved my life. If you're going to die, I'll go with you."

He paused, then his voice suddenly lowered:

"But I really hope you can survive, I really hope..."

Rosen looked at the man who had raised him.

He recalled how, many years ago, that eccentric man, addicted to alcohol and murder, had raised him little by little.

I recall the despair and restraint with which Cade crouched on the ground, clutching his head, saying, "Rosen, I want to kill someone."

He wasn't the original owner, but he gained the original owner's memories.

At this moment, this man stood in front of him, saying he would accompany him to his death.

Rosen's eyes welled up slightly.

He nodded emphatically:

I promise you.

Rosen released Cade's hand, turned around, and walked toward the survivor.

His footsteps were particularly clear in the empty underground space.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The survivors looked up as he approached, then lowered their heads again.

Rosen slowly walked up to the young mother, squatted down, and gently touched the child's forehead.

The child had stopped bleeding; Rosen's military bandage had forcibly kept him alive, but his little face was still deathly pale and his lips were bloodless.

His mother looked up at him, her eyes filled with tears.

Her lips trembled, as if she wanted to say something, but she couldn't utter a single word. Only large tears rolled down her cheeks, hitting the child and the ground.

Rosen stood up, glanced around, and then slowly spoke:

"I think I should know what you're thinking right now."

You're thinking, "It's going to explode soon, and we're going to die soon."

You might be wondering why this person is still here, and why they don't run away.

You might even be thinking, "It's better to be dead, at least then I won't have to suffer anymore."

The old man with the broken leg slowly raised his head, a complex emotion flashing in his eyes, as if his secret had been revealed.

Rosen paused, his gaze sweeping across each person's face, before continuing:

"I've seen many people like you."

I've seen homeless people shooting at each other on the street over a soda can.

One aluminum can, three cents, two people, one life.

I met an old white man named White in the tent area who was tricked into marriage and sent to prison. He's still barely surviving in the sewers.

I met an engineer at a recycling plant who sold everything to pay for his daughter's medical treatment. His name was Richis, and his daughter's name was Ruth. He needed $20,000 for the surgery. He didn't have it.

This country is completely rotten.

His voice began to fluctuate slightly:

"The law can't protect you, the police won't care about you, the rich treat you like trash, the politicians treat you like numbers, and the cults treat you like sacrifices."

You're alive—nobody cares:

"If you die—nobody will care."

Many survivors raised their heads for the first time, and there was something long-lost in their eyes—not hope, but more like a sense of resonance.

That feeling of being understood.

Rosen took a deep breath and softened his tone:

"but--

If we don't even care about ourselves, if we give up on ourselves, if we don't even treat ourselves as human beings, then what can we expect? Do we still have hope? Do we still have a future?

The boy who was holding his younger brother's corpse raised his head and stared blankly at Rosen.

Rosen took a step forward, moving to the very center, his voice low and deep:

"I'm not a big shot."

I also owe a loan shark $800,000 from Black Gold Capital, with monthly interest of $10,000.

I used to hide in dark corners, thinking that this was how my life would be.

But then I discovered something—

He paused, his gaze sweeping over everyone:

"If the rules of this world are wrong, then why should we follow them?"

If the laws of this society cannot protect us, then why can't we protect ourselves?

If those rich people, those politicians, those gangsters—they treat you like trash, then why can't you treat yourselves like human beings?

That last sentence struck everyone's heart like a hammer.

The old man with the broken leg suddenly had tears in his eyes.

He lived for over sixty years, worked as a white-collar worker, received an education, experienced both respectability and destitution, was cheated, sold, and forgotten.

No one ever told him that he could refuse to accept his fate. All he ever heard was that everything he suffered was a gift from God and that he was meant to endure it.

However, even though they received theological education from a young age, they are still human beings. When they are hurt, they will feel pain; when they encounter suffering, they will feel distress.

Rosen's tone softened.

He knew he couldn't keep being so enthusiastic; he needed to give these people, who were already terrified, some breathing room.

"You might think that what I'm saying is pointless, since it's too late, the explosion is coming, and even if you want to live, you won't have a chance."

A slight smile played at the corners of his lips, but his voice grew louder, and a smile spread across his face.

"Logically speaking, this thinking is not wrong. In a minute, those gas cylinders will explode, we will be burned to ashes, buried under rubble, and no one will ever know that we once struggled here."

Logically, yes.

but--"

He slowly took out the purple scroll from his pocket. The scroll emitted a faint light, which shone on the survivor.

"Just now, I received something. I don't know if this is God's will, or if it's a cruel joke of fate, but this thing can save us."

The survivors stared wide-eyed at the ancient parchment scroll that was gleaming faintly. Some instinctively shrank back, some gaped with their mouths agape, and some trembled as they made the sign of the cross.

The mother looked at Rosen, her voice hoarse:

"Really...really?"

"Are we...are we really still alive?"

That was the first thing she said.

Her voice was trembling with sobs, disbelief, and a cautious fear of dashing her hopes.

The old man with the broken leg had tears welling up in his eyes.

The girl, her arms bleeding, clutched the hem of her clothes tightly.

Although the children couldn't understand what the adults were saying, they sensed the change in atmosphere and stopped trembling. They just stared blankly at the light in Rosen's hand.

Rosen looked at her, then at all of them, and nodded emphatically:

"able.

But I need you to do one thing.

Stand up. Those who can stand up, help those who can't. Those who can walk, carry those who can't walk. Everyone, gather together—the tighter the better.

Then, close your eyes, cover your ears, and don't move no matter what happens.

Is it possible?