Dawn Redemption

There was nothing but confusion in his mind.

All the sounds from outside turned into buzzing, disturbing his exhausted mind.The brain is like a sponge, full of empty holes.Or rather, a honeycomb.

honeycomb.

He was surrounded by people just like him, nothing special.And no one cared what his name was.

They were soldiers once, and now they are prisoners of war.

The perpetrator of all evils, the bearer of all disasters.

Being at the lowest level, using flesh and blood to carry the glory of this empire, but when it collapsed, it was unbearable.

He curled up alone, trying to make himself less uncomfortable.The eyes that passed through the flames of war were still full of panic, and the killing and death it had witnessed reappeared again and again at this time.

Forcing him to face it was like grabbing his hair and pressing his head against a fact he didn't want to face.

Not a single acquaintance.Surrounded by unfamiliar faces, but all with the same expression.

When the sound of keys sounded outside the door, the commotion died down instantly.The little sound that remained disappeared when the enemy soldier entered.

Enemy nations—no, they're called "victorious nations" now.The soldiers of the victorious country came in with a man who also seemed to be a prisoner, and began to shout at the top of his throat.The captive next to him was the complete opposite, carefully translating the Russian language:

"Anyone here who used to be an announcer? Has there been?"

The trembling end of the translator fell, but the silent crowd did not respond at all.

He was also among the crowd, huddled there, not even daring to take a breath.He used to think that he had already seen big winds and waves at a young age, and he should be fearless.But he was wrong. Now here, he is no braver than anyone else.

After waiting for a while, there was still no response.The soldier spoke again, and when he finished speaking, the interpreter said again:

"We need someone to broadcast the radio! Whoever has done it, stand up!"

Tinnitus came again.he thinks.He couldn't understand a word the soldier said, but his voice kept echoing in the small room of his heart.

He wanted to fan it with his hand to drive away tinnitus like he used to drive away flies and mosquitoes, but he dared not move.He didn't even have the courage to put it into practice before he was sure it would work.

Not only him, but everyone remained motionless.The soldier became a little impatient, but before he reached the border of anger, he muttered again.

"If you have any, come here quickly! If you complete the task, you will be dealt with after the reduction!"

Finally, the commotion just now returned.But before anyone else could speak, he raised his hand faster than anyone else.

His hand was held high enough that the soldiers could see it at a glance.But he buried his head very low, not wanting anyone to see his face, although no one here knew him.

"You!" The soldier actually spoke blunt German, "Come here."

Not daring to delay, he still lowered his head and squeezed out of the room.There was a sound from the door behind him, and it was locked again.There seems to be a commotion in it again, but those noisy voices have become farther and farther away.

The translator asked, "Have you ever worked in broadcasting?"

He said cautiously: "No, but, I have had professional learning experience."

What he said was the truth.When he transmitted his voice to the ears of the public through the radio, he put on a helmet and carried a gun, and left his hometown to throw his flesh and blood into the flames of war.

He was very afraid that once he said this, he would lose his right to deal with it lightly.In his opinion, nothing is more important than living.However, the translator's slight nod made him heave a sigh of relief, and he followed them out and got into the car.

Shut up in a dark cell, without clocks, with pocket watches and watches confiscated from everyone, just as he had done to others.Therefore, he couldn't feel the passage of time at all. The moment he saw the sky, he was surprised to find that it was already evening.

But he didn't know whether it was the evening of the first day, or the evening of the second day, or the evening of many, many days later.

The car drove all the way to the door of another building, and the soldier and interpreter followed him, or escorted him.

After entering, he realized that this was a radio station.The radio station he had dreamed of, the radio station that he never gave up hope for even when he was fighting.But the inside was far from the working atmosphere he had imagined. Inside and out, it was guarded by heavy soldiers.

"Hurry up." Before he could stop to take a closer look, someone pushed his back.He didn't even dare to turn his head back, he quickened his pace and continued to walk forward.Finally, was taken into a room.

The moment the door was closed and the lights were turned on, he looked at the devices and understood.

He had dreamed of working in this place countless times, but it would never be in this scene.That is, after the country was defeated and he was captured, he was escorted and broadcast.

The soldier began to speak again, and the interpreter followed his words:

"From now on, we need you to broadcast the death list over there. Until the end of the broadcast. Since no one will change your shift, you are allowed to pause a little. Someone will give you a glass of water when you knock on the door, meaning Yes, there will always be a handle outside the door, I hope you can complete your task and don't try to escape. Understand?"

"Okay... okay." He lowered his head, not daring to look into the soldier's eyes.

escape?He will not.At this point, why would he give up the opportunity to deal with it lightly, and try to escape with such a high probability of failure.

The soldier raised his chin.With his head buried, he walked quickly to the seat, recalled the instructions he had learned before, turned on the machine, and tried the sound test.After everything was ready, he reached for the death list that he needed to broadcast.

I don't know if there are only soldiers on it, or whether there are soldiers and civilians.Every piece of paper is full of names, densely packed, and the number of that thick stack of paper is even more scary at a glance.

It’s fine if it’s just paper and ink marks, but those are lives, lives that used to be alive and walked in this world.

"Ah Schutz." He said the first name on the list, trying not to shake his voice.Although he hasn't spoken much for a long time, the skills he learned back then are still imprinted in his head.As a result, the name was clearly broadcast to the ears of all those who were listening to the radio, to his relatives and friends who did not know if they were still alive.

The soldier nodded, apparently satisfied with his performance.He took the translator and left lightly.

The door closed gently behind him, and he was the only one left in the room.He didn't dare to delay, and continued to read the list.

His voice seemed to be much thicker than before, perhaps because he kept yelling in the army, and he couldn't pay attention to things like protecting his throat.

More likely, he has also grown a lot in the past few years.From the young man who left his hometown back then, he became a mature man and came back here again.

In any case, the errand got off to an easy start.There is no need for the brain to process it at all, you only need to spell the names formed by the letters on the paper.He has no way to care who those people are, because it has nothing to do with him.

Line after line.

read on.

He was the only one in the room where the lights were not too bright. There was a clock on the wall, and before he knew it, the hour hand had swept to the number representing the night.His voice not only spread far away, but also echoed in this small room. Other than that, there was silence, and the atmosphere was even a little weird.

Because the only ones who accompanied him were the countless undead on the list.

He felt that his voice was still strong and he didn't need to drink water, so he kept reading like that.

"Rangben Judith, Lasalle Liman, Leo Fleischer..."

Numbly he spelled all the names.

It's very late.It's just that the windowless room prevented him from seeing the midnight sky.But he has a general impression in his mind, the darkness of this world is a black vortex.

It's not pure black, it's just that all the messy colors are mixed together disgustingly, muddied, and finally turned into an ugly dark color.

If the current night sky had stars, it would be much better.

It is said that people become sensitive in the middle of the night.I don't know if it's because of this unreasonable statement, or because he was too tired from reading, the things in his mind suddenly increased uncontrollably.

This is not a good thing.Even though he was still able to read the list without making mistakes, his consciousness had pulled him away from the paper.

This way the burden on the brain is too heavy, it seems to speed up a little, he thought.

He sped up his speech slightly so that it would not be noticeable.He continued, his throat was a little dry, but he didn't know how many glasses of water the people outside would give him, so he decided to hold on.This was no difficulty for him.

It's just that the time is already late, so don't care if there are still people listening to the radio at this time.Perhaps those who have lost loved ones are anxiously waiting in front of the radio for that familiar name.

With or without them, it is better to have confirmed the news of death with one's own eyes than to be lost forever.

It was the same with him—he began to think of other things—he also had friends and relatives, and some people met only because of the war, but in the end, they were all torn apart by the war.But the memory is always indestructible, just like this annoying night, which came from the day and went to the day, but after dawn, it is impossible to deny the existence of the night.

His voice was hoarse - or, possibly, suddenly choked up at the next line.

He figured it was time to turn off the machine for a break and ask for a glass of water.He took a deep breath and slowly read the name spelled out of letters and printed on the paper.

"Rolf Arden."

At the end of the sound, he turned off the broadcasting machine with his fingers convulsed like crazy, then shrank on the chair, covered his face and cried bitterly.

He doesn't have to worry about anything.The machine was turned off, and everyone who knew Markus Schmidt was already asleep in the middle of the night.