Death Song.

My name is Lin Qifeng. In this shattered world, I have long abandoned those once warm memories, replaced by trials of blood and fire. Three years ago, I became a bandit, a plunderer surviving in the post-apocalyptic wasteland.

My power is controlling a black whip. This whip in my hand is like a living venomous snake, attacking any target at will. With this whip and my abilities, I thrived in the bandit's life, quickly making a name for myself in this barren land.

In this wasteland without order, survival rules are simple and brutal. Our bandit leader is a cold-blooded man named Liu Tian. I follow him because he has strength, and strength means a chance to survive in this world. Like other bandits, I have to plunder those weaker than us to survive.

Every time we go on a mission, I keep my black whip hidden behind me, waiting for the right moment. Once I strike, those targeted have little chance to resist. I remember once we ambushed a small group of survivors on an abandoned highway. It was a sunny afternoon, the sunlight reflecting blindingly off the broken asphalt.

As their convoy approached, I felt the vibration of metal, the sound of wheels on the ground became exceptionally clear to my ears. I took a deep breath, feeling the power surging within me. At Liu Tian's command, I swiftly wielded the black whip, the tip wrapping precisely around the hood of one of the cars. With a strong pull, the hood was ripped off, revealing the complex machinery inside.

Terrified screams erupted as the survivors realized they were ambushed. But before they could react, my bandit comrades had already overwhelmed them. Facing those frightened eyes, I was numb. In this world, kindness only makes you die faster.

Days passed by like this, and I gradually got used to the bandit life. After every raid, I would find a quiet place to sit down and carefully clean my black whip. That whip had been through countless life-and-death battles with me, becoming my only companion.

However, sometimes, in the dead of night, I would involuntarily recall my younger self three years ago. Back then, I was a naive teenager, dreaming of one day rebuilding civilization and restoring the lost peace. But now, that dream is shattered, leaving only this endless wasteland and relentless plundering.

Maybe one day, I will tire of this life and seek a new direction. But until then, I can only continue to wield my black whip, fighting for survival in this post-apocalyptic wasteland.

In this post-apocalyptic wasteland, my life is filled with traces of blood and fire, but my inner struggle has never ceased. Even though I repeatedly wield the black whip, seeking a lifeline in plunder and battle, deep down, I constantly wrestle with the contradiction between good and evil.

Every time I go on a mission, I remind myself that this is a game of survival, where the law of the jungle is harsher than anywhere else. However, when I see the terrified eyes of the innocent, my heart always trembles slightly. They were once like me, just ordinary survivors, struggling to live in this wasteland with a faint hope. But now, they are at my mercy, simply because they are weaker than us.

Sometimes, I wake up in the dead of night, hearing the cries and pleas of those I plundered. I try to suppress these voices with reason, telling myself it is for survival, that if I do not do this, my comrades and I would starve or be killed by other bandits. However, these voices linger like nightmares, making me toss and turn at night.

I remember once we raided a mother and daughter. The little girl, about seven or eight years old, clung to her mother, tears streaming down her face as she looked at me. I could feel her fear and her silent plea to this stranger. At that moment, I almost lowered my whip, wanting to tell them the direction to escape. But in the end, I steeled my heart and completed the mission.

Afterward, I sat alone outside the camp, looking at the reddening horizon. I asked myself what is good and what is evil? In this world, does kindness still have meaning? If I spared that mother and daughter, could I guarantee other bandits wouldn't find them? Or would my mercy only bring them greater suffering?

These questions swirled in my mind, denying me any peace. Every time I wielded the black whip, I was fighting not only the enemies outside but also my own conscience. Perhaps, I can no longer distinguish the boundary between good and evil, only moving forward in this endless contradiction.

Despite everything, the glimmer of goodness in my heart has never been extinguished. It makes me pray silently for the innocent after every raid, and it makes me hold on to a shred of hope every lonely night, hoping that one day, I can find peace and redemption for my soul.

In this hopeless world, my heart is always torn between good and evil. Maybe one day, I will find the answer, a way to survive while maintaining my goodness. But until then, I can only continue to do evil here.

On a cloudy afternoon, we got intel about a nearby small group of survivors carrying a large amount of food and medicine. Liu Tian decided to act, ordering us to move immediately. Everyone knew this was a golden opportunity because medicine is almost more precious than gold in the post-apocalyptic wasteland.

We ambushed them in an abandoned building complex, waiting quietly for our prey to arrive. Soon, a dilapidated truck slowly came into view. On it sat a group of haggard survivors, clearly weary from a long journey. I gripped my black whip, determined to complete this mission.

At Liu Tian's command, we charged out. I swiftly wielded the whip, breaking the truck's tires. The vehicle lost balance, crashing heavily into the ruins. The survivors scattered in terror but were quickly subdued by us.

While inspecting the goods, I heard a weak cough. Following the sound, I saw an old man slumped in a corner of the truck, looking extremely frail, his eyes filled with despair and helplessness. Next to him was a young woman, tightly holding the old man's hand, her eyes brimming with tears. She looked at me pleadingly, saying it was her father, gravely ill and needing the medicine to survive.

In that moment, my heart wrenched. The woman's eyes reminded me of my mother, of that warm family. My conscience screamed at me to put down the whip and help this father and daughter. But at the same time, another voice echoed in my mind: this is an order, a necessity for survival.

I stood there, feeling time freeze. Eventually, I chose to obey the order, taking their medicine. The woman's heart-wrenching cries echoed in my ears as she knelt, begging, even willing to trade her life for her father's medicine. But I didn't waver, hardening my heart, and left.

Back at the camp, I felt a deep fatigue and pain. That night, I sat alone outside, staring at the starry sky, recalling the looks in the eyes of the woman and her father. It was an indescribable pain, like a knife constantly cutting at my heart.

From then on, I could no longer face my reflection in the mirror. I realized that in this lawless world, I was fighting not just the external enemies but my own inner battle. I was no longer just a cold-blooded bandit; deep down, I still held onto that bit of humanity, that kindness and compassion.

Although life remained brutal and I continued to wield the black whip, that moment of conscience made me realize I couldn't completely extinguish my humanity. I started secretly helping some innocent people, despite the great danger this posed in a bandit's life, but it was the only way to ease my inner torment.

I know the world may never become beautiful, but I hope my small efforts can bring a little warmth and hope to this cruel world. At that moment, I made a decision not to let my conscience continue to be tormented, even if it means paying a greater price.

Redemption.