Chapter 52: Into the Dungeon
The bus wheezed to a stop, coughing black smoke as if it hated its job almost as much as the driver did. The tired-looking man barely turned his head before barking out in a flat monotone:
"All right, everybody; we're here. The booths to leave your personal belongings are in the usual place. If you're new, just follow after the most experienced person you can find."
That was the extent of his warmth. To the government, Rank F Blessed weren't people worth a speech anyway. They were fodder—meat to throw at the lowliest fortresses that nobody else cared to touch. If the cannon fodder survived, good. If not, their deaths still generated paperwork and a sliver of profit for the bureaucracy. Either way, the government won.
