019: Life on the Road

The night was deep, and the dawn had yet to break. Eden City, in its neon-drenched chaos, existed in a sensitive and fragile state. The roar of engines had faded, and the gunfire had subsided. The most captivating radio programs had come to an end, and familiar faces and strangers alike felt as though they had drifted far away.

Everyone huddled in the corners of this steel city. The world and time belonged only to themselves.

Until the sky began to turn gray, and the morning light seemed intent on stealing away one’s most tranquil moments, drawing back the protective veil for the creatures of the night.

"Good morning, Eden City..."

The car radio crackled to life, the male host’s voice brimming with artificial enthusiasm; it was said the station required them to be high on stimulants before going on air. The Black Spider ended its nocturnal standby mode. Its indicator lights flickered, its curled mechanical tentacles fully extended, and it set off toward the top of a heap of metallic debris to seek out the sun, beginning its daily scavenger hunt.

John had spent the entire night behind the wheel. He drove back to the Black Engine Diner to eat, wolfing down a plate of overcooked bolognese. Gnaeus walked over holding a beer, quipping, "Your complexion looks as bad as your table manners."

"Huff..." John swallowed with effort. "Sleeping with my feet on the dashboard was the stupidest decision. Sports cars aren't meant for that posture; my legs have been numb for twenty minutes."

"Just saw your legs off and get replacements. Alloys don't have those kinds of problems, and they won't give you the chance to show off your ride, either." Gnaeus gave a deadpan middle finger, then his expression turned serious. "Two acquaintances of mine who work in real estate came by the shop last night. I took their numbers. If you need a place, give them a call—mention my name for a discount."

"Got it. Thanks."

"Find a decent place to sleep and clear out the lounge. You’re hogging the bed, which means I can't hire a waitress. The night shift is killing me!"

"I sleep during the day. You hiring someone shouldn't be an issue."

"The women from Oil Barrel Street would snap your dick off," Gnaeus grumbled.

John retreated to the shower room. He cranked the volume on the electronic screen, hoping to hear reports about last night's cyber-psychosis incident. Perhaps he had missed the morning peak; the host was coldly broadcasting the latest news on urban development. Violence in nearby districts was frequent, many new residents were moving into Oil Barrel Street, and refugees from the southern cities were scrambling for work.

John could feel it too. The foot traffic at the Black Engine Diner had increased; they really did need help. Gnaeus was a kind-hearted giant. When John had reached the end of his rope, Gnaeus had helped him. Aside from washing a few dishes at the very beginning, he had never asked for anything in return, and often provided free drinks.

"Can't keep causing trouble for Gnaeus," John decided. He made up his mind to rent a place as soon as this job was done.

After freshening up, John started the Silver Knight and sped toward the outskirts of the city. He had arranged to meet Alona for a job, but Dr. Lian's plea for help had cut in line. Jumping between jobs was exhausting, but there was no helping it; a lone wolf in Eden City had to work hard. In the early stages of building a career, any work was good work—only after establishing a reputation could one afford the luxury of being selective.

John hit the suburban highway. The view outside opened up instantly; the scenery shifted from skyscrapers to rocks and wild weeds, with drought-resistant plants resembling cacti scattered about like grave mounds. He hadn't had time to fix the Silver Knight’s windshield, and the hot wind, carrying grit, roared past his ears.

He tuned the radio to a nostalgia channel. The raspy voice of an old cowboy floated through, the guitar and trumpet creating a desolate atmosphere—something one could never experience amidst the high-rises of Eden City: the solitary healing of a man, a sports car, and an interstate highway.

[Eden City - Damascus Camp]

John had messaged Alona in advance. As the Silver Knight approached the outskirts of the camp, he encountered a blockade. A sentry standing on a rock gave a distant signal to proceed, the barriers were moved aside, and a camp member walked over to knock on the hood and point him in the right direction.

John parked in a public bay. Looking around, the colors were monotonous; as long as the sky was bright, it always felt like dusk. John lit a cigarette and sat on the hood, observing everything. He could see a vast array of signal receivers, portable power supplies, and even... military-grade armored vehicles.

The core members of the camp dressed like Western ranchers. The veterans had lost everything during the Land Wars and still maintained the style of wide-brimmed cowboy hats and leather holsters. They wore plaid shirts open, exposing their muscles, with sleeves rolled up to reveal mechanical limbs with cooling fins—a look they called "Hardcore Tough Guy Fashion."

The camp was always migrating. They moved between cities, searching for development and work opportunities. Every vehicle was professionally modified and possessed a legendary owner. A box truck would drop its supports, a tent would be pitched, and it would become a cozy little home, with campfires and discarded car frames forming a gathering point. Crates and debris were everywhere. It looked chaotic, but there was a pattern to it.

"Hey, John. Welcome."

A muscle-bound brute walked toward the sports car. John’s gaze shifted, and he subconsciously activated his scanner.

[Name: Nando Brahim]
[Affiliation: Damascus Camp (Leader)]

Nando chewed on a cigar and tapped John’s shoulder with a fist. "Sorry for the wait, my friend. There are more mouths to feed in the camp than ever, and I'm spinning in circles."

[Scan: Heavy Subcutaneous Armor, Blood Pump]
[Bounty: Public Hazard]
[File: Norton heritage, widowed, 172 counts of violence. Established a family during the '75 Gang Wars, split the following year, and now leads the Damascus Camp. Unlike other drifter groups, he rejects smuggling and drug trafficking, hoping to find other ways to survive...]

"Added quite a bit of hardware, I see." Nando could tell John was scanning—his pupils were still flashing—but he didn't mind; in fact, he watched with interest. "New gun, new arm, new eyes... Oh, wait, is this that Isenberg Silver Knight? How did you ruin it like this?"

"I'm a pragmatist." John shrugged. "Alona didn't give me the details. What's the job?"

"Uh-huh, eager. I like that." Nando took a deep drag of his cigar. "Tomorrow morning, we're receiving a shipment outside the city. It's vital to the camp."

"Trading outside the city? Sounds dangerous."

"It is. And some gang members have threatened to make trouble, so we'll be bringing plenty of guns and ammo."

"A grudge?"

"A little bit. We can talk about that later... If a fight breaks out in the wasteland, there will be high-speed chases. The camp has seen a high frequency of injuries lately, and our remaining drivers have all had to pick up guns." Nando held out his cigar case. "The driver position is vacant, so Alona suggested you."

John declined the cigar. Nando paid well and was straightforward—laying out the potential risks before the job made him a very conscientious employer.

"I'm in. Driving is how I make my living, after all." John agreed readily, though he wasn't naive. "As long as we agree on the pay upfront, I'm down for the run."

"Money works, but I have a better suggestion." Nando shooed John out of the car, lifted the hood of the Silver Knight, and stood in front of it, arms crossed, studying it carefully.

"Ho, ho, ho. What a hot little treasure." He clicked his teeth, shaking his head in wonder, then looked up at John. "The camp is the best garage around. Ever heard that saying? If you're willing, we can give your ride a full overhaul."

[Mission: Wildfire]
[Reward: Vehicle Modification (Variable)]