023: The Gregarious and the Lone Wolf

Nando looked noticeably haggard when he came to find John.

Yet, he retained that unwavering gaze and air of confidence, the mark of a leader who brought a sense of security to the team.

Nando shared some intelligence. The Damascus camp had held a simple funeral for the fallen, using the unique funerary rites of the wanderers. The news of Sarazi’s death was also a satisfying relief.

"We found the missile launcher that hit us. It’s European hardware. No idea where Sarazi got his hands on it, but that idiot didn't use it for anything grand—he actually used it for ambushes and highway robbery. He certainly thought highly of me, didn't he?"

"Nice piece of gear. What are you planning to do with it?"

"Only two rounds left. Not worth keeping for personal use, but we could find an arms dealer and flip it."

All in all, the haul from this trip was substantial. They had successfully secured the core supplies, and their overall strength had only increased. Nando paid John a generous bonus—had it not been for John and Elona breaking through the encirclement, the consequences would have been unthinkable.

John accepted the payment with a clear conscience.

He had no intention of lingering and went straight to the maintenance bay to retrieve his vehicle; after all, that was the reward he had been looking forward to most.

The place was as bustling as a parking lot. Sarazi and his Exiles had contributed quite a few vehicles. Nearly everyone in the camp who knew how to repair cars had come to help, stripping down parts from the spoils to assemble new vehicles based on individual needs. It felt like an offline meetup for automotive enthusiasts.

"Hey, John!"

Screwdriver sat on a hanging basket, raising a beer toward him. "Wait until I get down there and show you your ride—it’s absolutely killer!"

John felt several sets of eyes on him. The camp was full of hot, energetic women, all wearing tank tops, their tanned skin exposed as they bent over to work or gathered in the shade to rest. They flirted with John openly, joking that they wanted to eat him alive.

"You’re the first driver to take Elona off a cliff. Some of these chicks just want to race you, others are just in love with that face of yours," Screwdriver said, wiping grease off his prosthetic limb with solvent. He kept up the banter, "Be careful when you pass by the empty trailers; don't get dragged inside. Unless that's what you want, then ignore what I just said."

"I’m injured, for crying out loud."

"Just a broken rib, not a broken dick." Screwdriver knew the score.

Further into the maintenance bay were stacked large shipping containers, both levels gutted to serve as workshops. The floors were covered in black material, and the facility was brimming with high-tech equipment. Elona’s ride was there too—the battered Miles MT450 hung in the center, bristling with data cables as several robotic arms cut into it. It was beyond repair, so they were salvaging parts and systems to recoup what they could.

The Isenberg lay deep within the warehouse.

John personally lifted the dust cover, and the brand-new matte paint caught his eye, giving him the thrill of a fresh factory car.

"Per your request, all those gaudy external light strips have been stripped." Screwdriver handed him a tablet containing the detailed specs.

The entire car had been repainted with bio-paint made from Gaia cells, topped with a layer of high-durability, anti-scratch film. The chassis had been serviced and reinforced.

"The armor plating is the highest spec we could find in the camp. If you want to go any further, you’ll have to hit the black market for the newest offerings from the mega-corps."

Screwdriver and John climbed into the car.

"A sleek, luxury carbon-fiber dashboard, a bezel-less display that dynamically shows all vehicle data."

The front windshield was installed as well—a Plato-grade honeycomb ballistic mesh. It was equipped with optical sensors and thermal imaging, and by connecting via Bluetooth, it could sync scanning data directly to the cyber-eyes of the passengers.

"I heard you wanted a tracking plugin?"

"Yeah." John looked at the dismantled MT450 in the front. "I experienced it once while on a mission with Elona. The modeling navigation was pretty cool!"

"Your car has it now, too."

"That’s awesome. Is it the same model?"

"Guaranteed identical," Screwdriver laughed. "Pulled it straight out of the Miles."

"WTF?"

"Don't worry, Elona gave the green light."

Screwdriver swiped the screen to show the ammunition interface. "Your most anticipated weapon module is installed, but the actual performance is questionable. After all, the selling point of an Isenberg supercar is its handling and speed..."

The Silver Knight’s weapon bay was built like a toy; the internal magazine could only accommodate ammo for an electromagnetic submachine gun. John was a skilled driver who valued handling. If he added external weapon components, it would turn from a luxury supercar into a non-mainstream, cobbled-together mess. It wouldn't just be ugly; it would ruin the driving experience.

John understood. He wasn't looking for his ride to be a weapon of mass destruction anyway.

The Silver Knight hummed and roared out of the shipping container. After the extensive refitting and upgrades, the marks of the Maddox Gang had been scrubbed away, turning it into a car that belonged solely to John.

He took a spin outside before returning to the camp to refuel. The Isenberg used CHOOH2. It was a synthetic alcohol invented by the Gaia Cell Corporation. Since the energy crisis had been solved by temperature-controlled crops, most vehicles on the market had switched to similar fuels.

John sent a farewell message to Nando, but as he looked up, he saw Elona. She was wearing a long-sleeved hoodie with the hood up, and the implant in her exposed palm wasn't covered by industrial leather—it was clearly still in the repair phase.

"Nando asked me to check with you: are you going to join the camp?"

Elona’s tone remained calm. John shook his head, refusing once again. "I don't have good luck with coworkers."

"They aren't coworkers. They're family."

"Sorry, Elona. I prefer to get paid for my work."

"Is the Damascus camp not good enough for you?" Elona wasn't one to pester, but she was genuinely puzzled. "Equipment, funding, backup—whatever you need, the camp will give you."

"Hey, forget it." John climbed into the driver’s seat, interrupting her with a smile. "Occupying resources means taking on responsibilities. You guys are a pack of wolves, and I’m a solitary animal..."

He spoke from the heart. "I do my own missions, earn my own money, and spend it as I please. I have a clear conscience. I don't want to add trouble for others, and I don't want to be weighed down by relationships."

Elona sighed helplessly. Instead, she produced a long black case. "Additional compensation."

John took it with some surprise and opened it on his lap—a beautiful tungsten steel dagger embedded in hardened black foam.

[Collectible: Ion Short-Blade]
[Description: A relic of the Exile Sarazi. Daring to install such experimental-stage weaponry into one's arm is a short trip to cyber-psychosis.]

"Take it as a souvenir. It’ll look nice on display at home. Don't get any crazy ideas about installing it in yourself; that leads to big trouble." Remembering Nando’s instructions, she added, "Your name has spread through the camp. Everyone wants to meet you, and there will be more work for you soon. Don't worry, the pay will be generous."

"Just send me a message."

"It might not be me. It could be Nando or someone else." Elona pulled up her sleeve to reveal her worn-out arm. "I’m going on a long trip soon to upgrade my cybernetics. I won't be in Eden City for a while."

"Take care of yourself."

"You should get some rest too," Elona said, turning to wave. "Try to stay out of the news."

John didn't commit. He had a good impression of Elona—she was direct, and her combat prowess on missions was off the charts.

[Mission: Wildfire (Completed)]

John stroked the gull-wing steering wheel, the feel of the leather putting him in a pleasant mood. He turned on the radio and cruised leisurely toward the city. On the way, he dialed the number for a real estate agent.

"Hello, welcome to Livable Spaces. We provide the highest quality home leasing and sales services..."