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Nando took out another scarf. "You haven’t modified your respiratory system, right? Here, cover your mouth and nose. The sandstorm and post-war toxic air outside the city will give you lung disease."
[Equipment: Black Sand Filter Scarf]
[Description: Made from biological fabric, soft and comfortable. Wearing it around your neck feels like a turtleneck, and flipping it up covers your mouth and nose without hindering your breath at all.]
Nando was busy as a bee and quickly left.
John was arranged to catch up on sleep in a hut in the resting area.
On the alloy bed lay several industrial-grade mattresses. Overhead was a mosquito-repelling light. Camp members came and went repeatedly; the noisy environment was still more conducive for sleep than the restaurant lounge.
He didn’t know how much time had passed.
Groggily, John felt something heavy hit his chest.
Instinctively, he reached out to grab it, holding a hot soft package, accompanied by the aroma of food.
"Eat something, it’s time to get to work."
Alonna appeared at the doorway, tapping her watch.
"Same vehicle as last time, at the repair zone where the spotlight is to the east. Find someone named Screwdriver and get the key..."
She spoke as she changed her jacket. The night wind was strong, requiring thermal clothing—her lower half was still the familiar work pants and tactical boots.
John silently unwrapped and ate it.
Classic Mexican tamale, made with flour, synthetic meat, seasoned with a bit of cheese and hot sauce, wrapped in corn leaves and steamed, conveniently packaged.
John tugged at the stuff around his neck and asked, "The gear Nando gave me, he seems to be showing goodwill, why?"
"He wants you to join the Damascus Camp."
"I see. He could’ve just said so. It made me uncomfortable. It’s still more convenient to be straightforward like you."
Alonna tied up her blonde hair that escaped from her clothes, revealing metallic rivets at the top of her spine before draping it back down with her jacket.
"The camp is expanding, and we urgently need manpower recently."
"I’m fine with taking commissions, but joining... forget it." John shook his head. "I’m not ready to blend into a group again."
He found the repair zone smoothly.
The floodlights made the workshop as bright as day. Four or five cars were under inspection, and the walls were filled with tools and small parts.
They divided the workspace with partitions and huge carriages, even having dedicated paint booths and electronic weapon calibration systems.
The workshop was blasting RAP music.
A middle-aged man named Screwdriver slid out from under a car.
He was a robust African American, with a shaved head and a mechanical arm in place of his left hand. After confirming John’s identity, he handed over the keys.
John shut the car door, sitting in the familiar off-road vehicle.
The Atlanta Virtual Network in his mind activated, automatically connecting to the device, then erasing the login traces in the system’s background.
He touched the steering wheel and finally breathed a sigh of relief—ever since he hacked into this car, he’d been on edge. Luckily, no one at the Damascus Camp noticed.
The car window was tapped.
John’s heart skipped a beat. Turning his head, he saw Screwdriver standing outside.
The man nodded his chin and said, "Your Eisenberg is with me. Any ideas on modifications? I try my best to accommodate customer needs."
John followed his gaze.
Silver Rider was suspended mid-air, mechanical arms welding as if to remove embedded bullets from the car body.
He asked tentatively, "Silver Rider has a weapon module. Can you install an auto-cannon rack for me?"
Screwdriver pondered, seemingly recalling. "The armor is all shattered, and the windshield needs replacing. Do you have requirements on vehicle defense load?"
John thought seriously for a moment.
"I’m used to driving fast; D3-grade glass and below is acceptable. Armor that’s too heavy will affect engine torque."
"An expert, huh? No problem, buddy."
Screwdriver tapped on the car frame, making way. "I only modify cars for those who know their stuff. Only the knowledgeable appreciate it. Go do your work. Come back to the camp tomorrow to pick up the car. The final product won’t disappoint you."
Miles revved the engine, arriving at the camp entrance.
As usual, Alonna tossed in a life-size package filled with high-power weapons, then yanked open the car door, sitting in the front passenger seat, privately sending the communication verification code to John.
[New communication channel detected, connecting...]
John adjusted the equipment and heard Nando’s gruff voice.
"Hey hey hey, check your equipment again. Go get it if you left anything behind. I hate taking brats out on picnics the most."
"Coordinates posted in the system, depart on your own."
The Damascus Camp was built by the roadside outside the city.
At this moment, it was midnight. The convoy drove out one by one, returning to the main road and maintaining distance in segments.
The frame car was at the front, lightweight and fast with a low chassis, mainly scouting intelligence for the convoy.
John and his group were in the second echelon, heavily armed off-road vehicles that would organize the first counterattack if combat ensued.
Nando followed in an armored car at the rear.
An advanced black tech war vehicle with alloy plating that instills despair, equipped with radar scanners and anti-air electromagnetic cannons. If Exiles dared to cause trouble, they’d be shredded into mincemeat.
John and Alonna didn’t exchange many words.
The in-car channel was filled with dirty jokes. The journey felt slightly dull until daylight illuminated the horizon, revealing the bleak suburbs.
Most wildlife outside the city had become extinct.
Yellow sand and drought-resistant plants formed the unchanging scenery. An inexperienced fool leaving Eden City could easily lose their way in the wilderness and be buried in an unknown corner by a sandstorm.
As the sky turned completely bright, a message finally came through his headset.
"Arrived at the destination, everyone be on alert."
The convoy majestically left the main road, surrounded by endless hills. Occasionally, vehicles would pass on the abandoned dirt roads—escort teams passing between cities.
Escorting for Tiebang Logistics is what John did.
The railway transportation outside the city was completely abandoned decades ago, with all the metal materials dismantled clean by wanderers, leaving only two parallel grooves twisting into the distance.
For cross-regional material distribution, they mostly rely on primitive armed escort—a business dominated by logistics companies.
If one can’t afford high-spec armored vehicles and combat personnel, the only option is slightly cheaper mercenaries.
A suicidal suggestion.
Survival outside the city is extremely harsh, fraught with dangers.
After cities declared independence from each other, companies seized the land, and farmers gathered to become the initial wanderers.
Their social structure could be divided into families, tribes, clans, and nations, with increasing numbers as you go, typically migrating in camp forms.
Damascus is just a small branch among them.
And those madmen, traitors, and perverts expelled by their families formed a massive hostile force...
These guys wreaked havoc on the wasteland, clashing with family forces, even mixing with gangs and scavengers to partake in looting.
"This time, there’s a high chance of a fight, be careful."
Alonna said expressionlessly.
John drove the car over a section of railway, heading to an open high ground.
The trading venue was in the valley.
He got out to find a sheltered spot to relieve himself.
Alonna quickly set up a kinetic sniper rifle.