John rode his black motorcycle through the not-so-crowded streets.

The blazing sun shone on the towering glass curtain walls, casting glaring light through the cracks between buildings. The yellow and white asphalt roads, lacking the cleansing rain, were covered with a gray-white filter, making it seem as though industrial smoke could spew from the cracks at any moment.

[Eden City - Oil Barrel Street]

John followed the highway at the edge of the city to leave the bustling area.

The buildings immediately became dilapidated.

Many giant cement behemoths lay abandoned throughout the city. Some were casualties of political competition in municipal planning, others were historical issues, with some dating back to the time of Eden City's War of Independence, still awaiting capital to resolve and take over.

John rode his motorcycle past walls covered in graffiti.

Gang members and idle citizens sat on steps and vacant spots.

They found a shaded spot using headbands amidst fading billboards and scattered cans to pass the time.

Familiar oil barrels, numerous and scattered in every corner.

They were filled with various smoldering or cooling debris, and their shells were mostly deformed and pockmarked with bullet holes to varying degrees.

[Shop - Black Engine Restaurant]

"I thought all the Mercenaries would be busy making big money during the city's chaos, yet you still have time to visit my little corner?"

Genius watched John push open the glass door, poured him a glass of ice beer without asking.

"Damn weather, I feel like my tires are melting."

John patted his work jacket and turned off the cooling patch, relying solely on his outfit to maintain composure under the scorching sun.

He downed the ice beer in one gulp.

The coolness traveled down his throat and into his stomach, accompanied by a neural ache shooting up into his head, every pore comfortably smoking.

John sat at the bar, pursed his lips in thought for a moment.

"Besides meat sauce noodles, do you have anything else with meat? Make me some signature dishes to try."

"Pancakes, burgers, meaty potato mash..."

Genius knocked on the counter with his sturdy old prosthetic and spoke to the waitress clearing the table.

"Get him something to eat, with a twenty percent tip, this guy is a well-known figure on the street, gotta treat him well."

"I'm strapped for cash right now."

"Then leave the motorcycle."

"Damn, you've had your eye on it for a while, but even if I give it to you, do you think your old arm can handle a V92 engine?"

John bantered with Genius, glanced around, and noticed that besides the new girl from last time, there were now two more waitresses, both with unfamiliar European faces.

He activated his scan but found no Eden City information.

"Don't bother, Eden City's new population, gangs are fighting like crazy, and ordinary citizens are suffering even just walking around."

Genius, half-explaining, half-complaining at the bar—technically, given the business on Oil Barrel Street, he didn't need to hire so many people. He deliberately gave these girls a chance for a stable life.

John detected a hint of frustration.

He squinted, his gaze crossed over Genius's shoulder, noticing a rifle hanging on the wall behind the bar, and with his height advantage, he spotted another smart submachine gun under the cash register.

Genius crossed his arms, shaking his head.

The gang war had engulfed Oil Barrel Street.

The gangs originally in the area were expanding their ranks, preparing to take over the black-market businesses in nearby blocks. Since it's a vital resource source, many smugglers are being suppressed.

Minorities started banding together.

They allied with the original Mexican immigrants and persuaded two communities with hackers and heavy firepower to stand against the gang members.

Every day, bodies were stuffed and burned in oil barrels.

The neutral citizens were the unluckiest motherfuckers.

Gunfights and Ghoul ambushes happened daily, and the protection fees shops originally paid for peace became unreliable, with both new and old powers trying to exploit them.

"It might belong to old K in the morning, and by the afternoon, some guy called Pig Head could be the boss. The more they shoot, the hotter their brains get. Coming to the shop to eat for free is a minor issue."

"It often happens that two groups sit down, recognize each other's different tattoos, and immediately draw their weapons from their waists..."

Genius cursed.

He drummed his fingers on the bar, the bullet holes on it were fresh.

John picked up the beer, turned his head, and scanned the surroundings again, noticing a crack on the glass display window.

"Anyone hurt?"

"A few old customers suffered, some haven't been seen in a while."

As they talked, the waitress who had gone to the kitchen before returned with a tray, placing the dishes in front of John:

The stainless-steel container was filled with brown potato mash, a dark-colored synthetic meat patty, and two plastic-bagged sauces.

John watched the waitress's back, his prosthetic eye flickered—she had a burn on her arm, and as she approached, a medicinal smell wafted over.

Genius sighed.

He said recently some gang members had been robbing girls after work, possibly teaming up with Ghouls for human trafficking. A few days ago, a waitress who had just thrown away the trash was heading home when she encountered them.

Fortunately, there were many regular customers, not far from the shop.

Genius and a few old buddies heard the screams, went out with guns, and confronted the punks for a long time before rescuing her.

"Those more seriously injured are still bedridden. The one bringing the food earlier got hit by a Molotov cocktail on the arm, luckily not disfigured."

"You should have called me."

John scooped the potato mash into his mouth, immediately hit with a rich spice flavor that required careful tasting to discern the meat aroma and protien-like texture.

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