On the streets of the West Third Ring Road, the night was lit as bright as day by the blaze of incendiary bombs, clearly visible even from several kilometers away.
High in an abandoned skyscraper, perched beside a shattered floor-to-ceiling window, Tail, Sesame Paste, and Sisi gazed out at the towering flames reaching into the sky.
Because spore concentrations decreased with altitude, they had chosen to set up camp on the fiftieth floor.
While mutants still roamed this building, there were no incubation chambers or broodmothers here. The creatures were scattered throughout various sections of the structure, neither clustering together nor blocking the stairwells, so ascending via the emergency staircase hadn't been too difficult.
At most, it had simply taken a bit of time.
"Whoa! Look at that fire!" Tail's eyes sparkled, reflecting the roiling inferno.
This was infinitely more thrilling than watching fireworks!
"Over there... are they fighting a war?" Sesame Paste asked.
"Probably," Sisi said. "The Tide seems to be hitting from all directions, not just the northern suburbs. By all logic, things along the West Third Ring Road should be even fiercer."
Sesame Paste clasped her hands together.
"I hope everyone's okay."
Ever since the sun had dipped below the horizon, the explosions in that direction hadn't ceased for a moment.
It had begun with four aircraft streaking across the sky, followed at once by row after row of roaring infernos that completely engulfed the rubble-strewn streets.
Presumably, ground forces had deployed next.
A ferocious firefight had erupted between Boulder City's mercenaries and the Tide amid the ruins, with tracer rounds occasionally flashing through the dark.
Rourou wanted to watch as well, but due to her acrophobia, she didn't dare get too close to the edge of the building and could only peek from a distance.
Yaya and Tengteng were busy cooking, making several nearby NPCs drool and swallow hard in ravenous anticipation.
Traveling back with them this time, besides the guard named Xu Shun, were five new hires recruited from Boulder City. Ranging in age from sixteen to twenty, the group included both young men and women.
According to Shuyu, the NPC running the office, these new employees were heading to the northern suburbs for "onboarding training."
For many of them, this was their first time leaving the city, and their hearts were filled with trepidation.
However, the moment the savory aroma drifted from the pot, all their unease washed away in an instant.
Even having left the protection of the giant walls, getting to eat food this delicious didn't seem so bad after all.
Back in Boulder City, such delicacies were beyond their wildest dreams.
"Dinner's ready!"
The second she heard the call to eat, Tail, who had been sitting by the precipice watching the spectacle just a moment before, darted straight over to the iron pot propped over the campfire.
"Smells amazing!"
The giant white bear ambled over as well, peering curiously into the pot.
"What's for dinner?"
Ladle in hand, Yaya smirked smugly.
"Stewed bird with mushrooms!"
Tengteng bustled about handing out bowls and chopsticks.
"We're camping out, so conditions are a bit crude. Just make do with a simple bite, everyone."
Sesame Paste bounded over excitedly.
"I'll help too!"
*Make do with a simple bite?*
Understanding what she meant, Xu Shun broke into a sweat.
These shelter residents had truly redefined what it meant to "make do with a simple bite."
Still, after spending so much time around them, he had grown accustomed to just how particular these shelter residents were about their quality of life.
The group sat in a circle around the campfire, cradling steaming bowls in their hands and chatting idly about what they planned to do once they returned from Boulder City.
"I've made up my mind!" Tengteng declared, her eyes ablaze with determination as she laid out her grand design. "Once we're back at the shelter, I am definitely going to use my scissors to correct the Boulder City NPCs' warped aesthetic tastes!"
"Uh, I think... that might not be your fault," Sisi replied.
Being a lecher was simply human nature.
Besides, stripped of its cultural context, it was only natural for people to get the wrong idea about that kind of outfit.
Tail was equally fired up. "Me too! Boulder City is still missing a Mercenary Guild! How can an MMORPG lack such an essential institution?!"
"What about you, Sesame Paste?" Yaya asked.
Her cat ears twitched slightly. Sesame Paste had felt a little embarrassed to speak up, but seeing everyone engaged in the topic, she set her reservations aside.
"I want to deliver packages!"
Sisi asked curiously, "Why deliveries?"
Sesame Paste's eyes gleamed. "Don't you think riding around on a motorcycle delivering goods looks super cool?"
*Is she cosplaying Kino's Journey?*
Come to think of it, *Wasteland OL* had quite a few "performance artists." Since the devs didn't sell skins, the players were all about DIY, though a comparatively subdued hobby like this was actually pretty rare.
Sisi nodded thoughtfully and suggested, "How about pairing it with a 12mm revolver?"
Recognizing a kindred spirit, Sesame Paste smiled shyly and unzipped the bag she carried, revealing a silver revolver resting inside.
"Hehe, I actually bought one already."
Cool as it looked, though, the kick was immense.
Most of the time, she still relied on her Pu-9.
Having lagged half a beat behind because her mouth was full, Tail's eyes lit up.
"Delivering stuff on a motorcycle... Got it! A food delivery driver, right? That really is cool!"
Especially when you were starving!
Tengteng's expression turned subtle.
"I think you two are on completely different wavelengths."
...
While the players enjoyed piping-hot food, the mercenaries battling mutants on the West Third Ring Road were nowhere near as fortunate.
Gunfire persisted through the night into the following morning. From the splintered plazas to the tilting skyscrapers nearby, and down into the subterranean shopping streets more than a dozen meters below ground, thick, viscous blood coated every inch of terrain.
Some belonged to mutants, some to mercenaries.
Sporadic skirmishes continued.
Yet with the sunrise, the battle had clearly entered its final phase.
Scrambling out of the rubble with rifle in hand, Tommy tore off his blood-smeared gas mask, tossed it aside, and pulled out a fresh one, though he didn't put it on right away.
The broodmother that had expanded into this area had been destroyed. Although a grayish-green mist still drifted through the air, inhaling a small amount wouldn't cause any major harm.
After spending the entire night trapped in cramped tunnels, all he wanted now was deep gulps of fresh outside air.
Even if that air was laced with grit.
Just then, another mercenary wearing an exoskeleton walked over from the opposite ruins, cursing under his breath with a broken Drone assault rifle clutched in hand.
"Fuck... The pittance we made isn't even enough to fix my damn gear. What's that crap in your hands?"
His name was Virgil, a mercenary active around Boulder City just like Tommy.
A week ago, the Tide had erupted without warning, turning mercenaries like them into hot commodities overnight. The militia members, who previously hadn't deigned to give them a second glance, had suddenly turned polite.
After all, when dealing with something as massive as the Tide, one couldn't rely entirely on the cannon fodder at the gates. Actually taking down those mutants required battle-hardened veterans like them.
"An LD-47, the Scythe assault rifle. Something whipped up by scavengers in the northern suburbs. Great punch, cheap, and easy to maintain. I spotted it while delivering goods up north last time and picked one up on a whim." Tommy glanced at his old comrade and asked offhandedly, "How'd your squad fare on casualties?"
Virgil said, "Five rookies dead. The rest are fine, except for one unlucky bastard whose leg got bitten off by a crawler."
Tommy clicked his tongue.
"Tough break."
Virgil shrugged.
"Keeping your life is already a blessing."
In the mercenary trade, losing an arm or a leg was everyday business.
If you saved enough, you could buy a cybernetic prosthetic. If not, an exoskeleton could do the trick. And if you couldn't even afford an exoskeleton, early retirement was your only option.
As for the rookies?
They hardly counted as mercenaries.
Having only learned how to flick off the safety from the militia, they were nothing more than cannon fodder thrown onto the front lines.
Only after surviving at least three battles would they be formally accepted. Until then, no one even bothered to learn their names.
After all, remembering was pointless when nobody could guarantee they'd still be alive two days later.
Things like that were all too common.
Tommy glanced back at a tall building not far behind him—the militia corps' temporary command post.
Two suits of power armor stood motionless by the main entrance. From start to finish, neither had moved an inch, leaving onlookers to wonder whether the hunks of iron could even function.
"If only they'd stepped in."
Virgil chuckled.
"Keep dreaming. Those things cost too much to repair. The noble lords of the inner city wouldn't risk dirtying their armor with black blood, let alone put their own hides on the line."
Every T-10 was a relic from the pre-war era. Even two centuries later, their combat capability remained formidable; their sole shortcoming was that there were simply too few of them.
Boulder City's militia seemed to treat them like lucky mascots.
What puzzled Tommy, though, was why keep the two iron heaps stationed there at all.
To enforce discipline?
Was that really necessary?
Nearby, another ragged line of green recruits was herded over, accompanied by a dense convoy of over a hundred two-headed oxen and two to three dozen horses.
These beasts bore heavy packs of supplies: food, water, ammunition, and even weapons, accessories, and curiosities that would be considered rarities even in Boulder City's markets.
Leading the two-headed oxen were merchants from Boulder City.
Because mercenary pay was settled daily and in sizable amounts, traders who couldn't wait for them to return home came straight here to take the first cut. Others had secured contracts with the militia to transport supplies from Boulder City to the front lines.
It might have looked bizarre:
A squad of mercenaries strapped into exoskeletons and carrying streamlined assault rifles, yet clad in rough beast skins, while the traders hauling their provisions relied on primitive ox carts.
But there was no helping it.
Otherwise, the militia would have to hire hordes of frail, troublesome refugees or deploy their limited stock of quadruped robot dogs.
Either option would drive costs far higher than outsourcing.
Virgil clapped Tommy on the shoulder.
"Come on, let's grab some grub."
Tommy shook his head.
"No need. I brought dry rations."
Ever since contractor "military rations" had ruined his stomach last time, he had lost all faith in the character of those so-called "helpers."
Expecting morals from traders?
You'd have better luck hoping the mutants would scurry back to the downtown core on their own.
Virgil tapped his arm and left him be, heading off alone toward the pack train.
Pulling a square green wheat cake from his backpack, Tommy bit into it, then unscrewed a rusted canteen and took a sip.
Gazing in the direction of the pack train, he shook his head.
Nutrient paste.
Ever since finding out what that stuff was made of, he'd rather starve to death than touch a single bite...
...
While mercenaries visited the pack train to collect supplies, browse goods, or spend coin on amusement, a large crowd of traveling merchants clustered around a quartermaster nearby, haggling vigorously.
The lucrative spoils of the front lines weren't limited to food, clothing, and gear for the mercenaries; they naturally extended to the trade in trophies of war.
Every war yielded trophies.
In earlier years, Boulder City had simply paid merchants to haul the corpses of mutants and cannon fodder out of the city, preventing them from rotting at their doorstep and spawning plagues or even larger Tides.
Later on, some sharp minds discovered that these slime-mold mutants—gnawers, crawlers, and the like—were prime "raw materials."
With just a bit more time and cost spent inactivating the slime mold, they could easily be processed into edible nutrient paste!
Granted, nutrient paste synthesized this way was hardly nutritious, but who cared?
Anyone who genuinely cared about nutrition wouldn't be eating that slop anyway.
The southern slave owners, particularly the massive plantations in Jinchuan Province, were keenly interested in such products.
It was plentiful and cheap, held slightly more nutritional value than raw green wheat, and supplied a modest dose of protein to keep slaves and livestock strong.
Feeding slaves green wheat alone might shave costs further, but slaves would grow increasingly emaciated, and heavy cultivation of green wheat depleted the soil's fertility.
Nutrient paste had no such drawbacks.
It wasn't just nutrient paste, either. Organic fertilizers, bio-oils, food additives, and more could all be refined from mutant carcasses.
Though the recovery efficiency was mediocre—hardly reaching ten percent—the sheer volume of mutants was staggering, and the raw cost was practically dirt-cheap.
Eventually, as the technology matured and achieved industrial scale, merchants began disposing of Tide corpses for Boulder City free of charge.
By now, it had reversed completely: traders had to pay chips to the militia just to haul carcasses away, and prices crept higher every year.
This year was no exception.
Judging from the heated expressions and fiery words exchanged, the traders and Boulder City's militia were clearly at an impasse.
"Fifty chips a ton?! Why don't you just rob us?!"
"During the Tide two years ago, it was twenty chips! Don't think we've forgotten!"
"This is outrageous!"
Yet the quartermaster couldn't be bothered with them, snapping impatiently, "Can't afford it? Then get lost."
Fifty chips a ton. Buying trash back at that price would require a yield of over thirty percent just to turn a profit!
And how could anyone achieve a yield that high?
No matter how hard the merchants pressed or how many perks they promised, the quartermaster didn't budge an inch.
Frustrated and helpless, they had no choice but to shake their heads and disperse.
One trader even hurled a parting threat—"Let the noble lords of the inner city deal with this mess themselves!"—before storming off in a huff.
The militia guards standing nearby didn't even twitch.
As long as he didn't disrespect the city lord by name, nobody cared what he grumbled about.
Ditwei trudged angrily back to the pack train.
He had originally hoped that after wrapping up the supply run, he could contract for a hundred tons of corpse disposal.
Not far from the pack train, a cluster of grain traders stood huddled together, whispering amongst themselves.
"I heard Weijia Trading Firm bought out this year's batch of 'trophies' completely."
At the mention of Weijia Trading Firm, wary looks crossed the faces of several merchants.
The firm wielded immense renown in Boulder City's commercial circles. Not only had they invested in two massive plantations spanning tens of thousands of mu in the south, but they also operated Boulder City's largest food processing plant, reportedly holding over fifty percent of the city's market share.
Their "Tasty Brand Canned Meat" and "Extra Tasty Two-Headed Beef Patties" were bestsellers in Boulder City and even exported to neighboring provinces.
The owner of the firm was named Weijia, though rumors abounded that the true master lay elsewhere, and the Weijia pushed to the forefront was merely a puppet generating revenue for inner-city bigwigs.
Whether the rumors were true or not, small-scale independent peddlers like them could never compete with a titan like Weijia Trading Firm.
No wonder the quartermaster treated them like dirt.
"This is a barefaced monopoly!"
Ditwei couldn't help asking, "When did those greedy leeches start sticking their fingers into the nutrient paste business?"
Nutrient paste.
It was arguably the lowest-margin, lowest-end commodity among all foods, especially the low-grade sludge synthesized from slime-mold mutants.
An elderly trader whose face was carved with wrinkles glanced toward the rear of the pack train, pointing toward the mounted guards and the heavily laden two-headed oxen beside them.
"I heard some big shot outsourced more than half of the front line's logistics contracts to them. So right before the new year, they opened a new factory producing nutrient paste... though they aren't slapping the 'Tasty' or 'Extra Tasty' brand on it."
One merchant said, "I think it's called... Super Size?"
Another merchant nodded. "Right, that's the name! Mr. House's radio station even ran ads for it!"
Ditwei cursed, "Shameless insider dealing!"
The other merchants silently cursed in their heads as well.
Those shameless slickers!
They wouldn't even leave them a sip of broth!
Just then, a merchant suddenly chimed in, "I heard... a Tide broke out up north this year too?"
Someone nodded in agreement. "A pretty big one, too... Just the night before last, they bought incendiary bombs from the militia corps."
Ditwei frowned, looking toward the young merchant who had broached the topic. "Up north? You mean the northern suburbs?"
"I thought that was Bone Chewer territory."
The young merchant smiled and said, "You guys are way out of the loop. It's clear you haven't been up north in a long time! I've got the latest news: about a month ago, the survivors in the northern suburbs drove the Bone Chewer tribe out."
The wrinkled elderly merchant nodded as well. "Mhm... I did hear some rumors about that. They even supposedly freed up hands to intervene in the war between Red River Town and the Snake Clan. No idea if it's true, though."
The young merchant unscrewed his canteen, took a leisurely swig of water, and said, "That's not all."
Intrigued, Ditwei pressed eagerly, "Tell us more!"
The surrounding merchants felt the same way, turning expectant eyes upon the young man.
Too few traders headed north, and even fewer returned. You rarely heard whispers about the north in the taverns, and lately the *Voice of Boulder City* was so crammed with advertisements that it barely reported on conditions out there. As a result, most people's impressions of the northern suburbs were stuck in last winter.
Word had it the survivors there suffered terribly from the bitter cold, and no one knew whether they had made it through.
Seeing everyone's eyes locked onto him, the young man smiled faintly and continued at an unhurried pace:
"The Bone Chewer tribe is their mortal enemy, so naturally they intervened in the war against them. On top of that, mine owners in Red River Town were thrilled to buy better weapons at lower prices, so they made a killing off it."
"Those folks are sharp. They reinvested their profits straight into the northern wastelands and bought second-hand machinery from Boulder City, running both agriculture and industry with flying colors."
"That's not all—they've also produced quite a few good things... like a bomb that flies vast distances without needing an airplane, which reportedly gave the marauders besieging Red River Town quite a headache. Besides that, they also provide mercenaries."
Ditwei said in astonishment, "I heard the bunch in the northern suburbs are Blue Coats? Shelter residents? Can those people actually fight like that?"
This completely upended his perception of the blue moles.
Those people actually willingly stepped out of their cozy boudoirs?
The young merchant continued, "Not only can they fight, they've got plenty of good goods. Have you been to the Queen of the Night Bar?"
At the mention of the Queen of the Night Bar, the conversation instantly took a less-than-proper turn.
While these traveling merchants were hardly filthy rich, they had a decent stash of chips in their pockets. Even if they hadn't spent money there for pleasure, they had certainly talked business there.
Someone chimed in excitedly, "Now that you bring it up, I remember! I heard they recently produced some rather flimsy silk fabrics?"
"The Gray Squirrel Clothing Store seems to sell them. I bought a few sets a couple days ago for my old flame. Convincing her to wear them took quite a bit of effort, though."
"Hahaha!"
Knowing grins spread across their faces. The young man who had kicked off the topic fell silent, merely smiling as he watched the crowd chat.
Ditwei had no patience for idle banter; his mind was entirely fixed on turning a profit.
A Tide had broken out in the northern suburbs too?
And they farmed lots of fields?
Perhaps...
he ought to head up there and try his luck.
Ditwei felt his palms grow warm. Glancing around at his peers, he quietly shifted over beside the young man.
"Buddy, do you have connections?"
The young man took one look at his face and instantly understood his thoughts. Smiling slightly, he said, "Of course. I've had the good fortune to make a modest fortune myself."
Ditwei scrutinized the young man's attire. It certainly didn't look cheap, and the holster hanging from his waist was crafted from deerskin.
That was rare in Boulder City, where most mercenaries and merchants settled for boar or hyena hide.
Deer herds didn't pass through every year, and prime buckskin was even scarcer; whenever it hit the market, high rollers who didn't care about money scooped it up immediately.
Most importantly, this guy was remarkably young.
And it was precisely that youth which made it impossible for Ditwei to gauge the full depth of his resources.
Chuckling, Ditwei fished a cigarette from his pocket and offered it, his tone carrying a trace of flattery.
"The name's Ditwei. I'm in the food business in Boulder City, handling corpse disposal for the militia corps for over a decade. Honestly, those bastards have no decency at all—use a man up and toss him like a rag. If you're looking to do business with them, you'd better watch your back."
The young man didn't refuse the cigarette, but he didn't light it either; he tucked it behind his ear and said with a smile, "I'm not in the food business. I deal in gas masks."
"Gas masks? High-grade stuff! Margins on those blow nutrient paste out of the water!" Ditwei offered a hypocritical thumbs-up. Rolling his eyes thoughtfully, he chuckled, "Buddy, got an in to bring me along? I'm pretty interested in the Tide up north. As you know, I deal in food, so there's no conflict with your line of work."
The young man smiled faintly. "How do you know I'm not interested in the food business? Listening to you guys talk, it sounds quite lucrative."
*This punk.*
*Young in years, but huge in appetite!*
*Aren't you afraid of choking?*
Ditwei muttered inwardly, but kept the fawning grin plastered on his face.
"Sure thing! It's been ages since our trade took in fresh blood. I can show you the ropes! Trust me, with that much volume, there's no way you can swallow it all alone. Cut your brother in, and I promise you'll get your fair share of perks!"
The young man deftly produced a stack of business cards from his pocket, handing one to Ditwei and others to the nearby merchants who had been listening with keen interest.
"I'm Shuyu. Here is my card."
"The ruler of the northern suburbs is currently considering recycling the 'refuse' left behind by the Tide, and I happen to be planning to bring in a shipment of goods from the north soon."
"If you're interested in the northern market, feel free to visit me at the address on the card."
...
Northern suburbs industrial zone.
A brand-new factory building had been cleared out and fitted with a fresh sign: [Bucky Aluminum Plant]. The material to be manufactured was naturally the newly developed Type-A3 aerospace aluminum alloy.
Bucky might not have been the most accomplished expert in his specialized field, but when it came to management, he was definitely a natural talent.
He was born into a merchant family that ran a liquor business, and according to him, it was no small operation.
Since the guy was so capable, Chu Guang maximized his utility by appointing him factory director in charge of producing the new material.
An entrepreneur with an "engineering background"—Chu Guang had high hopes for his future.
"...Shelter 404 is an eternal partner of the Enterprise. Our silver coins will eventually be listed in Ideal City, perhaps even with an independent exchange of their own. Don't ever think these coins are worthless—they will become the most valuable currency across this entire wasteland."
"Work hard. I assure you, your achievements will leave your father utterly astonished. When people speak your name in the future, you will be known as one of the wasteland's greatest entrepreneurs, not the son of some obscure wine merchant."
"They will respectfully address you as—President Ba!"
At the entrance of the industrial zone.
Listening to the grand pie Chu Guang was painting in the sky, Bucky couldn't resist retorting, "Why don't you just say we'll build another Ideal City right in the heart of the Mid-Continent?... And for the record, my father is hardly obscure! He has quite a reputation in Yunjian Province!"
Even if it was only a modest one!
Chu Guang's eyes lit up, and he snapped his fingers.
"Build another Ideal City in the central region? That sounds like a wonderful idea. I can pencil that into the next five-year plan."
Bucky: "..."
*Is this guy serious?*
After a brief pause, the tin can standing before Chu Guang dropped his shoulders and continued, "Your proposal is certainly enticing, and I used to dream about things like that. But now... to be honest, I'd rather turn back into a human."
Chu Guang patted his shoulder gently.
"I have always treated you as a human, my friend. There isn't a shred of falsehood in those words."
"Besides, you've probably noticed that aside from handsome young men and pretty women, our ranks include lizards, bears, androids, and even rat-kin you've never seen before... They are all our companions. We won't judge anyone with prejudice just because they look different from us."
"As long as they abide by the rules and are willing to be productive members of society."
Perhaps these heartfelt words touched Bucky.
Chu Guang could sense that beneath the tin can, the pair of scarlet pupils held a flicker of emotion and hope.
Pulling himself together, Bucky looked at Chu Guang and said earnestly, "I admit, I really do feel what you're talking about here. Aside from you all, no one was willing to accept me after I turned into this."
"I'll do everything in my power to help you, and I hope you keep your promise to help me turn back into a normal person."
Chu Guang nodded gently.
"You have my word."
Chapter 271