Chapter 27 Gift
Wastelanders also have entertainment.
Although limited by the environment, they have very few forms of entertainment, and apart from the indulgence between men and women, most of them are full of a wild and crude flavor.
In the oasis town occupied by the Black Hand, at the very edge of a row of low houses, there is a place similar to a large warehouse. This is the "bar" of this town.
The walls were covered in all sorts of terrible graffiti.
There are some slogans, but most of them are casually drawn by some drunkards, with bright colors smeared together, which does have a postmodern style.
Large boxes of ammunition were piled in the corner of the warehouse, and several damaged long and short guns were thrown on the rusted alloy boxes.
Some were disassembled and parts were scattered everywhere.
Some are still lying there, waiting to be dismantled.
There is a small machine tool next to it, where craftsman Malte will repair weapons or use his "intelligence" to make some strange things.
Next to the machine tools are a few simple tables made of iron plates with hinges and supported by some discarded steel. The bumpy table tops look as weathered as the wasteland warriors sitting on both sides, twisting their wrists hard.
From the black speaker thrown aside, there was a harsh, crazy, heavy metal-like tune echoing, so loud that it made people's heads hurt.
Two guys with mohawks, nose rings and ear piercings, with their upper bodies uncovered, wrestled like bulls.
They shouted and the muscles on their arms bulged, full of male hormones in the dim light.
This kind of arm wrestling is the simplest form of entertainment.
Of course, guys with modified arms are not allowed to participate, as that would be cheating.
There were a few people around the two of them who were making a fuss. These soldiers who were not on guard were shouting and yelling, adding a bit of liveliness to this terrible environment.
But what they were betting on was a little strange.
The winner of the wrestling match gets to "play" with the prettiest and wildest girl in the Black Hand Society.
The girl who was used as a bet, wearing smoky makeup and a tank top, her name was Emily, and she didn't care at all about being objectified.
On the contrary, she watched the two people who were "fighting" for her with great interest.
The zipper of her vest was mostly unzipped, revealing her fair skin. Coupled with her sleepy eyes, she seemed ready to "reward" the winner.
If you feel like it, you can have some fun in this bar .
Please.
It's the end of the world, and no one knows which will come first, death or tomorrow.
In this case, any indulgence can be forgiven.
For example, between the legs of the drunk muscular man on the other side, there was another female warrior, Julie, lying there with her head heaving up and down.
Yes.
No one cares.
This is the lifestyle of wastelanders, fighting bravely and having fun while they can.
But they limited their entertainment to the left half of the bar. No one dared to go to the right side to make noise. There were no walls blocking them, but there was an invisible pressure there that made them unwilling to go over.
On the right side of the bar, a drunk guy was sitting at the very wasteland-style bar built with the remains of a robot shell.
He was wearing a rough leather coat and had short hair like a soldier. His hair was somewhat gray, and his cheeks were very old, full of wrinkles left by suffering.
But he is very young.
Only in his thirties.
He lay there, as if bent over by the cruelty of life, or like a decadent man who had lost all hope, holding a glass half filled with wine in his hand.
The purified water was mixed with diluted industrial alcohol and some extracts from the brown vegetation outside the town to color it, making this terrible tasting wine, at least in appearance, look a lot like whiskey from the pre-nuclear war era.
But when you drink it, the taste is really hard to describe.
"Well"
The drunk man didn't care about the loud music behind him.
He tilted his head back and poured the wine in the glass into his mouth.
With a bang, the cup was smashed on the table. With anger, the weapon craftsman Malte, who was acting as the bartender and was an old warrior who had known Rogge for many years, shrugged his shoulders.
Without needing the person in front of him to say anything, he picked up the bottle and poured him another glass.
No one dared to disturb the drunkard.
Because he is the ruler of this town, the leader of the Black Hand Society, and the "Black Fox" who is wanted by the Eternal Life Society in the entire Great Desert.
His name is Roger Fittals.
A cunning, ruthless, and cruel wasteland boss.
A qualified wasteland leader.
The members of the Black Hand Society all knew why their leader had been frustrated during this period. The collapse of his carefully planned "hope" dealt him a terrible blow.
But in fact, the only one who was lost was Roger.
The other soldiers didn't care.
Hope, what is that?
Does something like that really exist in this wasteland?
If you don't have any expectations from the beginning, you naturally won't feel the painful disappointment after failure.
However, everyone was a little worried. The Eternal Life Society’s latest reconnaissance robots had appeared on the edge of the Great Desert, and the previously destroyed signal towers were being repaired one by one.
All signs indicate that after the last setback, the Eternal Life Society has no intention of letting them go.
The next round of pursuit will come soon, and with the current strength of the Black Hand, it will be difficult to escape the pursuit again.
They have nowhere to go.
This is the last oasis in the depths of the desert. Going further into the desert, even the warriors who were born nearby have no guarantee of being able to cross the desert and reach the other end of the wasteland.
Besides, what does it matter even if it’s in the past?
The other side of the desert is the territory of the Scavenger Brotherhood. Compared to that unruly ghost place where Darwinism prevails and cannibalism is said to be common, the warriors would rather die in the desert.
At least you don't have to worry about becoming a roast on some crazy warlord's table.
They can only prepare for battle.
Then, through even more crazy indulgence, I try to numb the growing despair in my heart.
Unfortunately, the Black Hand Club is in the desert, far away from Free Citizen City, and their chips cannot access the virtual thinking space. As mentioned earlier, these are the only entertainment options they have left.
A few minutes later, amid cheers, the winner of the arm wrestling match stood up triumphantly, raised his hands high and shouted several times, then roughly grabbed the woman next to him and kissed her hard on the face.
He pinched her perky buttocks again, whistled at the loser, then embraced his "trophy", carried the bottle of wine, and staggered out of the bar.
It seems that he plans to find a place to relax.
Rogge also drank his thirteenth glass of wine today.
This is the last cup.
If he drinks more, the alcohol concentration in his body will approach the warning line, and the chip will force his prosthesis into hibernation.
He is the leader and must take on the decision-making power, which is a necessary constraint.
Roger held the burning cheap cigar and picked up the wine glass.
He looked at the amber wine shaking in the glass. It had a ray of light and reflected his weathered face, the face of a loser. It reminded him of the scene of that day.
He was trapped under the rubble by the explosion and could only watch as the hateful outsider stepped into the star array with a victorious smile on his face.
And Sue.
Su, the person he trusted the most and had the most hope for, the only young man in the Black Hand Society who believed in hope as much as he did, chased Jiang Xia into the light.
Rogge knew that Su was also unwilling to accept this, and he wanted to seek justice for himself in that way.
But he shouldn't have gone.
Rogge closed his eyes in pain. The young man should have had a longer life. He should have been like an eagle, galloping across this wasteland, instead of dying in a strange place countless distances away from his hometown.
Sue is dead.
Pain welled up in Roger's heart.
Given Jiang Xia's personality and methods, the immature Su would definitely not be able to beat him.
That young man must be dead.
It was his own stupidity, stubbornness, and the hope he had been seeking that ruined him.
“Su…”
Rogge pursed his lips and spoke as if calling out. The next moment, he opened his eyes, tilted his head back, and planned to use the wine in his hand to numb himself in that half-asleep, half-wakeful state.
This is an escape.
he knows.
But he had no better solution.
"boom"
The door of the bar was pushed open at this moment.
A warrior with a gun on his back and a flowery turban rushed in, holding a bamboo tube in his hand. He rushed to Rogge and said to the leader in a surprised voice:
"Su is back!"
"Um?"
The wine glass that Roger was about to bring to his lips stopped.
He turned his head, and his sleepy eyes quickly became clear. Under the control of the brain chip, the prosthesis in his body began to work, diluting the alcohol in his blood.
He looked at the soldier who brought the news and was about to ask something, but his eyes fell on the bamboo tube in his hand.
Those were cut down bamboos, still with leaves that had not yet dried up, and they looked verdant. That shade of green was a color that was hard to find on wasteland.
Roger had never seen bamboo.
When he was born, this plant had already become extinct in the dust of the nuclear war.
But his grandfather was a biologist and he was raised by his grandfather. He had seen such plants from the information on his grandfather's hard drive.
But this is the first time I see the real thing.
"He is back?"
Roger asked.
"Well, not only did he come back, he also brought gifts!"
The warrior with his head covered by a turban stuffed the bamboo tube in his hand into Rogge's hand as if offering a treasure. He said with a touch of excitement:
"Water, chief, taste it, water! Real water!"
Rogge held the bamboo tube and looked at the clear liquid inside. He shook it a bit, then brought it to his mouth and took a sip. A stream of liquid with a fresh bamboo fragrance flowed into his mouth.
No rust smell, no bad smell of industrial additives, very pure.
It's the original taste of water.
He knew why Su brought this thing back as a gift.
he knows.
This is the answer Su brought back to him.
The ultimate answer to all your questions!
hope!
The hope that Narog has been pursuing in recent years has been grasped by Su.
"Ha ha ha ha"
Rogge stood up and laughed loudly with a hint of madness. He drank the water in the bamboo tube, exhaled happily, and wiped the beard at the corner of his mouth.
And he said to the man who brought the news:
"Has Jiang Xia arrived?"
"coming."
The man gritted his teeth and said:
"That bastard is being held in the town, and we all want to shoot him!"
"Julie!"
Roger did not respond to this anger. He turned his head and shouted to the other side of the bar:
"Stop sucking that dick and go clean up my house. Clean it up, now!"
"you."
The leader straightened his clothes and smelled a scent of alcohol, which made him frown. He said to the turbaned warrior in front of him:
"Go and ask Su and Jiang Xia to come to my house and be polite to him. I want to have a good talk with that bastard."
"ah?"
The soldiers in front of him were stunned. That bastard had clearly tricked them, so it would have been fine if they didn't kill him, but they were actually treating him well?
"They brought gifts."
Roger glanced at the bamboo tube in his hand and said:
"We can't let others say that we wastelanders don't know etiquette. Go quickly and bring my greetings. Don't make him wait anxiously."
