The biker boss strutted up to the inmates, arrogantly doffing his leather gloves and motorcycle goggles, pulling back his hooded cloak to reveal himself. He launched into a cacophony of "wah wah wah" noise at the inmates, wildly gesticulating and stomping his feet to emphasize his points.

The inmates watched the one-man show with blank expressions, though many couldn't help their twitching faces. It was clear to everyone that these intelligent beings were the natives of this world, but few could have guessed they would be so "familiar" in appearance.

Green skin, hooked noses, elongated curly pointed ears, and large eyes that took up a third of their faces—these diminutive beings had arms with only four stubby fingers.

Green dwarves? Goblins? Gnomes? Every inmate had a big question mark floating above their heads. This condensed version of a biker boss bore a striking resemblance to certain creatures from Earth's online games.

Seeing the tall humans in front of him ignore his words, the biker boss seemed surprised. His body language grew even more animated, and he switched languages. The inmates exchanged glances and cautiously shook their heads at the boss.

The biker boss soon realized he was preaching to the choir—these people simply didn't understand him. Without showing disappointment, his large eyes sparkled with excitement as he ceased his performance and tried several human common languages.

After confirming that the humans didn't comprehend any of the languages he spoke, the biker boss was overjoyed. He carefully pulled out a watch-like device from his jacket pocket.

"Shhh-shhh." The boss pressed a button on the watch, and the inmates' minds were bombarded with a loud static noise, causing them to cover their ears in pain. However, they quickly realized the noise directly targeted their minds, and covering their ears did nothing.

Luckily, the noise ceased after a few seconds, and in the next moment, a robotic voice echoed in the minds of all humans present.

"You… are the humans who have just been transported from an alternate space-time world, right?"

...

The rocky cliffs of the Gobi receded quickly from view as the wind rushing past carried away some of the heat. Quentin, peering out of the tracked vehicle's window, listened to the rumble of the engine beneath him.

Not long ago, when the biker boss used the watch-like device to establish a so-called soul force field, the two parties finally managed to communicate smoothly.

In their brief interaction, the human inmates confirmed they were in an alternate space-time world called the Shattered Cosmos, and the little creatures identified themselves as the "Lulu race," akin to goblins, and recognized the humans as visitors from a space-time portal.

The Shattered Cosmos defied all human understanding, its most distinctive feature being thousands of floating landmasses.

These landmasses varied in size; the larger ones were akin to complete life-bearing planets, with mountains, rivers, forests, lakes, deserts, grasslands, and even oceans. The smaller landmasses were no more than a few square kilometers in size, resembling tiny islands.

These floating landmasses were immobile and collision-free, embedded in the cosmos like jewels.

Numerous civilizations thrived on these landmasses, inhabited by a variety of life forms, including intelligent species like humans, elves, dwarves, orcs, trolls, undead, elemental beings, dragons, titans, and rarer upper-tier races such as celestial beings, demons, and angels.

The "Lulu race" scavengers, resembling goblins, were the waste pickers of this barren Gobi. Quentin and his companions were on the Red Gobi, a mid-sized floating landmass roughly 100,000 square kilometers in size, comparable to the province of Zhejiang in North America on Earth.

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The Red Gobi was on the fringes of the civilized world within the Shattered Cosmos. However, it was rich in minerals, and life forms from other space-time worlds often fell into the Gobi through space-time portals, attracting adventurers and scavenger tribes.

Once the goblins confirmed that the humans came from an alternate space-time world, they used their unknown firearms to coerce the humans onto their motorcycles, "inviting" them to visit their tribe.

The inmates had no objections. Although they had grasped their whereabouts, they lacked food, water, and weapons, making independent survival impossible. In a sense, these goblin scavengers had indeed rescued them from a predicament.

However, after the inmates boarded the vehicles, they realized that the goblins didn't immediately take them back to their tribe. Instead, they sent some of their number to climb the mound-like base. When the goblins spotted the mass of zombies at the base's entrance, they didn't react with surprise but with excited shouts.

Clearly, these goblin scavengers were not strangers to zombies. To them, these undead seemed to be walking coins, promising substantial profits.

The inmates observed the goblins' actions, hoping to glean information they didn't yet know. Due to the angle, they couldn't see what the goblins were doing to the zombies.

But the inmates knew the goblins didn't view the zombies as food since those who came down from the base were bloodstained but carried no zombie flesh. Instead, they collected various broken items, mainly damaged instruments and metallic objects.

With over thirty floors, the Sector 91 base stood over a hundred meters tall, a massive mound on the landscape. In the short time available, the goblins couldn't possibly empty the base, let alone the nearly a thousand zombies scattered inside.

When the goblin scavengers realized the base might be a huge treasure trove, they stopped venturing deeper and left some of their number around the mound. Then, taking the inmates with them, they set off back to their tribe.

"Eh!" Several hours into their travel across the Gobi, Quentin suddenly raised an eyebrow and let out a soft exclamation.

The young man, who had been gazing into the distance, noticed the orange-yellow dome that enveloped the floating landmass beginning to dim from the horizon, casting a long shadow on one side of the motorcycle.

The floating landmass, devoid of sun or moon, also had a division between day and night!

Interesting! A smile slowly formed on Quentin's lips.

Before complete darkness fell, the goblin scavenger convoy finally returned to their camp, a vast "car city" resembling a giant parking lot.

Large vans created an outer wall, with medium and small vehicles forming a second defensive ring. In the center lay the residential area with various small tents, and the central clearing served as the "Lulu race's" activity and living space.

The twelve human outsiders were dispersed, with Quentin's trio assigned to a small tent. The tent's interior was spartan, with a rug made of unidentified animal fur on the floor and a pile of basic living supplies in the corner.

Thankfully, the tent was free of any foul odors, indicating the "Lulu race" wasn't as unhygienic as the mythical goblins.

As darkness enveloped the camp, bright lights came on. A female goblin brought Quentin's group a small umbrella-shaped lamp, along with a food resembling mashed potatoes and a jug of water.

The portion of mashed potatoes was generous and slightly warm with a hint of saltiness. Hungry from a day without food, Quentin's group didn't complain, quickly devouring the meal.

"I'm going to take a look outside!" Quentin stood up after eating, having to stoop due to the tent's low height.

"Can we go out?" Lincoln asked, surprised.

"Did they forbid us to leave?" Quentin smiled slightly. "Don't worry, I'll be fine. Haven't you noticed? The goblins' attitude towards us is strange. We're neither prisoners nor guests. They're keeping us here and treating us hospitably for a reason..."

"You're right. I had the same thought. It seems I made the right choice coming to you!" Before Quentin could finish, a deep voice sounded outside the tent.

Following the voice, a burly figure pushed through the tent flap and entered.

"Disciple..." Seeing the newcomer, Lincoln's face drained of color, but he quickly realized his slip and covered his mouth.

"Welcome!" Quentin greeted Hanso with a friendly smile.

"You don't seem surprised to see me," Hanso said, eyeing Quentin with significance.

"Right now, none of us know the goblins' real intentions, and they haven't restricted our freedom. Naturally, everyone will seek someone to consult with," Quentin replied calmly. "I just didn't expect anyone to come to me."

Hanso offered a wry smile; he had no other choice but to consult with Quentin.

...

Late at night, while Quentin conversed with Hanso, in a safety corridor of the Sector 91 base, a pile of over a dozen zombies suddenly stirred. A slender arm reached out from the gaps, and a bloodied, slender figure struggled out from the heap of bodies. The figure's flesh was torn and tattered like a rag doll.

Regaining its footing, the figure slowly turned, revealing a face half-eaten into a skull, with eerie green eyes flickering like ghostly flames. Clutched in its left hand was an empty syringe marked with an X, and in its right, a gleaming scalpel.

"Ah... Joey Foster!" The figure threw back its head, its mangled vocal cords and tongue emitting a ghostly wail.