As they journeyed through the desolate landscape towards Series 9 territory, the stark changes in the environment were impossible to ignore. The earth had grown darker, with less vegetation and smoke visible among the ruins.

Shizuka, less familiar with the terrain of Series 9, commented on the eerie silence and the absence of life. "It's so quiet out here. It's like the world is holding its breath."

Furqan, who had traveled extensively through the wasteland, nodded in agreement. "The Great Nuclear Holocaust did this. It's turned the world into a barren wasteland. The nuclear blasts and tectonic shifts have reshaped the earth, creating craters, valleys, and ruins."

Wanderer add sarcastically “ww3 indeed a great fun indeed heh”

Shizuka looked around, taking in the devastation.and notice the signal on her intercom is weaken since departure "And the communication? How do people even talk to each other in this mess?"

Furqan explained, "Communication is a real challenge. With the terrain, atmospheric conditions, and electronic jamming, traditional methods are unreliable. People have to rely on primitive signals like smoke and flares, or the psychic abilities of mutants. but it's often as fragile as the world around us."

Shizuka frowned, thinking about the implications. "So, these communication challenges must affect social structures and military operations, right?"

Furqan nodded. "Absolutely. It makes it difficult to coordinate, to plan, to even trust the information you're receiving. It's a constant battle to stay connected, to stay informed."

"Alright, shut up, you nerd," Wanderer interrupted, pointing to a nearby abandoned hangar. "We'll park there."

Furqan rolled his eyes at Wanderer's comment, but nodded in agreement. "Yeah, that hangar looks like a good spot to park. We need to stay low and make sure the True Horde doesn't catch wind of us."

As they approached the hangar, they could see that it was in poor condition. The roof was partially collapsed, and debris and garbage littered the ground. Despite its dilapidated state, the hangar seemed defensible, making it a viable spot to rest and strategize. in horizon. there is the Sin city, a nicknames for cities who being controlled by series 9, their sky creeper, neon advertisement is contrast on desolated desert surround it.

Wanderer knelt down and touched the dark ash surrounding them. "We'll use this as a temporary base while we find clues in Series 9. Get yourselves settled."

Furqan nodded and looked around the hangar, assessing their surroundings and making note of potential exits and cover. "Dark ash, eh? That's a bad sign. Series 9 must have been hit hard. It means the nuclear fallout was really extreme here."

Wanderer nodded.his face then turn into somber "yes, while in mega death is many on this region.. they hit the hardest in past.. but.. that might their own fault, "Wanderer gaze then turn to distant sky creeper in horizon

Furqan followed Wanderer's gaze. "Yeah, Series 9 has always had a reputation for being a powder keg. From my knowledge, they had a few missiles before the Great war, and they managed to survive the direct hits. But the aftershocks and fallout were brutal, turning the region into radioactive wasteland. “

Wanderer nodded. "Few missiles is an understatement. They had their agents all over the world, and that's what started it all."

Furqan whistled, surprised at Wanderer's revelation. "Damn, that's some serious firepower. No wonder this region got hit so hard. So, you're saying that Series 9 had agents planted all over the world, and that's what got the ball rolling towards war?"

Wanderer nodded. "Kinda."

Furqan frowned, processing the information. He looked at Wanderer, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But why? What was their endgame? To destroy the world and rule the ruins? Or was there something deeper at play here?"

Wanderer shrugged. "I'm not those people. I don't know how they're thinking."

Furqan let out a weary sigh. "Yeah, you're right. The past is the past, and we can't change it. We just have to deal with the present, as shitty as it is. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't try to understand the world we're living in, you know?"

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Wanderer smirked. "I love history, but I've learned to ignore things too along the way. And you, my friend, should learn to reduce your curiosity."

Furqan chuckled softly, a wry smile on his face. "Yeah, I guess I do have a bit of a curiosity problem. Can't help it, it's just the way I am. Sometimes curiosity can get you into trouble, I know. But it can also lead to discoveries and insights, you know? Keeps life interesting."

Later, as Wanderer wandered around the hangar, he noticed a group of homeless people huddled around a fire. He approached them and introduced himself.

"Greetings, people. Do you guys live here for a long time?"

The homeless people looked up as Wanderer approached, startled by his sudden appearance. They eyed him warily, their expressions guarded. One of them, a bearded man with a ragged coat, spoke up.

"Yeah, we've been here for a few months now. This hangar's as good a place as any to shelter from the ash and the elements."

Wanderer nodded. "Few months? New eh? Where did you come from?"

The bearded man looked at Wanderer for a moment, sizing him up. Eventually, he decided to answer. "We're originally from the south. A place called Broken City. But the radiation and mutants made it too dangerous to stay there. We left everything behind and came up here, thinking we could start over. But it's not easy, nowhere is."

Wanderer chuckled. "Damn, that name sounds so broke for a city, hehe."

The bearded man smiled faintly, appreciating Wanderer's dry humor. "Yeah, that's one way to put it. Broken City was a real mess, even in the good days. Not much left standing now, I reckon."

Wanderer nodded. "What are your expectations in Series 9 settlement? They might be a worse place."

The bearded man nodded grimly, his expression growing darker. "Yeah, we've heard the stories. Series 9 is rough. Survival of the fittest there. We were hoping it would be better than Broken City, but I guess we just jumped from one fire to another."

Wanderer shrugged. "Why not pick Caliphate territory? No war, cheap, but perhaps less sinful."

The bearded man let out a cynical laugh. "Caliphate? You want us to go there? With all those rules and restrictions? Pfft. No thanks. We're freedom-loving folks, not religious zealots. Plus, I doubt they'll take kindly to us heathens."

Wanderer chuckled. "As I expected. What kind of drugs do you use? Red Cliff? Or Blue Mamba? Or something new come in market?"

The bearded man gave Wanderer a sidelong glance, a flicker of irritation crossing his face. "Why are you asking me that? What's it to you what drugs we take?"

Wanderer wiggled his eyebrows, showing his blue tongue. "Oh come on, we're fellow crackheads, you know."

The bearded man let out a wry chuckle, seeing Wanderer's blue tongue. He shook his head. "Ah, a fellow connoisseur, I see. Yeah, we like to indulge now and then. Blue mamba's our poison of choice. Gives us a little escape from the bleakness of reality."

Wanderer nodded. "I see. What were you before being a wanderer?"

The bearded man looked thoughtful for a moment. He took a long pull on a beat-up flask of moonshine before answering. "Me, before all this? I used to be a carpenter. Worked with wood and nails, making something beautiful out of it. But none of that matters now. Now I'm just a survivor, doing whatever it takes to get by."

Wanderer nodded his eyes light up. " carpenter? hmhm.. a artist one?

The bearded man nodded, a hint of pride in his eyes. "Yeah, you could say that. I had a knack for carving and shaping wood. I made some pretty things in my time. Furniture, statues, even a couple of fine-looking instruments. But that's all gone now, reduced to ashes and splinters. but now machine build things i make faster and cheaper but hey.. im not complaining. live is easy. they give us free money, things i should do just spend it"

Wanderer nodded, his eyes fixed on the fire. "Yes, I can imagine. It must have been hard to lose everything."

They remained silent for a few moments, the only sound being the crackle of the fire. Eventually, the bearded man spoke up again. "What about you, friend? What were you before all this?"

Wanderer shifted his weight, a faint smile playing on his lips. “me? .. im just like.. violence and woman.. and adventure.. i actually wanna be a artist like you.. but.. i had no balls ahahah” He let out a short, self-deprecating laugh.

The bearded man chuckled, clearly amused by Wanderer's unexpected response. The sound was rough, like dry leaves skittering across cracked earth. "You? An artist? I can't imagine you with a chisel in your hand, carvin' away at wood. But then again, stranger things have happened in this damn world, I suppose." He took another swig from his flask.

Wanderer shrugged, his smile fading slightly. "Shut up, beardman. Everyone had own dream… but I guess it’s what it is." He kicked a loose stone, sending it skittering across the dusty black ground. The firelight reflected in his eyes, momentarily softening his hardened features.

The bearded man grinned, enjoying the banter. He lifted up his flask in a mock salute, the liquid inside sloshing gently. "Right, right. Sorry for rilin' you up, Mr. Violence and Woman. And hey, who knows, maybe you can still live out your artistic dreams. Maybe someday you'll find a chisel and a nice block of wood, and you'll create something beautiful."

Wanderer’s gaze drifted back to the fire, a flicker of something unreadable in his eyes. "Yeah… I hope you advice yourself… see you around." He turned abruptly and walked away, disappearing into the gathering gloom.

The bearded man gave a slow wave goodbye as Wanderer walked away, the firelight illuminating the lines etched deep into his face. "See you around, buddy. Take care." He then turned back to the fire, the flames reflecting in the bottom of his empty flask. The conversation with Wanderer had been an interesting distraction from their bleak reality, a brief spark of connection in the vast emptiness.