At the Dawn City Trade Station, the air buzzed with noise and excitement. Shouts from traders filled the streets, and caravans of merchants and travelers streamed endlessly through the gates, from morning till night, the place never slept.

Deep ruts of wagon wheels crisscrossed the dirt road like a giant checkerboard, and piles of goods and rare treasures rose like small mountains on the stalls.

There were octopus-style mechanical arms made by Boulder Town Arms Industry, clocks and jewelry from the Camel Kingdom, universal android maids and attendants imported from Ideal City, as well as exotic spices from the Distant Sea Continent and soap manufactured by the Army.

In short, there was nothing that couldn’t be bought, only things one hadn’t imagined.

A long time ago, Dawn City’s marketplace had changed its business model. While the New Alliance still maintained official trade depots for bulk commodities, the rest of the expanded market was leased out to private merchants.

Those stalls included both local traders and residents from nearby shelters, as well as itinerant merchants from afar.

Even before the Tide had ended, the area had begun to liven up as winter faded.

With news spreading that the Tide had finally ended, the whole market gleamed with a celebratory energy.

“Has something good happened recently?” Pausing in front of a stall, a man in a long gray coat glanced at the decorations hanging from the awning and asked casually.

His skin was a shade darker, with deep wrinkles etched around his brows and eyes, a face weathered by years of hardship. In his hand, he carried a suitcase.

The stall owner looked him up and down. The face was unfamiliar, probably an outsider, a traveling merchant from far away, so he smiled politely and replied, “The honorable administrator led us to victory over the Tide! Three days from now, we’ll be holding a festival to celebrate. It’s an old tradition of ours. You must be new around here?”

“Not exactly,” said the man. “But the last time I came here, this place was still the wilderness.” He glanced around, visibly bewildered. “Honestly, I thought I had read the map wrong.”

The stall owner chuckled at his ignorance. “That must’ve been years ago! This area’s under the New Alliance now, it’s nothing like that desolate wasteland from back then.”

Though it had been years since his last visit, the man didn’t seem unfamiliar with the word New Alliance. Clearly, he had heard stories about this region elsewhere.

“I’ve heard of them,” he said. “The administrator of Shelter 404 and his people built a thriving utopia on the wasteland. They vowed to unite all survivors and make ending the Wasteland Era their life’s mission...”

The stall owner laughed awkwardly. “Haha, well, it’s not quite as glorious as the rumors make it sound, but it’s not bad either. By the way, friend, where are you from?”

“From the South,” the man replied.

The stall owner blinked in surprise. “The South? You mean... one of the islands down south? I heard it’s beautiful there.”

It was very far away, and with the turmoil in the provinces of the Ocean Edge Province and the Brocade River Province, he didn’t really know much about it.

The man revealed a bitter smile. “If you call sea beasts that can whip up 30 meter waves a beautiful sight, then yes... it’s lovely.”

The stall owner laughed awkwardly, “Haha, sounds like every place has its troubles. Around here, our biggest monster, aside from the old Hive downtown, is probably the administrator’s mount.”

The man blinked. “Mount... what mount?”

“A Deathclaw,” said the stall owner proudly, as if he himself had tamed it. “Even a mighty Deathclaw kneels before his feet! There’s nothing on this planet he can’t conquer, not even the Hive in the city center!”

The man’s eyebrow twitched. He almost laughed but restrained himself out of politeness, thinking privately to himself.

You really haven’t seen the world, have you?

Still, one part of that speech caught his attention.

“You said he defeated the Hive in the city center... What do you mean by that?”

The stall owner spoke proudly. “Just what I said! He killed that thing, the one even the Post-War Reconstruction Committee couldn’t beat! The Tide is over, not just this year, but for good!”

The man stared at him, his mouth slightly open.

Killed it?

How is that even possible?!

He had been studying Mutant Slime Mold for years. Its horror lay precisely in the fact that even a single cell remnant could regenerate endlessly, and every rebirth made it stronger and harder to destroy.

In fact, he had come because of that Hive. Yet, someone was telling him that the whole damn thing was gone!

Seeing him standing there stunned, asking one question after another without buying anything, the stall owner quickly lost interest in chatting.

Still, business was business. Not wanting to offend a potential customer, he smiled politely and offered a suggestion. “If you really want to learn about Dawn City, I recommend buying a newspaper and heading to Highway Town Hotel. Order a beer, sit in the lobby. No one will bother you there. You’ll find plenty of people to talk to. The stories those mercenaries and traders tell are way more exciting than mine, especially Hooke, the guy with the limp. He’s been here since before Dawn City was even built.”

“Thank you. I’ll take your advice,” said the man, realizing the stall owner had lost interest in him. He nodded politely and turned to leave.

“You’re welcome! My name's Zhang Datong. If you ever need wholesale tools or automatic rifles, come find me! Oh, right, what’s your trade, friend?”

“I’m an administrator,” the man said honestly.

“An... Administrator?!” The stall owner didn’t react at first, but when he repeated the words, his eyes went wide.

“Uh... not that administrator,” the man added quickly, realizing the misunderstanding. “No offense, I know that title means something special here. But there are more shelters out there than you might think. By the way... if I wanted to meet your administrator, how would I do that?”

Zhang Datong stared at him for several seconds, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “... You serious? Which shelter are you from?”

The man sighed, as if expecting the doubt. He rolled up his left sleeve, revealing a slightly faded VM on his wrist.

“Shelter 70. I am administrator, Sun Yuechi.”

To his surprise, the stall owner didn’t gape in awe at all. Instead, his interest vanished instantly.

“Pfft. That proves nothing,” Zhang Datong snorted. The mild curiosity on his face turned into deep skepticism. “That’s just a VM! Half the wasteland got one of those.”

Sun Yuechi froze, at a loss for words, half amused and half exasperated. Before he could argue, the stall owner went on.

“Even if you are an administrator, where’s your exoframe?”

“My... exoframe?”

“Yeah,” Zhang Datong said matter-of-factly. “You said you’re an administrator, shouldn’t you at least have one?”

Sun Yuechi stared at him, dumbfounded.

What did exoframe have to do with being an administrator?

Judging by the man’s worn-out appearance, Zhang Datong clearly didn’t think he could afford one. His eyes showed a trace of disdain; he didn’t even bother mentioning that their administrator walked around in an exoframe without even turning it on.

“Forget it,” Zhang said dismissively. “Guess you don’t have one. What about a mount then?”

“I...” Sun Yuechi’s face turned red. He couldn’t get a word out.

Deciding not to waste more time on him, Zhang Datong waved his hand. “Alright, enough. I’ve seen your type before. Every so often, someone buys a blue coat and comes here claiming they’re from a shelter. But saying you’re an administrator, that’s a new one. Go brag somewhere else. I’ve got work to do.”

Sun Yuechi swallowed the words on the tip of his tongue, shot the grinning stall owner a glare, grabbed his suitcase, and walked away.

What the hell is wrong with the people here?

He had actually felt hopeful after hearing the New Alliance’s reputation, but as it turned out, it disappointed him!

As he reached the entrance of the Trade Station, he stopped, frowning in thought.

Then, suddenly, he changed his mind. Instead of heading straight to meet this so-called administrator, perhaps... That not-so-bright fellow was right.

Better to do as he said, head to over to the Highway Town Hotel, buy a newspaper, quietly observe what kind of place the New Alliance really was... and then decide what to do next.

...

Meanwhile, at the Highway Town Hotel not far from the Trade Station.

Lisa, wearing an apron, weaved through the bustling crowd, balancing a tray of frothy beers. She placed them onto a wooden table before hurrying back to the kitchen again.

Watching the busy girl darting to and fro, Old Hooke couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pity.

At first, it had just been sympathy for her tragic past. But as time passed, he had begun to see her almost as his own daughter.

It helped that he had no children of his own.

Catching her during a short break, he called the diligent girl over and pressed a small pouch of silver coins into her hand. “I want you to take a few days off, starting tomorrow. This is your salary for the month. Come back after the victory festival ends in three days.”

Lisa blinked in surprise, her voice timid and uneasy. “Did I... do something wrong?”

Old Hooke grinned. “No, quite the opposite. You’ve done great, that’s why you need a rest. What’s the point of earning money if you never spend it? Go buy yourself some new clothes. The people from the House of Refugees have their eyes on me, you know. I don’t want them calling me a boss who exploits his workers.”

To prevent rescued refugees from being mistreated by unscrupulous employers, the New Alliance’s House of Refugees conducted regular follow-ups on those who had earned official citizenship.

It was a system proposed by the shelter residents themselves.

The story went that some nosy blue coats had discovered a shady company intentionally hiring large numbers of monitored workers, exploiting their desperation to gain citizenship by forcing them into near-slavery.

That included ignoring the administrator’s victory-day decree, continuing to operate under old laws, and making people work 12 hour shifts without overtime pay.

In the end, justice was served, the administrator had personally thrown that scumbag out, and the incident even made headlines in the Survivor’s Daily.

Not long after, the House of Refugees added the follow-up inspection system.

Old Hooke wasn’t worried about any such visits, nor about rumors. He knew he had done nothing wrong. He simply thought that Lisa, at her age, should live a little brighter. If he had ever had a child, he would’ve wanted them to be like her.

Ah... to live in the sunlight.

What a luxurious wish.

A sigh of emotion welled up in Old Hooke’s heart. It wasn’t the first time. Sometimes he even forgot he was still living in the wasteland.

Accepting the old man’s kind gesture, Lisa gripped the money pouch tightly and whispered, “But... won’t it be busy during the festival? Is it really okay if I’m not here?”

“It’s fine.” Old Hooke waved his hand with a smile. “I’ll hire a few part timers to help out.”

Sitting at the bar, Eye Owe Money burped after his beer and raised a shaky hand. “Can I sign up early? Or at least tell me when the task posts so I can snipe it.”

Recognizing the regular, Old Hooke chuckled and scolded, “You? I can’t afford you. I’d still like to save a bit for my retirement.”

Leaning over his bottle, Eye Owe Money groaned miserably. “80% pay... no, 50%! Just give me something, anything that makes money.”

Old White slapped him on the shoulder and laughed. “What’s wrong, brother? Down on your luck?”

Irene, chewing on a grilled lizard tail, grinned while looking at him. “Come on, how bad can it be? Your ‘hobby’ doesn’t even cost that much.”

“Shut up.”Eye Owe Money’s face flushed red. He knew this pack of bastards was about to roast him again, so he struck first, but didn’t dare explain where all his money had really gone.

Unfortunately, his good buddy, Construction Boy, didn’t bother keeping his secret. He grinned and blurted it out. “This guy bought over 100 Crunchers.”

A hundred Crunchers?!

Everyone froze for a second, then the whole bar erupted.

“Holy crap... your Intelligence stat must be pretty damn high!”

“What’s the point of a hundred of them, though?”

“100 of them? That’s 10,000 silver coins right there,” Ample Time mused, rubbing his chin. “Honestly, that’s not even that expensive. Shouldn’t have emptied your pockets.”

For old players like them, that was about the cost of a single Light Cavalry exoskeleton. It was moderately pricey, but nothing extreme.

In Wasteland Online, silver income scaled with contribution level and genetic sequence rank.

Even so, Irene eyed Eye Owe Money suspiciously.

It couldn’t be that simple.

Sure enough, Construction Boy went on gleefully, “If that was all, maybe. But do you really think our brother Eye Owe Money would tolerate his troops being brain-dead idiots? Of course not! So he armed every single one of them with an iron-pipe rifle! And those 7mm bullets aren’t free, are they?”

“Well... no, that’s true,” said Irene, calculating the total, it was no small expense.

“Right?” Construction Boy shrugged. “And you know Crunchers, normally they just stand there doing nothing to maintain their organic balance. But the way he’s using them, always moving around and always fighting means he’s burning through ammo and has to feed them constantly.”

“Alright, alright, enough! I’m an idiot,” Eye Owe Money groaned, covering his face in shame.

But Construction Boy wasn’t done. He grinned, slinging an arm around his shoulder. “Don’t be like that, bro, I’m not finished yet.”

Eye Owe Money shoved him away. “Get lost! I don’t know you anymore!”

“Hahaha!” Old White was the first to burst out laughing.

The crowd at the bar erupted into cheerful laughter. Seeing them banter so comfortably, Lisa couldn’t help smiling faintly as she passed by with her tray.

Shame... Joy in their world was never evenly distributed.

Where there was laughter, there was always worry somewhere else.

While the group joked and gave terrible advice to Eye Owe Money, a shout suddenly broke the peace. From one of the luxury suites in the inn’s back courtyard came a startled cry. “What?! They’re not selling anymore?!”