They rode around him. Two bikes stayed in front, while the rest followed behind. Close enough to show he couldn’t just ran away, but not tight enough to draw attention from the street.

Compared to the central areas, this place had looser laws, allowing small-time criminals to operate freely as long as they kept a low profile.

Francis sat in the passenger seat of the lead bike, arms resting at his sides, making no effort to hold on.

’After I’m done with them, I’ll take one of the bikes,’ he mused inwardly, already choosing his target.

The bike beneath him felt solid, well-maintained. The rider also handled it with care, which told him the machine was reliable and fast enough when pushed.

After a few turns, the buildings began to thin out.

Narrow commercial streets gave way to wider lots separated by stretches of dry grass and chain-link fencing.

Warehouses replaced shopfronts. The road surface changed too — rougher, less maintained. 𝒇𝓻𝓮𝓮𝙬𝙚𝒃𝒏𝓸𝙫𝒆𝙡.𝓬𝓸𝒎

Then the highway opened up ahead of them.

Francis said nothing, but his eyes moved across it slowly.

Six lanes across, maybe more. Elevated sections curved off in both directions, stretching toward vanishing points on either side.

The surface practically empty — a handful of trucks in the far distance, one passenger vehicle moving at speed, and nothing else for as far as his eyes could follow.

Wind hit differently out here. No buildings to break it. It came straight, carrying the smell of dry concrete.

Back in his old world, a road like this would have traffic on it at every hour.

Day, night, it didn’t matter. Long-haul trucks carrying goods between cities. Buses packed with people making journeys that took days.

’If I kept going,’ he thought, eyes following the long curve of the elevated section into the distance, ’how far before the next city?’

Then a different question surfaced.

’How do they manage monsters out here?’

In the urban center, the Defense Force response was built around density.

The infrastructure existed because enough people lived close enough together to make it worth maintaining.

But out on an open highway between cities?

He looked at the guardrails. Standard issue, nothing reinforced. No monitoring towers that he could see. No checkpoints with gamma-powered equipment.

Just open asphalt running toward a horizon that offered nothing in the way of defense.

A Category Three beast loose on a stretch like this, with no response team within range, could cover serious ground before anyone arrived.

’Probably not worth their time,’ he reasoned. Funny enough, he was the same in that sense.

The bikes slowed as they turned off the highway onto a service road, heading toward a cluster of low buildings set back from the road’s edge.

A main structure sat at the center — wide, single-story, with a corrugated roof that had been patched in several places.

Around it, smaller outbuildings were scattered without much planning.

Two vans were parked side by side near the far end, both older models, one with a cracked windshield held together by tape from the inside.

The bikes rolled into the lot, engines dying one by one.

Right away, Francis noticed a bunch of workers—young, exhausted, and some not there by choice

He stepped off without being told and stood with his hands at his sides.

The bikers dismounted and jerked their head toward the main door.

The interior matched the outside.

Long tables at center. Empty bottles collected near the walls.

A pool table sat off to one side, its surface stained and warped at one corner.

Three ceiling fans turned at different speeds overhead, none of them fast enough to do much against the heat.

About twenty-five men occupied the area in total. Some were seated. Others leaned against walls.

Then his eyes stopped.

A man sat at the far end.

He looked to be in his late fifties. His hair had gone gray at the temples and spread from there, thick and close-cropped.

He wasn’t doing anything in particular—just sitting with one hand resting on the table, carrying a calmness that only came from someone who had seen a lot in life, both good and bad.

That was the first thing Francis noticed.

The second was the scar.

It ran down the right side of his face from just below the eye to the jaw—wide and deep, the kind of damage that didn’t come from a road incident.

The tissue had healed raised and uneven, pulling the skin slightly at the outer edge of his mouth.

From overheard talk around him, he realized the man was the leader—Vance.

"Sit,"

Francis pulled out the nearest chair and followed for the time being.

Vance said nothing, only looking at Francis for a long time.

It wasn’t the silence of someone choosing their words. It was the silence of someone using it purely to assert dominance.

Francis did nothing, focusing all his effort on controlling himself.

He started missing his life in the sewers, where the only problem was the smell and cramp space. Here, he had to deal with humans, and it was more exhausting in so many ways.

"You look capable. You work for us now." Vance said, his tone surprisingly unthreatening.

"I’ll pass." Francis shook his head.

Vance’s expression changed immediately.

"I think you’re misunderstanding me," his voice dropped, losing whatever peaceful quality it carried before. "I’m not asking."

The offer was never an offer—it was framing. A polite version of a box being built around a person, giving them the illusion of choice before the walls closed in

Francis built those boxes himself before, around men far more dangerous than anyone in this room.

The difference was that when he built them, there was no way out.

’I’m done playing,’

This place was far enough that even if he began his slaughter, no one would care enough to check in time.

On top of that, these people were clearly criminals, so their first reaction would be to fight him rather than call the authorities.

[Energy: 6/50]

His energy level had recovered enough for him to pull it off, thanks to acting like a lamb and not resisting.

Now it was time for them to regret ever inviting him into their home.

He shifted his weight, about to move—when a sudden vibration rippled through the air.