The wasteland people also have entertainment.

Despite the limitations of the environment, they have few ways of entertainment, and except for the indulgence between men and women, most of them are full of a wild and rough smell.

The Oasis town occupied by the black hands, the edge of a row of low houses, a place similar to a large warehouse, is the "bar" of this town.

The walls were covered with all kinds of bad graffiti.

Some slogans, but more are painted by some drunkards, and bright colors are randomly painted together, which has a postmodern style.

Large boxes of ammunition were piled up 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 everywhere.

Some were left there waiting to be dismantled.

Next to it is a small machine tool, where craftsman Malte will repair weapons, or use his "intelligence" to make some weird things.

Next to the machine tool are several simple tables, which are made of iron plates and hinges, and then a few pieces of discarded steel. The pothole-filled table is like the wasteland warrior sitting on both sides, struggling to hold his wrists. It is already weathered.

In the black speaker that was thrown aside, there were harsh and crazy music, like heavy metal music, which made people's head hurt.

Two guys with moxie's dry heads and nose rings and ear holes were open, wrestling like bulls.

They yelled, the muscles on their arms raised, and under the dim light, filled with the charm of male hormones.

Such a wrestler is the easiest entertainment.

Of course, people who have modified their arms are not allowed to participate, that is cheating.

Around the two, there were a few people making excitement. These soldiers who were not standing guard shouted, adding a touch of vitality to this bad environment.

But what they bet on was a little strange.

The one who wins the fight can "play" with the most beautiful and wild girl who will be the black hand.

The girl who was betting on the smoky makeup and wearing a vest, named Emily, didn't care at all about being objectified.

On the contrary, she looked at the two people who were "fighting" for her with interest.

The zipper of the small vest was halfway open, revealing her fair skin. Coupled with her sleepy eyes, she seemed to be ready to "reward" the winner.

If you are interested, it is not impossible to have a game in this bar.

Please.

It’s the end of the world, and no one knows which one will come first, death or tomorrow.

In this case, any indulgence can be forgiven.

For example, between the legs of the drunken and strong man on the other side, there was another female warrior Julie lying there, her head was rising and falling.

Yes.

No one cares.

This is the lifestyle of wasteland people, fighting bravely and having fun in time.

But they limited their entertainment scope to the left half of the bar, and no one dared to go to the right to make noise. There was no wall blocking it, but there was invisible pressure to press there, making them unwilling to pass.

On the right side of the bar, there was a drunk guy sitting next to the very wasteland-style bar with a wreckage of a robot.

He was wearing a rough leather jacket and had short soldier-like hair. His hair was a little gray, his cheeks were also 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 cruel life, and like a decadent man who had lost all hope, grabbing the glass in his hand, containing half a glass of wine.

The purified water, diluted industrial alcohol, and some extracts from the brown vegetation outside the town to adjust the color, making this wine with a very bad taste, at least in appearance, look very much like the whiskey from the pre-nuclear war era.

But when you drink it in your mouth, the taste is really hard to describe.

"Um"

The drunk man didn't care about the noisy music behind him.

He raised his head and poured the wine from the cup into his mouth.

With a bang, the cup was smashed on the table, with anger, Mart, the weapon craftsman who played the bartender, shrugged the old soldier who had known Roger for many years.

Without any more people in front of him, he picked up the bottle and added another cup to him.

No one dares to disturb this drunkard.

Because he is the ruler of this town and the leader of the Black Hand Society, the "Black Fox" wanted by the Immortal Society in the entire desert area.

His name is Roger Fetthals.

A cunning, ruthless, cruel wasteland leader.

A qualified wasteland leader.

The members of the Black Hand Association also knew why the leader was frustrated during this period. The "hope" he had planned to be shattered, causing him a terrible blow.

But in fact, only Roger was lost.

It doesn't matter to the other soldiers.

Hope, what is that?

Is there really something like that in this wasteland?

If you don’t have expectations at the beginning, you will naturally not be disappointed after failure.

However, everyone was also worried that the latest reconnaissance robot of the Immortal Society had appeared on the edge of the Great Desert, and the previously destroyed signal towers were also being repaired one after another.

All signs indicate that after the last setback, Immortality did not intend to let them go.

The next round of pursuit will come soon, and with the current power of the Black Hand, it will be difficult to escape the pursuit again.

They have nowhere to go.

This is the last oasis deep in the Great Desert. Walking further into the desert, even the soldiers who were born nearby were not sure that they could cross the desert and reach the other end of the wasteland.

Besides, what can happen even if it was in the past?

The desert is the territory of the Brotherhood of Scavengers. Compared to the unruly ghostly place where Darwinism is prevalent, it is said that there is a common custom of cannibalism, the warriors would rather die in the desert.

At least you don’t have to worry about becoming the barbecue on the table of some crazy warlord.

They can only prepare for war.

Then, through more crazy indulgence, we can numb the more despair in our hearts.

Unfortunately, the black hands are in the desert, far from the Free Citizen City, and their chips cannot be connected to the virtual thinking space. As I said just now, there is only so much entertainment they can choose.

A few minutes later, amid the cheers, the winner of the wrestling arm stood up proudly, raised his hands and shouted several times, and grabbed the woman next to him very roughly and kissed her hard on the face.

He pinched her perky buttocks again, whistled at the loser, then hugged his "trophy", carried the bottle, and walked out of the bar.

It seems that I plan to find a place to relax.

Roger's wine has also been drinking the thirteenth cup of today.

This is the last cup.

If you drink it, the alcohol concentration in your body will approach the cordon and the chip will forcefully manipulate the sense body to hibernate.

He is the leader and must assume the decision-making power, which is a necessary constraint.

Roger held the burning inferior cigar and picked up the wine glass.

He looked at the amber wine shaking in the cup. The thing carried a ray of light, reflecting his vicissitudes of face, a face that belonged to the loser, which reminded him of the scene of that day again.

I was crushed under the ruins by the explosion, and I could only watch the hateful outsider stepped into the star formation with the smile of the winner.

And Su.

Su, whom he trusted the most and hoped the most, was the only young man who believed in hope in the Black Hand Club, who was like him, chased Jiang Xia into the light.

Roger knew that Su was also unwilling to accept that he wanted to seek justice for himself in that way.

But he shouldn't have gone.

Roger closed his eyes in pain. The young man should have a longer life. He should gallop on this wasteland like an eagle, rather than dying in a strange place countless distances from his hometown.

Su, already dead.

Pain surged in Rogue's heart.

With the character and means of Jiang Xia, the young Su would definitely not be able to play with him.

That young man must have been dead.

It was my stupid, stubborn, and the hope I was looking for that that hurt him.

"Su..."

Roger pursed his lips and said something like a call. The next moment, he opened his eyes, raised his head, and planned to use the wine in his hand to paralyze himself in the half-sleeping and half-awake.

This is an escape.

He knows.
To be continued...