"It's still too early to go back home.," Eleanor murmured to herself as she stepped out of the gathering place. "I still have time to check that dungeon Daniel told me about."
With that thought in mind, she headed toward the parking lot. On the way, she passed the front of the gas station once more, this time stopping to refill a couple of spare gas tanks. Experience had taught her never to rely solely on what was already in her vehicle—fuel shortages were common, and running out in the outskirts could easily turn fatal.
Once finished, Eleanor climbed back into her mini van and set off again.
She chose the normal road this time, steering away from the highway. The eastern route was still undergoing repairs and reconstruction, making high-speed travel impossible. Heavy equipment and debris blocked most of the highway, forcing all traffic to take slower, winding paths through the city blocks. It was inconvenient, but Eleanor didn't mind. She had another stop to make along the way.
The night was still young.
Players and civilians alike filled the streets, though the crowds were thinner than during the day. Some were returning to their homes after long hours of work or hunting, while others headed toward newly built bars and entertainment spots, desperate to wash away the stress of survival in this broken world. Laughter, music, and distant shouting echoed faintly through the streets, creating a strange contrast against the ruined buildings looming in the background.
The road wasn't crowded, and after about an hour of steady driving, Eleanor arrived at her first destination.
It wasn't the giant mall Daniel had mentioned. Instead, this building was much smaller than the structures surrounding it. From the outside, it looked unremarkable, almost insignificant.
But the interior told a very different story.
A medium-sized bar occupied the building, located right at the borderline between the outer circle and the outskirts. The moment Eleanor pushed open the door, she was hit by a wave of noise and smell. The stench of strong liquor mixed with greasy dishes filled the air, while loud music and drunken voices clashed in a chaotic symphony.
The cacophony spilled out into the street, loud enough to reach neighboring buildings. Fortunately—or unfortunately—most nearby structures were either too ruined to be lived in or too eerie for even the homeless to settle in.
Eleanor walked in calmly, unfazed by the wild atmosphere. Her eyes scanned the room briefly before she headed straight toward the counter at the far end of the bar. She took a seat on one of the high stools and tapped the table lightly with her fingers.
"Where's the boss?" she asked as a bartender placed a small cup of yellowish beer in front of her.
The cup was noticeably smaller than the ones served to other customers. Eleanor didn't comment on it. She knew this place well enough.
The bartender was a young man dressed in a neat black-and-white suit—formal enough to look professional, but relaxed enough to fit the environment. His black hair was well-kept, and his face carried a refined look uncommon in a place like this. Clearly, appearances mattered to him.
He nodded slightly, already familiar with Eleanor's presence, and pointed toward a door on the side of the bar. A worn sign hung above it, reading: Billiard Ball Room.
Eleanor slid off the stool, leaving behind a palm-sized paper on the counter. Printed on it was a bold "C" followed by an equal mark—credits, the new currency. She picked up her beer and took a short sip before walking toward the door.
She knocked twice before opening it.
"Old man," Eleanor called out casually.
Inside, a billiard table occupied the center of the room. Two men were actively playing, while two others stood by, watching closely. The man Eleanor addressed was slightly hunched, his gray, thinning hair and deep wrinkles giving him an air of experience and quiet authority. He held a billiard stick in his hand, lining up his shot.
He glanced at Eleanor briefly before turning his attention back to the table.
With a smooth motion and a sharp swoosh, he struck the ball. It rolled cleanly across the felt and dropped into the final pocket with a satisfying clack.
"What is it now, child?" he asked, his voice calm but weary.
"Same as always," Eleanor replied, stepping fully into the room. "I need a gun. Or any firearms you've got."
The old man straightened slightly, stretching his stiff back before hunching over again. He turned to face her, his expression hardened. "Same answer as always. I have none… yet."
Eleanor raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. So you found one, but couldn't get your hands on it?"
"Yes," the old man said, grabbing a bottle of beer and taking a long sip. "You know damn well how tightly the Righteous Government controls firearms. Supply, stock, movement—they watch everything. I'm not about to force my way in and bring trouble down on all of us."
Eleanor lifted her own cup and took another drink, finishing nearly half of the yellowish beer. She placed the cup down slowly, her eyes fixed on him.
"How much for the information?" she asked. "The whereabouts."
"I'll take five thousand coins," the old man said calmly, his voice low but firm. "All yours—as well as the consequences. And don't ever point us out. That's our rule… isn't it?"
"Reasonable," Eleanor replied without hesitation.
A familiar dark-red system window materialized before her eyes. With a practiced motion, she selected a transfer and sent 2,500 coins to the ID number registered under the old man's name. The faint chime of confirmation echoed softly in the room. The old man glanced at his own system window, nodded once, and pocketed the billiard stick.
"We've noticed some movements from the government in the eastern outskirts—"
"Stop," Eleanor interrupted sharply, lifting a finger. "I already know that."
The old man froze for a moment, his brows knitting together. His lips twitched in irritation. "Cheap," he muttered. "Don't pull that on me right after I tell you the location."
Eleanor merely shrugged, her expression unchanged. She wasn't here to entertain pride or ego—only efficiency.
The old man exhaled slowly, the tension leaving his shoulders as the thought of coins settled in. "Fine," he said at last. "I'll keep the 2,500. I'll add something extra to balance it."
"It's a guard—"
"Dungeon," Eleanor finished for him again, her tone flat. "I know."
The old man stared at her for a long second, then burst into a dry chuckle. "You're troublesome as always."
Eleanor sighed softly. "I'll not take the coins. No need to sour our connection over this."
"I'll come back if I need something else," she said as she turned toward the door.
Without waiting for a response, Eleanor stepped out of the billiard room and closed the door behind her.
The old man watched the door for a few seconds before shaking his head and letting out a tired breath.
"…Sigh," he muttered to himself. "Thank her for being reasonable."
...
"It was just a mere 2,500," Eleanor muttered as she stepped out of the busy and loud bar.
She turned toward the parking lot in front of the building. Rows of parked vehicles sat quietly under the dim lights, and behind several of them, her white van remained hidden in the shadows cast by the surrounding structures. It blended in well, almost disappearing into the darkness.
"Even when the world is ending," Eleanor murmured to herself, "there are still criminals who want to enjoy the chaos."
Her eyes shifted toward the far corner of the lot. There, a group of hooligans were gathered around a black car, forcing their way inside. Despite being close to the bar's entrance and the flow of people nearby, they showed no hesitation, moving with the confidence of those who believed no one would interfere.
Eleanor let out a quiet breath, her expression unreadable.
"…Just like the two I know."
...
"Alright, move to the positions assigned to your groups," Gallard ordered in a steady voice. "Report anything suspicious and stop anyone who tries to get close. This place must be secured."
The soldiers—adapters under his command—responded at once. Each of them nodded with discipline before moving toward their assigned areas, spreading out around the giant mall with practiced coordination.
Gallard remained where he was, standing at the center just outside the mall's main entrance. Despite his age, his body was still firm and well-trained, a sharp contrast to the years written on his face. He held a long, thick silver sword with both hands, its blade reflecting the pale light of the moon. His silver armor—covering his chest, shoulders, and legs—gleamed faintly, adding to the pressure his presence gave off. Standing alone like that, he looked less like a guard and more like a wall no one should cross.
Once his men had settled into their posts, Gallard scanned the surroundings one last time. Satisfied, he reached into his coat and pulled out a small bottle of red wine he had been hiding.
"I'm not sharing this expensive stuff with you youngsters," he muttered with a quiet chuckle.
He took a mouthful, savoring the rich taste as it lingered on his tongue. Just as he was about to enjoy another sip, a strange sensation washed over him. A presence—dark and quiet—appeared near the shadowed corner of the mall's gate.
Gallard's smile vanished. He quickly closed the bottle and straightened.
From the darkness, a feminine voice spoke, calm yet unsettling.
"That looks expensive."