The taxi jolted forward on the cracked asphalt road, a sputtering whine coming from under the hood.
Zoya leaned against the left side of the back seat, the large sunglasses she had "borrowed" from Bewitching Fox covering half of her face, revealing only her cold, tightly-pressed lips and jawline; her gaze, through the lenses, warily scanned the rapidly receding streetscape outside the window.
Billie, on the other hand, was the complete opposite, pressing against the right car door, her shoulders and head gently swaying to the noisy Spanish reggae music from the car stereo, her fingers tapping out a rhythm; her relaxed and comfortable demeanor made her look exactly like a tourist on summer vacation.
This was Serie's first time truly arriving in the so-called Saint Martan.
This dangerous Abnormal Contamination Zone country was, with the rolling of the wheels, tearing open its mysterious veil for Serie.
Initially, it was the crowded Iron Rust Town.
The Baroque balconies left from the colonial period had long since rusted and deformed, the plaster angel statues had broken arms and missing wings, their hollow eye sockets gazing at the street.
Where the wall paint had peeled off, layers of slogan remnants were exposed; faded revolutionary slogans were covered by new portraits of Santos, and beneath the portraits, someone had used crimson spray paint to scrawl a grotesque curse: "Die!"
The brushstrokes were wild, as if weeping blood.
Several government personnel in black uniforms were diligently wiping away the spray paint marks.
At the street corner, a gaunt old man guarded a rusty tin barrel, burning trash.
Suddenly, several sallow, emaciated children, like hyenas sniffing blood, rushed out of the alley, screaming and chasing the taxi.
They slapped the car window on Billie's side, their dirty little hands pressed against the glass, desperately begging for food and spare change in sharp childish voices mixed with local slang.
Zoya wanted to get something, her hand instinctively reaching for her waist, but it was empty.
She couldn't just throw half a crumpled pack of cigarettes at them, could she?
Seeing that their begging was hopeless, the children's foul language instantly escalated, their tender faces contorted with a viciousness unsuited to their age.
"Tsk, so noisy," Billie revealed a playful smile.
She elegantly raised her hand and, towards those dirty little faces outside the car window, playfully raised her middle finger.
A piercing horn suddenly blared!
The driver frantically slapped the steering wheel.
The children scattered in fright, still cursing, and quickly disappeared into the dilapidated streets and alleys.
The car drove out of Iron Rust Town and climbed onto a coastal road.
To the left, steep black basalt cliffs plunged into the sea, jagged and interlocking.
Angry waves crashed against the shore, splashing pale white foam.
To the right, the scene abruptly split—
Perfectly manicured lawns, pristine white sands, palm-fringed pools, and exaggeratedly designed villas shimmered with an unreal luxurious glow under the scorching sun.
That was the Emerald Coast, an isolated paradise exclusively for foreign tourists and domestic dignitaries.
It was just not yet completed.
The stark contrast made Zoya's brow furrow even deeper.
"The New Reclamation Area is just ahead, past the Emerald Coast, I can only drive this far…" the driver, speaking with a heavy local accent, broke the silence, forcing a small smile to try and ease the atmosphere, "That's President Santos's big project! It'll all be good places in the future!"
There was a hint of an imperceptible, disciplined numbness in his tone.
Zoya let out an almost inaudible cold snort from her nose.
Billie, meanwhile, raised an eyebrow with interest, as if admiring some peculiar spectacle.
The driver's rough hand reached over, palm up.
Zoya took out a few crumpled rubles and handed them over.
The driver glanced at them, his smile instantly vanishing, replaced by obvious disdain and difficulty: "Miss… we… don't accept these here."
"I'll do it~" Billie's cheerful voice rang out.
She opened her small leather handbag, casually pulled out a few crisp green US dollars, and slipped them into the driver's hand.
"Gracias," the driver's smile immediately returned as if by magic, profusely thanking her in accented Spanish.
"Where did you get that?" Zoya asked, raising an eyebrow after getting out of the car.
"Where did I get it? I'm an American, okay?" Billie retorted, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"In Australia, I'm Australian; everywhere else, I'm American," she shrugged, her tone flippant.
"Tsk, no wonder I don't like you," Zoya muttered faintly, striding towards the New Reclamation Area.
Billie didn't mind at all, even happily whistling at Zoya's taut back, her voice sweet: "Heh heh, no wonder I like you~"
She was completely immune to Zoya's complaints.
The road began to extend inland.
In the distance was the so-called New Reclamation Area.
Large tracts of scorched land, blackened tree stumps like broken spears stuck in the ground.
Several strangely shaped black flowers grew unusually luxuriantly in the red soil, their branches twisted and gnarled, oozing dark red viscous liquid.
Their leaves presented an unnatural fluorescent green, subtly trembling eerily in the absence of wind.
The ground was also covered with a thick layer of purple fungal mat, slowly undulating as if alive.
Several shirtless men swung hoes under the scorching sun, their movements slow and numb, their skin tanned to a deep brown, almost black, with winding salt stains from sweat on their backs.
A few hundred meters behind them, an area was tightly enclosed by dazzling yellow warning tape and fences entwined with grotesque iron thorns.
The sign depicted a grotesque skull and a radiation symbol—Abnormal Contamination Zone: No Entry!
Through the gaps in the fence, several crimson thorn flowers, like congealed blood, poked their heads out.
"If that Frost really wants to save people," Zoya's gaze retracted from the crimson flowers and turned to Billie, "he should be scouting around here."
She paused, her gaze behind the sunglasses sweeping over Billie's eager face, with a hint of helplessness: "You'd better go find them."
No matter how annoying Billie was, she was, after all, another self.
"Got it~" Billie smiled, even giving Zoya a somewhat clumsy military salute playfully, "You be careful yourself~"
Before her words had even faded, she was already walking briskly and eagerly deeper into the New Reclamation Area, quickly disappearing into the rising dust and distorted heat haze.
Several passing workers, dragging their tired bodies, caught sight of Zoya—
A woman wearing sunglasses, with a tall stature and cold demeanor, standing alone observing the construction site.
Not only did they not drive her away, but they instinctively averted their gaze.
In their perception, overwhelmed by heavy burdens, Zoya could only be some rich young lady? Some demanding investor representative? Or a mistress of some big boss who had come to inspect on a whim?
Her slightly cheap clothing was completely overshadowed by the well-defined, scrutinizing handsome face behind the sunglasses, and the powerful aura around her that warned others to keep their distance.
The workers' brains had long been drained by labor; how could they have any extra energy to cooperate with such "big figures" and play boring games of feigning weakness? It was better to avoid trouble, and burying themselves in work was the way to survive.
Thus, Zoya passed through the Emerald Coast unhindered.
Her gaze fell on the vast land nearby, known as the "New Reclamation Area."
New Reclamation Area, the name sounded full of hope, but the scene before her had nothing to do with vibrant cultivation.
What met her eyes was an endless field of black flowers.
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