The rays of Californias ruthless heat beat down on your necks’ stridently. Thankfully, both you and Jet Star found refuge in the hideout, vacant of any Ghoul, or Party, or Kobra.

You and Jet sluggishly throw down every miscellaneous item you savaged for out in the Zones—the usual—with tiresome sweat rolling past your eyes.

Jet sunk into the squalor cushions of the booth, yanking his thin yet clandestine glasses from his face, where he hid all his thoughts behind.

“Not a whole lot today,” he sighs, “But tomorrow will be a hella’va lot better.”